Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters belong to DC Comics. No intentional copyright infringement is intended through their use.
A/N: It's been way too long since I've written. Uphill climb now.
Feedback: Yes, please. It'd be greatly appreciated.
Full Circle
Prologue:
His gasps became more labored, more constricted as he reached for the phone, struggling with the receiver a few times before knocking it to the floor.
Slag—it! The words burst from his thoughts in such an explosive force it felt that his mind was gasping, too. Why didn't I ever replace these phones?
He grabbed the receiver from the floor, feeling the constriction increase the pain in his chest, and jabbed almost-blindly at the numbers.
9—1—1.
Focus. Bruce taught you better.
Focus. Right. Like hell.
He coughed and tried to breathe, try to draw in air where it didn't want to go.
Breathe. Breathe with the dial tones, slag it!
The dial tones stopped and he almost stopped breathing with that. "H-hello?"
Then they started up again. He stared in momentary disbelief at the receiver, wondering through the haze of pain if there was such a thing as aural-hallucination.
Who else could he call for help? He reached to try again.
Max.
The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Hell, can't they let me sleep-in or something in my old age?
Max growled and answered it. "You are so dead."
"Max?"
"I don't care if you're Matt," she said, recognizing the voice, and then sighed. "What's up, kid?"
There was a short, hesitant silence. "Terry hasn't been home for a few days."
"Kiiiid, you do know that Ter. has moved to the manor like, a few years ago, right?"
"Yeah, but he hasn't been home."
Max rolled her eyes. The message was so obviously not getting through to Matt McGinnis. "And you want me to what?"
"Could you check up on him or something?"
She grinned, then laughed. "Fifty years ago, you two fought like kids over the slightest things. Now, you're worried about him?" She flicked her finger at the picture of Terry, Matt and her together, tweaking an imaginary nose.
"Max…"
"Okay, okay, I'm up. Call you later, Matt."
"Thanks."
Wayne Manor was as imposing in daylight as it was at night. Worse at night, actually, Max corrected herself.
She didn't bother to try the bell, just unlocked the gate and went straight in. The foyer's door was locked, too, no surprise.
The entrance to the Batcave was easy access for her as well. Terry had needed her help with the computer stuff more and more after Bruce Wayne had passed away.
Max sighed, remembering. Wayne's death hadn't been easy for Terry to get over, especially since her friend had in time taken Wayne to be a father. He had been more violent, and more prone to dark thoughts, and being driven crazy by his incessant plunge downwards, she had forced him to keep a diary.
Her lips quirked up in a smile as she recalled how he had protested and all, but Terry was a good guy, and a friend who knew how to listen to advice and help, and he'd grudgingly agreed to do that, short of being dragged to a shrink. Of course, the deal was that she herself had to keep a diary of her own.
The cave smelt a little less damp as she descended the flight of stone steps, and Max wondered if the various small streams hidden in the darkness of unexplored portions of the cave had started to dry out.
"Terry?" she called.
No answer. Even the bats had long migrated elsewhere.
She didn't bother to shout again, just checked around the cave. There was no Terry, and that fact bothered her. A lot.
She did a second scan to make sure he wasn't hiding in one of the shadowed patches, brooding.
Nope. No Terry.
Worrying, she hurried up the stairs, trying not to groan at her weak joints. She was about to rush down the large corridor when she spotted a tinge of dark brown against the lighter tan of the couch.
"Terry?"
Not funny. So not funny, Terry. Don't do this to me.
Max shook him, and recoiled at the touch of the cold skin beneath his jacket. "You slag, Terry McGinnis," she whispered fiercely and her body trembled slightly at the tears there, but unshed.
She reached for the phone dangling off its cord, reconnected, and dialed.
9-1-1.