Cold-Blooded: A DC Universe Fanfiction (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 1: Rose: Wintergreen Remembered

Obligatory Disclaimers: I do not own any characters belonging to DC Comics and I am not getting paid for this.

A/N: This story began life as an Arkham Asylum universe fic about Mr. Freeze and his wife, but it morphed. The secondary plot with Yukie, Slade and Rose somehow took over. However, even though the first few chapters focus heavily on the Freeze situation, it will all become relevant and connect up in the end.   IF YOU'VE READ CHAPTER ONE BEFORE, THIS IS AN ALL NEW ONE!

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There are more tears shed over answered prayers than unanswered prayers.—St Teresa of Avila.

Rose looked down at the address on her phone and then up at the listing between the elevators.  Dr. Angela Torchild, Suite 803, 4:15 PM, her phone said.   Dr. A. Torchild, Suite 803, Family Therapist, said the listing.  It was the right place, damn it.  No excuses about not being able to find the building or getting lost on the way were possible.   She didn't want to be there, but she'd promised Robin she'd get counseling, and he was the only one of the Titans who gave her a real chance.

Her phone also said it was 4:12 at the moment.  There was no getting out of it now.  Tucking her phone away again, she stabbed the up button.  Two seconds later, she stabbed it again. There was no sign that the elevator was responding, let alone on its way.   

Sixteen was not an age known for its patience.  "Damn it," she swore, and made for the stairs.  Wrenching the door open so hard it crashed into the wall and stuck there, she sprinted up all eight flights, taking the steps two at a time, and was barely breathing hard when she reached the eighth floor landing.  Even then, she didn't bother to stop and push the bar to open the door to the hallway—she simply leapt, drawing both knees up, and kicked it open, transitioning the move into a smooth tuck-and-roll on the carpet.  It was easier to move and just not think.

Back on her feet again, she oriented herself as to where suite 803 was located, and took a moment to smooth out her clothes before she intruded on the therapist's turf.  The receptionist nodded and gave her a clipboard with a form to fill out before she saw the doctor.

Rose sat down on the waiting room sofa, checked boxes, and scribbled in the relevant information where she was supposed to, but there wasn't any box or space for the really important things.   Like: Metagene.  Active/Inactive?  If active, how and when did it become active?   List powers/abilities acquired in space provided.

Finally she handed it back.  The receptionist looked it over, asked for her insurance, and disappeared into the next room for a moment.  When she returned, she told Rose she could go in.

Rose did as instructed, glancing around.  The therapist had opted to decorate her space in soft, gentle colors and livened it up with some house plants and an aquarium with fancy guppies.  The woman herself was rather short, plump, and cheerful. 

"Rose Wilson?  I'm Doctor Torchild, but you can call me Angela.  Please, have a seat.  You can take off your coat if you want to, whatever makes you most comfortable."

Rose did, choosing a red leather chair as far from the desk as she could.  "Did you read my file?"  she asked the doctor as she undid the toggles on her duffle coat.

"No further than to note your name and date of birth. I prefer to learn about new patients first hand.  What stunning hair you have!  Is that your natural color?"

"Yes," Rose fingered a lock of her milk-white hair.  "I don't have albinism. It's a mutation I inherited from my dad.  Look—you're the third therapist I've been referred to, so this is getting a bit old.  Do you have any experience treating metas?"