Disclaimer: I don't own Batman Beyond, any of the original characters, or any of the Batman franchise. I just love writing fanfiction for it.
Reasoning: I wanted to do something a little different. I believe writers can get comfortable sometimes, and that it's good to break out and try something new. I also just like to examine various scenarios and explore new points of view. While I'm known to take some liberties with the original BB plot in my other works, it's my intent to be true to the storyline laid out in the show with this particular piece, mainly the "Hooked Up" episode.
The story title is from the song "Bring Me Flowers" by Hope.
Enjoy and feel free to review and tell me your thoughts.
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*Song Credit: "Ego Remix" by Beyonce and Kanye West.
"Bring Me Flowers"
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As Batman, I have to be a compassionate person, even if the feeling isn't mutual.
And I did care about my girlfriend, Dana. I was there watching her from overhead when I couldn't be there for our dates. I never enjoyed standing her up, but she seemed to think it became some sort of sick obsession, that I was hurting her for entertainment. I tried to convince her this wasn't true. Whenever I had the time (and often when I never had the energy) I planned elaborate dates. But she never forgot the missed dates, no matter how many times I made up for them. I learned at age eighteen that making up dates isn't always enough. Dana finally broke it off with me in our senior year of high school, and we never really picked things back up. I wanted her to forget about me, so that I wouldn't be a pain to her any longer. And now that I'm in my twenties, I can say that I've moved on as well.
Maxine Gibson. She was smart and gorgeous, probably more than I would have admitted…back in high school, at least. Max was mostly a childhood friend who had the potential to become more. I could confide in her and trust her. After all, she held my greatest secret, and had never spilled it. We were only friends, no matter what I felt. I doubted she was attracted to me. To think otherwise on my part would have been a painful indulgence in wishful thinking. It wasn't supposed to be that easy to win over someone so perfect for me. She just had this maddeningly innate ability to reject any efforts to flirt or win her affections. An airy laugh, a seamless transition in conversation, or bringing up last Friday's missed date with Dana. Somehow, Max's methods of deflection were incredibly sexy, whether she knew it or not. Yes, she had a very alluring way of dodging Cupid's arrows. As a result, I found myself incapable to stop firing.
Enter college. Most of my friends scattered after the first year or so at Gotham University, including Max. She had easily made it into Harvard, and transferred in our second year. But I won't forget that day when I heard her name in roll call on the first day of my third year computer technology class at Gotham University. I almost stood in my seat in the lecture hall to see if it really was her. We caught up with one another in the hallway after class, and again in the library - later the student lounge. That was several months ago, and it's as though there never was a three-year gap in our friendship.
The deep brown eyes slid into my direction, lingering on me just long enough for me to catch the smirk on her lips. "And by 'date' you mean…?"
"You know exactly what I mean, Max," I wanted to say aloud, and usually would have, but I wasn't going to let her win that easily today.
I pursued closely behind her, holding open the door of Gotham University's cafeteria. "I mean the word humans like to use for events, items on a calendar - for example, today's date is Thursday, the twenty-second of April, Anno Domini twenty-forty-six--"
"Yeah, yeah, McGinnis," Max cracked a grin, but rolled her eyes.
I allowed a group to walk by, splitting between us, then smoothly returned to her side. She was power walking in short steps, hugging her laptop to her chest. I had to adjust my long strides to better match hers.
"So what's your point?" she quizzed with neutrality.
"I'm bored. I want something to do Friday…that is, unless it's a crime to ask if someone's busy for the weekend when it's already Thursday--"
"Terry," she truncated as we neared her car. "We're about to graduate college. We have final exams to study for. I'm you're closest friend, and you know I'm just telling you the truth."
"And I'm an ass for not making you something more," grunted a voice in the back of my head.
I sighed, adding just enough emotion to sound slightly hurt. "Slag, Max. You always bring up the time like we're pushing fifty or something."
At this, Max laughed musically, tossing her shoulder-length hair. It was still that strikingly rebellious, badass pink. I'd always joked with her that her hair color was much too bold for a computer nerd. And yet, she was always quick to bring up my past juvenile delinquent record and how it wasn't very roguish for once-bad-boy Terry McGinnis to be Batman.
"Well I'm only never going to see you again after graduation." I snatched her keycard before she could slice it through the door of her brand new, maroon sports car.
"Hey--"
I hurdled the hood of the car to the passenger side, opened the door for her, then returned to the driver's side. Max stood with an eyebrow arched in disapproval.
"This is getting out of hand, McGinnis."
"I can't help it I like your car."
"While you're the one who has the income to buy one for yourself?"
"Doesn't mean I want to."
"Oh, I forgot, you're a biker guy. So leave my car alone, please?"
"Not today. Hop in."
Max gave in without too much of an argument, although there was plenty of sighing and arm-crossing as I sped down the freeway. I knew that she was mostly pretending, though, because she had soon flicked on the radio to her favorite oldies station.
"Hah, I like this song!" I exclaimed while reaching to up the volume so much that it could be heard in the surrounding cars.
Max glanced over at me with a poorly executed annoyed expression. "Why am I not surprised?"
I frowned. "What?"
"Do you know what this song is about?"
"Um…exactly what the title says: a big ego."
Max laughed. "You know that's not what they're talking about."
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Gibson."
"I'm just saying."
"Wait, this is my favorite part--" I cranked the volume further.
"I got a big ego, I'm such a big ego
I got a big ego, she love my big ego
So stroke my big ego
I like to joke around a little bit but here we go
Welcome to the wonderful world of go play the earl 'cause
Everything I throw up, blow up
Talking to the girl, she said, 'Know what? Grow up, you nasty'
I don't understand why they trippin', if you asked me"
Max looked at me as though I was insane for knowing all of the words to the rap.
"C'mon." I shrugged. "It's a catchy tune."
"You just like it because the rapper guy added his own gross part to an otherwise nice song."
"As if the lead singer chick doesn't come in and sing the same thing," I retorted before zipping by a bunch of cars that were moving much too slowly for my taste.
Max's small smile and lack of a reply belied that she couldn't debate my point.
"Touché," I mumbled.
"Please," she snickered. "You know what? In the meaning you're claiming for this song, it actually fits you perfectly." Max was chuckling.
"Hey--"
"C'mon. You know you're full of yourself," she highlighted as though this was fact. "College has gotten to your head."
"Like it hasn't for you too."
She smirked with a shrug. "I've always been grounded."
"Sounds like I'm not the only one with a big ego," I jabbed with a lopsided grin.
"You missed the exit for my street," Max veered.
"Took you longer than usual to catch that."
"I was too busy watching the road, since you haven't bothered to do so," she sighed. "Anyway, where are you taking me to this time? Not that cheesy taco place, I hope."
"I thought you liked cheesy tacos," I seized the opportunity.
Max stared dully, wagging her head at my joke.
"That was really corny. Like, record-breakingly corny...even for you."
"But no cornier than a taco shell," I continued.
She merely stared.
I shrugged innocently. "I couldn't resist. You had it coming," I snuck a goofy grin. "But seriously, what are you feeling like tonight? Pizza, filet mignon, lobster thermidor?"
Max was eyeing her cell phone, frowning in concentration.
"I'm feeling like calling my realtor and firing her, to be honest."
I winced. "Wow. What is it this time? Don't tell me she nearly set the apartment on fire in a showing again."
Max sighed with a wave of her hand. "No. She just blew a potential deal. Sent me a really long, drawn-out email apologizing and explaining what happened."
"So what happened?" I frowned, edging the car off of the freeway and onto an exit ramp.
"It doesn't matter. It's not like I've got enough for the place I want anyway."
"Ah, the house on Marigold Avenue." I nodded knowingly. Max was trying to sell her apartment and move somewhere with more space. She had packed up and left her childhood home shortly before we graduated, and had crashed with my family and I until she had found her latest apartment. Max and her family hadn't ever hit it off, and she eventually grew tired of their ignoring her and leaving her to live practically alone. Although her sister had asked her to stay, Max left home to be officially independent. But now that she had saved some money and was about to start her career, she was ready to go the next step and become a homeowner.
"Anyway," Max cleared her throat, reaching up to smooth her hair. "I've really gotta' get to this homework tonight, Ter, if I want to be present on graduation day."
"Isn't that your laptop you're holding?" I cocked my head.
"Terry."
"Look. I have homework too, Max. Who doesn't? You've been working too hard, and not just in school and with the housing-market drama. They're about to make you a manager at the company when you've been there for just a few months," I referenced her job at a Gotham-based software company.
"Yeah, well, us normal Gotham citizens have to move up the corporate ladder as opposed to being handed a million-dollar job on a silver platter, Batman."
"I guess you have a point," I said, then laughed to myself. "At least it has gotten you off my back about joining me as Batgirl." I was grinning, pulling my fingers through my dark hair.
Max chuckled, sending me an intelligent glance. "Whatever you say. I'm so over Batgirl, anyway," she crossed one leg over the other. "Now it's all about world domination."
"One computer geek at a time," I inserted mischievously.
"Um, have you forgotten we're graduating with the same major?" she accused, annoyed by my stab at her computer passion.
I sighed thoughtfully, deciding to make a confession. "You know I only did that to be around you."
Max merely laughed radiantly with that same enigmatic smile in her eyes.
The message came as a pleasant surprise in my voicemailbox.
"Terry, great news! The Marigold Ave cottage has been reduced. I put in my offer and they accepted! It's move-in ready. All I need is to get my furniture over there and buy some paint. I wanna' get right to work! And, um…if you don't have any engagements with Gotham scum next Friday, you can make yourself useful and give me a hand with the heavy-lifting. I'll need your muscle-power."
I slowed my motorcycle to a stop after swinging into the cobblestone driveway of 1517 Marigold Avenue. Max's car was waiting, gleaming brilliantly in the bold sunshine.
The house was a bit on the granny side on its exterior, what with its vomit-green siding and teal roof. The shutters were a nasty retro yellow, and the front door a random orange. Max had toted me along with herself and her scatter-brained realtor when she had first scoped the place out. I hadn't wanted to burst her slaphappy bubble and tell her that I thought it looked like something a blind person had decorated, as Max hadn't seemed to notice any problem with the appearance. The interior was bare, though (thankfully), with white walls simply waiting for someone to paint them. (And hopefully in a much more tasteful scheme than what was on the outside.)
The moment I pulled off my helmet and perched it onto the seat behind me, the front door flung open and Max came flying down the steps, around the walkway, and out to the driveway, her purse flailing behind her. She threw her arms around my neck in a tight hug, then clutched my arm and dragged me to her car. I barely caught something in her flurry of excited babble about needing to go the hardware store to buy paint.
"What are your plans for this wall?" I asked.
Max strolled into the den from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of her favorite flavor of moose tracks ice cream in one hand. She stroked her chin in deep thought, staring at the wall bearing the fireplace. Two windows sat on either side, casting mellow afternoon sunlight into the bare space.
"Mmm. Red?" She waved the spoon nonchalantly.
My brow furrowed as I stood with a can of paint hanging on my fingers, my shirt splattered in caulk and white ceiling paint. We were both messy from painting the ceiling and caulking the walls, decked out in old pairs of jeans and t-shirts.
"Uh--"
"Actually, you know what?" Max switched gears.
"What?"
"Black." She thrust the bowl into my free hand, pacing over to the line of cans against the other wall.
"Black?" I blinked in surprise.
"Yeah, it's kind of more unpredictable. I mean, red is a little obvious. Everyone goes with red when they try to make a statement." Max was kneeling, busily prying open the black paint with a butter knife.
"Well, how about tan?" I advised lightly.
Max paused, then shook her head. "No… Don't you think that's a bit common, Ter?"
I shrugged, setting down the can of paint and plopping onto the floor. "I don't know. I personally think tan's a shway look for a den." I began to stir the ice cream, then took a taste.
"What are you doing to my ice cream?" Max was grimacing.
"It makes it have a soft-serve texture."
At first, Max looked as though she was about to voice her disgust, but tilted her head in curiosity. "That…actually sounds pretty good."
I smiled proudly. "Now if I could only convince you to go with tan walls…"
"Haha, nice try," Max chuckled as she carried the paint over and handed me a roller brush.
"Now wait a sec, I have an idea," I protested. "How about we try tan on one wall, then black on another."
"I don't know…" Max looked doubtful.
"Or, we could just do a black accent wall."
Max cast me a sideways glance and wide smile. "Make it a tan accent wall and you've got a deal."
I grinned. "Deal."
Max and I had to work faster as the days sailed by. She wanted to be all moved in before final exams, and before the day she had set to move out of her apartment, which had just been sold (much to her realtor's relief). We continued to clash over design ideas, and had eventually decided to call a truce and complete the den last (the accent wall idea hadn't worked out very well after all).
But once we'd worked through the other rooms, we at last had to face the den.
"So…any ideas?" Max inquired with a sigh as we both stood with arms folded, standing back-to-back and gazing at the walls.
"We could do stripes?"
"Horizontal or vertical?"
"Which do you prefer?"
Max considered. "Horizontal. Why not be different?"
I chuckled. "Alright, let's give it a try--"
I was interrupted by her cell phone singing in her pocket.
"Oh, it's my supervisor. Great. Let me take this call really quickly, Ter."
I nodded before Max jogged off for her bedroom. I sighed while stuffing my fists onto my sides. A rumble came from my own pocket just as I began to open the cans of black and tan paint.
"Talk to me," I spoke into the phone, recognizing the number with a sinking heart.
"Busy?"
"Sort of. Helping Max get moved in."
"Well, all's calm out there. Just called to say you can take tonight off," Bruce explained in his gruff voice. "There might be trouble tomorrow night, though. So don't make any plans."
"When do I ever?" I sighed after we'd ended our conversation.
I was passionate about my job as Gotham's hero. It was my escape from the stress of school; it was my duty which gave me purpose and joy, but it could be draining and lonely. I guess that's why I liked being around--
"Terry?"
"Yeah?" I turned as my thoughts jerked back to the moment.
Max peeped her head into the room, still holding her cell phone to one ear. "Hey, they need me to come in for a meeting so I'm gonna' shower really quickly and leave for the office. You can do whatever you want with the walls. Surprise me - maybe I'll like it." She flashed a smile.
I laughed. "Okay, but don't get your hopes up too much."
"Oh hello, yes Mrs. Conover, I'm still here," Max resumed her call, mouthing "thank you" to me before ducking back into her room.
While she was away, I took it upon myself to give a shot at finishing the den. I painted the walls black, then added a wide, continuous horizontal strip of tan. I helped myself to some cereal during breaks, and upon spotting the late hour on my watch, I left a note and hopped on my bike to grab us some dinner. When I returned with Chinese takeout, the driveway was still empty. I proceeded to stash the food into the fridge and clean up the painting materials. I lifted Max's few items of living room furniture into the room, then arranged some vases on the fireplace mantle. By now, it was dark, and slightly chilly in the northeastern climate. I switched on the electric fireplace and reclined with a weary sigh into the sofa. A minute later, I received a text from Max reading, "Sorry! B there in 10!"
I smiled calmly as I slid my phone back into my pocket and folded my arms behind my head.
I had begun to drift to sleep after a few minutes slipped by. I didn't realize I was dozing until I smelled food cooking. I frowned and opened my eyes. Sitting at the end of the couch, enjoying a bowl of egg drop soup, was Max. I watched her for a moment before I spoke.
"They were out of wonton, so I had to get egg drop."
Max turned, then wiped her mouth with a laugh as she accidentally slurped her soup.
"Terry, this room is…"
I cringed. "That bad, huh?"
"No! It's amazing!" she exclaimed animatedly. "I love it! And you cleaned up and everything - and grabbed some food too."
I sat up with an easy laugh.
"Well, I'm glad you like it."
"I really do," Max smiled sincerely. "Do you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I mean, the black actually does look good, now that I think of it."
"Told you so," Max chuckled. "I'm joking. But seriously, thanks, Terry."
"No problem. Hey, is there any left for me?"
"No, I ate it all," Max rolled her eyes. "I heated yours up, but I didn't want to wake you."
"Doesn't matter," I shrugged as I rose for the kitchen, well-accustomed to napping with interruptions.
"Hey, can you bring my fortune cookie, please?"
"Sure," I called over my shoulder. After grabbing my tray of rice and sesame chicken, I re-joined Max in the den. I sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa. I tossed the fortune cookie up to her.
"Thanks. You know I only eat these because they're good, and not for the lame fortunes," Max shared indifferently.
I smiled lightly before stuffing a forkful of rice and chicken into my mouth. "But you still read them," I stated, barely coherently.
"Well, yeah… I guess. But just so I can learn Chinese," Max covered smoothly. "I mean, listen to how corny and universal this is: You have a secret admirer in waiting."
I munched thoughtfully, then turned to grin up at her. "Sounds pretty accurate to me."
"What does yours say?" Max sidetracked, setting aside her empty bowl of soup. I noticed as she rolled up the fortune and tossed it from hand to hand.
"Hmm, let's see," I mused as I cracked open my fortune cookie. I snickered. " 'You are a beautiful creature, but very jealous.' "
Instantly, Max was in a fit of laughter. I grumbled defensively.
"It's not that funny, y'know."
"I think it is."
"Way too easy," noted my conscience. I turned completely around to face her and smiled. "And do you also think it's true?"
I watched as Max's eyes drifted from the crumpled fortune paper in her hands to my face, then back to the fortune. The corner of her mouth was twitching to smile.
"I think fortunes are silly, and so do you." She lightly tossed the paper at my nose.
"Can't win 'em all," sighed my conscience.
I caught it and tossed it back. Max laughed.
After we'd finished eating, Max twisted to lay on her side while I remained seated on the floor, leaning against the couch. We watched the fire, talking lightly about school and her new house. After a while, Max became quiet, and I glanced back to see if she had fallen asleep. But she was awake, her head propped up on her arm, gazing absently at the fireplace. She looked weary and slightly concerned, though I wouldn't have known until I'd seen her face. Her voice hadn't given any of this away.
"How'd the meeting go?" I asked casually, and it took a moment for her eyes to leave the space she'd been staring into and focus into mine.
"Fine," she answered in an odd tone, almost an angry one. It felt as though she hadn't been talking to me, but someone else.
But Max just as soon sighed and donned a small smile. "Isn't Batman supposed to be out there?" She poked a finger toward the window.
I mirrored her smile. Maybe it was just the low lighting that had painted the shadows I'd seen in her eyes.
"Not tonight. The old guy gave me the night off."
"Wow," Max noted, impressed.
I nodded, then looked ahead again. I felt a gentle weight on my shoulder as Max rested her head there. I caught the herbal scent of her hair when she turned her head slightly.
"Then I guess the last place you'd want to spend a rare night like this is with your annoying sidekick and not with the guys or whatever."
I laughed softly at Max's bogus self-deprecation. "You're not my 'annoying sidekick,' and, to be honest, this is exactly the place I'd like to be right now."
Neither of us said anymore for a long time.
"Do you ever feel like you've done something wrong?" she questioned softly from the silence.
"What do you mean?" I pressed.
Max breathed a sigh. "I don't know, to be honest. I guess…sometimes I feel like I'm starting life alone, or just…without support. Without encouragement."
I listened quietly. I knew Max was referencing her parents. I recalled Mr. and Mrs. Gibson to be very professional and demanding, before they divorced. They were always expecting much from their two daughters. Max had shared with me her story of their divorce, how it devastated the family. She had told me during a difficult time in her life, shortly after she learned I was Batman. Max had become addicted to a virtual reality machine created by one of Gotham's villains, Ira Billings (aka "Spellbinder") the former guidance counselor at Hamilton Hill High. I'd had to rescue her from the clutches of the machine, from her fantasy world. She told me that her family was together and paying attention to her, in the false world.
While I knew that Max looked back on her addiction with embarrassment and shame, I had a feeling that she still wished for a way to earn love and respect from her family.
Sometimes I felt powerless, despite my secret identity as Batman.
"Well, I think you did a kick-ass job, snagging this house and all," I voiced my opinion. "We've gotta' celebrate and give you a housewarming, complete with about fifty guests and tons of champagne."
Max's quiet laughter vibrated on my cheek. "You have got to be kidding me…" she said, then added after a long pause, "Thank you for helping me."
Both of us dozed off gradually when conversation ceased and questions disappeared from the realm of importance. The sun was illuminating the horizon when I came to, and Max's head was still on my shoulder, but she had folded her arms around my shoulders.
Carefully, I removed her arms and scooted her to lay more comfortably on the couch. She stirred and sighed. "Leaving?" she asked without opening her eyes.
"Not if you don't want me to."
Max began to fall back to sleep, but answered my question in a mumble, "I don't want you to."
I found myself smiling, and bent to kiss the forehead of my closest friend whom I knew I was in love with. Her pink hair was slightly tousled, but she was beautiful; she was Max.
I left for the kitchen to pour myself some cereal.
Max and I didn't see much of each other in the following weeks, mostly because of final exams, and both of us were working long hours on our respective jobs. But communication elevated from a few text messages or brief phone calls when graduation day finally arrived.
Once I'd pried myself away from my mom, Bruce, grandparents and little brother, Matt, I began to search for Max in the sea of guests and graduates. I pulled out my cell phone to message her, and her reply came only a short minute later. I squeezed through the thick crowd as my eyes scanned the screen.
"Hey McGinnis, what're you doing later?" jabbed a friend of mine, Taylor.
I shrugged with a light smile. "Goin' out to eat, man."
Taylor chuckled. "Well I'll catch you later, then. Congrats!"
I spoke with a few more familiar faces and fellow classmates as I followed the directions in Max's text. Eventually, I'd drifted away from the clump of people, and strolled through the parking lot. A few cars zoomed by, filled with excited laughter, air-horns, and thumping music.
"Hey McGinnis! Where are you off to?" giggled some girls in a passing sport utility vehicle clad in balloons and streamers.
I laughed. "Looking for Max! You seen her?"
The girls grinned understandingly, then pointed to the other end of the lot. "She's over there! See ya'!"
"See ya'," I waved, blushing a little as I turned into the direction they had pointed.
Sure enough, in a spot under a tall tree, sat the maroon car. I smiled as the door opened and Max slid out.
She tossed me the keys. I caught them in surprise.
"I think you've earned a joyride, McGinnis. Just make sure I get to drive home." Max beamed.
I pulled off my robe and hat with a relieved sigh as I steered the car down the highway. Underneath, I was clad in a standard white dress shirt, black tie and slacks. Max had lost her graduation robe as well, and wore an attractive, short black dress. Her hair was styled a little differently and pulled into the back in a ponytail.
"You look nice," I observed with a glance over.
Max smiled, adjusting her makeup in the mirror. "That's what you said on that mission I helped out with."
I furrowed my brow while reaching for the radio controls. "Which one?"
"Back in highschool. We had to go to that restaurant to help you find the kidnapped little girl with the telekinetic abilities."
I nodded as the memory returned afresh. "Oh yeah. And I meant it back then, too," I grinned.
Max chuckled, then turned up the volume.
"I thought you didn't like this song?" I noted in confusion.
"Terry," Max said, touching my shoulder and looking at me as though I was overlooking something crucial.
"Yeah?"
"We just graduated college!"
I returned the smile, glad to see Max so genuinely happy. "Yeah, crazy, huh? So where are we eating? Your choice."
Max laughed vibrantly.
"Definitely Mexican. Something outrageously spicy."
"Mexican it is," I confirmed with a grin, zipping the car down the street.
After graduation came job interviews and more work as Batman. I was searching for work that didn't take up too much of my time, since so much of it was already devoted to protecting Gotham. Bruce got me connected with some business colleagues, and I soon landed a job as an intern with Wayne Enterprises, working in the new software development department. It wasn't anything too exciting, but it provided a sufficient distraction from Batman and put my college skills to use. I also got better access into the business world of Gotham as Terry McGinnis, and not just Batman.
I hadn't seen Max since we'd had dinner the night of graduation. She had been traveling and scoping out other job options, but kept me posted for the first month of the summer. Over time, the contact dwindled to less and less, but I was quick to remind myself that this was to be expected when we were both in transition.
Come early September, the latest I'd heard, Max was busy working her job at Jemison Inc., Wayne Enterprises' industry rival. She had decided to stay there when she was offered a promotion. She had accepted and moved up from her internship to vice president of marketing in one of the departments. I had received the news in text message form, but hadn't been able to reach her yet. Several times, I had considered driving out to her house, to drop by for a visit. But I kept telling myself to wait until the busy summer had first passed, for both of us to get settled into our new careers.
But finally, one day after getting home from the office, I was surprised to hear my landline phone ringing. I'd almost had the obsolete thing removed, since almost no one knew the number. Only bill collectors, telemarketers, family and Bruce knew my home phone number. But most of my calls were on my cell phone.
I plopped into the living room sofa in my bachelor's pad apartment, scooping up the phone.
"Hello?" I asked neutrally, not recognizing the number.
"Terry."
"Speaking," I responded, not sure if I recognized the voice or not.
Familiar laughter floated through the line, an effortless, melodic laugh.
"No need to be so formal with me, Terry."
A smile spread across my face. "Max, sorry! I didn't recognize your voice at first."
She chuckled again. "So how are you?"
"I'm…good," I replied, feeling a mixture of awkwardness and elation at hearing from her again. "Um, busy with work and stuff," I elaborated conversationally. "What about you?"
"Oh, the same," she answered indifferently. I noticed her voice was quieter, a little more serious, or maybe it was just the fact that we were having a phone conversation. "I hear we're rivals now."
I laughed, leaning my elbows onto my knees. I balanced the phone on my shoulder and loosened my tie.
"Yeah, I guess so. Did you get my e-card about your promotion?"
"I did. Thank you."
There was a lengthy pause. I tried to come up with something to say. I wanted to know all about her life after college, but couldn't think of a good way to jump-start my questioning. It felt like speaking with a best friend, yet a stranger, all at once.
"How's your family?" Max was first to break the ice.
"They're fine. The twip's liking high school."
Max laughed again.
I cleared my throat, tugging at my leather watch-band. "And, uh, Mom's still liking teaching. She's working with kindergarteners now."
"Oh, that's nice." Max sounded glad, but her voice held a distance. I wondered if she was busy, and began to feel a little dumb for rambling on. But she seemed content enough to listen to my updates.
"So…are you happy with your new job?" I ventured, offering her the floor.
"Very, yes," Max replied swiftly.
I nodded. "That's great." I took a deep breath and dragged my fingers through my hair. "So do you have plans for Thanksgiving?" I blurted randomly, immediately feeling stupid for asking a corny question about far-off holidays.
"Um…I don't really know yet," Max answered slowly. "Sorry Terry, can you hold on just a second?"
I sat up. "Oh sure, yeah."
The line was placed on hold for a few minutes, and I busied myself with putting some spaghetti on to boil. I'd taught myself a great deal about cooking over the years since I'd moved out from Mom's place.
"Hey Terry, I'm so sorry about that," Max sounded overly apologetic for simply putting me on hold.
I brushed it off with a gentle laugh. "No big, Max."
She hesitated. "Um…hey, do you go out for lunch?"
I paused before dumping the pasta into the boiling water. "Yeah, always."
"Really? Aren't our buildings only a block apart?"
"That they are."
"Do you…want to do lunch?" she proposed.
I felt my heart leaping. "Um, sure," I tried to sound professional. "What day are you thinking?"
"Anytime."
"How about tomorrow at, say, one o'clock?"
"Perfect."
"Great." I smiled.
Another pause hovered over the line.
"Well, um…it was great talking to you, Terry."
"Yeah, you too, Max. I'm glad you called." I bit my tongue again. Now that sounded rude and desperate, as though I had been bitter over my unreturned calls.
Max didn't seem to feel that way, and laughed quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Terry."
"Later."
I hardly got a wink of sleep that night, but when I did, I dreamed of seeing her again.
I spent much too much time in front of the mirror the next morning before leaving for the office. I wore my black hair combed back, more neatly, and I made sure to shave the stubble I'd allowed to grow. When I stepped off the elevator onto the thirtieth floor of Wayne Tower, I bypassed my usual stop in the kitchen nook for coffee and light chatting with my co-workers. I went straight for my office and immersed myself into my work schedule, to hasten the hours until one o'clock.
I scrolled through my inbox around noon, beginning to drum my fingers on the desktop as the hour neared. I sighed as I opened a mandatory chain-email from the supervisor of my department. My eyes scanned more than they should, but soon I began to slow down and concentrate on the words on the screen. It was a notice about a virus that had been spreading throughout the computer system in a fellow department of our software company. Apparently, it was suspected to be originating from an outside source, and we were warned to not open any emails from beyond the Wayne system, as well as to lock our computers at the end of each session, even if we were only leaving for a break.
I closed the email and opened the next one, a message containing local news headlines. I was skimming again, knowing I needed to get back to work. But I kept reading, first about how some of the Hamilton Hill High kids were on their way to the Scripps National Spelling Bee, then an article about Batman's surprise gift for an ailing teen in Gotham Children's Hospital (I had been glad to do it). But my forehead creased as I read the headline at the bottom of the list. Jemison Software, Wayne Software Enterprises' rival and the company Max worked for, had just promoted a new general manager of the sales division, and the name caught my eye.
"Donny Grasso…" I mumbled, trying to remember. I scratched my cheek and sat up in my seat. "Donny Grasso?"
The unpopular kid from highschool who'd nearly overdosed on Spellbinder's virtual reality simulator? I clicked on the article to view it in another window. I searched for Donny in the picture that appeared, looking out of habit for the mostly shaved head with a lock of blue hanging in the dead eyes. I blinked when it dawned on me that I was looking at him, standing in the middle of a lineup of men and women in business garb.
"No way," I whispered, baffled.
Donny was no longer the scrawny kid with weird hair and gangly limbs, but a tall, well-built man with clean-cut brown hair and a confident smile. He was shaking hands with an elderly man with white hair: old business tycoon Walter Jemison himself.
I remembered how Donny had been in Juvie after his gang wheedled Max into falling into Spellbinder's virtual reality trap at the VR Room.
"Bruce would love to hear about this…"
My phone rang on my desk, and my attention returned to my work.
I'd forgotten everything about viruses, Jemison Software and Donny Grasso when I walked into the café Max and I had agreed on through text messages. It was a small, intimate place on a corner of one of Gotham's busiest intersections. The sidewalk was packed with tourists and business personnel, and the traffic was heavy and noisy. I was already looking around, expecting to spot her at any given moment. I took a seat at a small table near a window overlooking the sidewalk. I debated removing the black jacket that completed my suit, not knowing if I was too formal for the occasion. I eventually decided to leave it, and continued to wait patiently (yeah, right) for Max.
I occupied myself with watching the people on the sidewalk for some time, then my focus gradually shifted to the customers in the restaurant. The counter was manned by teens taking the orders of the hungry line of clientele, and I found myself reminiscing on one of my first jobs as a pizza delivery boy when I was sixteen. I remembered in particular how Max had thought the job was "shway."
"Excuse me, I'm so sorry, Miss," someone was apologizing fervently from behind, preceding the loud crash of dishes onto the floor.
I turned to see a kid in a café uniform and cap, bending to gather the fallen dishes. But my gaze was locked onto the woman standing there, looking embarrassed. She was beautiful, wearing a white sundress, sunglasses and black leather boots. Her dark hair rested on her shoulders and she had a pretty, mysterious smile. It was when she smiled, however, that I realized who I was staring at.
"It's perfectly fine. Can I help you at all?" she was asking the teen, chewing her lip in concern.
"No, it's okay. I didn't get anything spilled on you, did I?"
She shook her head with a light smile, then looked up and noticed me. Her smile widened and she removed her sunglasses.
"Terry," she said happily when she'd walked over to embrace me. "It's so good to see you."
The rebellious pink hair was gone.