A painful grunt echoes throughout the cave when Jazz hits the mat.
"Let's try that again," Terry's impatient voice follows.
The two have been sparring for the last hour on a floor below the main area of the cave. Though, with Jazz ending up sprawled on the ground most of the time, it seems more like Terry is punishing her than helping hone her skills. Once she is up again, Jazz strikes a fighter's stance ready for Terry's move. He reaches out an arm aiming to grab her by the neck. She counters the move by grabbing his wrist, twisting it behind his back and then bringing her free arm around wrapping it around Terry's neck in a chokehold.
But Terry isn't impressed, especially since he notices one of her legs is planted close to his. He takes the opportunity to trip her by kicking her foot out. Stumbling back, she lets go of his arm secured behind his back. Freed from her grip, Terry spins in time to grab her wrist, pull it behind her back and shove her shoulder, forcing her down again. She lets out yet another grunt when she hits the floor, hard.
He crouches beside her and holds out a helping hand. "You seem a little distracted tonight. Something you want to talk about?" He asks as he pulls her up.
She brushes herself off before replying, "Yeah, how bout you ease up on the ass kicking. I understand you're good, but you don't have to rub it in my face."
"Rub it in your-? Excuse me if you're the one lacking skill tonight. Hell, even Matt can tackle you right now without trying."
"I'm giving this my best shot, McGinnis," she shoots back, frustration getting the best of her. "I thought you were supposed to be teaching me, not showing off like some self-centered, arrogant twip!"
"At least I'm not acting like a repressed drama queen!"
"I'll show you drama queen!" Jazz yells before she crouches and sweeps Terry's legs from under him.
When he falls back on the mat, Jazz leaps on top of him and pins his wrists to the floor. Thinking she is victorious, a wide grin spreads across her face; but before she could gloat about it, Terry uses his still free legs to wrap around her waist before throwing her off of him; when she lands face down, Terry gladly takes his turn to pin her to the floor with a knee and secure both her wrists behind her back.
"Now, where were we? Oh, right. You were about to tell me what's causing you to severely suck in tonight's training," he says with a smile. She tries to wiggle free, but to no avail.
"And if I don't?" She grunts.
"Then I hope you're comfortable, 'cause I can stay like this all night."
"Whatever is bothering me doesn't concern you, McGinnis."
"Pretend it does."
"Why would you want to know, anyway?"
"Because making me wait six months is long enough, and I'm not willing to wait another six months to know who I'm working with. So I suggest you start talking."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Jazz," he cautions, "I can do a lot worse than this position."
She lets out a frustrated sigh, which ends up sounding more like a puff of air on account of Terry's weight resting on her back and keeping her from breathing deeply. "It was just a dream I had last night, no big deal."
Terry lets go of her wrists and leans back on his haunches, pulling his knee off of her. Jazz flips over and sits cross-legged, rubbing her wrists as she glares at him.
"What was your dream about?" He asks when Jazz doesn't continue.
"My mom." The dryness of her tone piques his curiosity.
"And? Did something happen?"
Jazz's pink eyes bore into his blue ones before she replies, "Yeah."
"What?"
"You ask too many questions."
"Noted. You were saying?"
"Forget it," she sighs as she rises.
"Jazz," Terry scolds as he stands. "If you want this partnership to work, you'll need to open up a little more than that."
"Our partnership is fine; it's been fine the last six months, hasn't it?"
"That's not guaranteeing anything. Look, take it from someone who's been on the job for five years: you're not gonna last long here if you don't have someone you could vent to, and something tells me Bruce won't be volunteering to be that person. So the reason I'm asking you to open up is for your own sake."
She hesitates as she considers this, letting each haunting secret to flow through her mind as she calculates the risks of letting them out. Although they've been weighing her down for a long time, she decides against giving in to the temptation, somehow believing that remaining unattached is the only way she can protect herself. She locks her pink eyes with his and stubbornly shakes her head.
"No," she states, turning away.
But Terry's patience has been pushed too far; he grabs her arm forcing her to stay, to face him, to answer to him.
"Know that I'm done waiting, Douglas," he replies, his brow creasing into an angry glare.
He lets go of her arm before stalking off, leaving Jazz to toil with feelings of guilt and fury. Bruce's eyes follow his protégé as he moves to the medical station on the main floor. He watches him open a cupboard, pull out an ice pack, then slam it shut before crushing the bag in his hand with unnecessary force.
"Something on your mind?" Bruce starts as Terry shakes the bag to activate the contents within it. Once the ice forms, he presses it against the wrist Inque had crushed during their almost fatal encounter seven months ago.
"I don't want to talk about it," Terry mumbles, taking a seat on the steel table. Bruce lets a few quiet minutes pass, innately knowing Terry isn't done; and as if on cue, the young man continues, "I mean, who the hell does she think she is? Some burned spy who's led a life of assassination and she'd have to kill me if she talks?" Bruce quietly listens, knowing not to interrupt the boy's chance to vent. "I've been patient, and I trust your judgment, but does she really expect to work with me when I know nothing about who she is or where she came form? For all I know, she could be a freakin' alien planning to suck my brains out when I'm not looking. God, I just don't get her," he finishes with a sigh.
After allowing a short moment of pause to pass, Bruce swivels his chair around to face the console. "She isn't a spy," he finally says, making Terry scoff. "She isn't an alien, either."
"Would have explained a lot if she was," he shakes his head, knowing if he wasn't so pissed, Bruce's comments would have made him grin.
He gingerly rolls his hand, wincing once when his wrist responds to the movement with a sharp pain.
"I just don't know what to do anymore," Terry confesses, his eyes turning down with shame for having given up on her so easily.
"You don't have to do anything, McGinnis. Just let her be."
"This coming from a man who prides himself on never having to rely on his sidekicks." Bruce shoots him a glare menacing enough to make him mumble an apology. "I didn't mean it; I'm just on edge."
Bruce lets the insult go, understanding Terry's frustrations are what drive him to spout things he doesn't mean, but they aren't baseless. The boy is right; working with someone you know little about can get irksome, which can lead to consequential distraction. The drive to protect Terry from getting hurt again almost prompts Bruce to just confess what Jazz had told him in confidence. Good thing almost doesn't count.
"She'll come around eventually," he tries reassuring the young man.
"Whatever," he sighs with indifference as he looks away. He really is giving up on her.
Not knowing what else to say, Bruce hesitantly returns to his work, wondering what Alfred would have done if Terry had come sulking to him.