The Neo Gotham Vigilante's heart beat hard as it raced faster than the vehicle where he was. A truly impressive thing when one considered how the Batmobile had been improved and revised dozens of times over the years. Whenever a new technology appeared so it was integrated. It was integrated with cameras, visors, infrareds and microphones. It allowed near instant communication between Batman and the Batcave, and it could be remotely turned off in case of theft. While that had been the beginning of the relationship, it was through the computers down in the Batcave that Bruce Wayne, former Batman and definitive grump observed and saw what Terry saw.
His heart was accelerated, which was no surprise when one considered just who was in he himself had admitted to never having had much luck with the ladies Bruce had for moments felt the cruel sting of love, Selina - and later Thalia, had touched him in ways no other woman had. As Bruce wayne he had dated and screwed plenty of women - it helped him maintain the persona of Playboy millionaire, but as Batman he had loved. The Neo Batsuit gave him every detail, he could see every muscle and every beat of the young man's heart. McGiniss was tense, that much was clear. His body temperature was elevated and though that could be attributed to the feelings, there was also another underlying cause. The batsuit was perfectly well suited. Its fabric was strong enough to withstand bullets yet it was moldable and held perfectly to the body of whomever wore it. Bruce knew it to not be environmental factors causing the sweat he could detect, or the tension in the muscles, or even the scowl in the face of the young troublemaker. No, it was that girl, Maxine Gibson. And honestly, though Bruce still maintained that his head should be in the job, not on girls, he couldn't blame him. Making sure the microphone wasn't pressed, so as to not show weakness he sighed. It wasn't the first time a Batman got into trouble due to feminine charms. Were he not in mission control he'd remind himself of all the femme fatales who had tried to usher him into a trap...
(break)
If the vehicle didn't have such good suspension that when he flew he couldn't feel it shaking or vibrating through the air, then in all likelihood he would have ground his teeth into a powder. Even so he grinded them with such strength it was a wonder he didn't chip them. Along with the veins he knew to be protruding through his arm even if he couldn't see them, that made him realise just how angry he was.
Old man Wayne, Bruce, the Bats, whatever he wanted to call him had always told him to clear his head and assess the situation. Even when everything and everyone were against him, he should keep that on the back of his mind and focus on the task at hand. And Bruce should know, he had shared some details about something called CADMUS. Yet, quite honestly Terry didn't know if he would be able to do that.
It wasn't as if he were going to simply ignore the situation, no, of course not. Max was in danger, that was a problem. He had the solution in his suit-enhanced punches. He was going to make Mad Stan pay for his actions, or attempts at action. Yet if the old man expected him to take it calmly he had another thing coming.
He was sure he was going to listen to another earful if he proceed as he planned, but it wasn't as if he could quite help it. In his mind there was no room for coherent thought, or logic, he wasn't about to engage in the shadows, striking fear in the heart of criminals. No, he was a young offender, a brawler. Words meant nothing, and so did subtle movements through the darkness. He'd just let his fists do the talking. No matter how many times the old man tried to instil the "Dark Knight" senses into him, that didn't mean much when the ones he cared about were in danger and Max...or as Bruce had put it, that Gibson girl, she definitely was in that list.
Despite the Bat's vehicle being amongst the fastest there was, almost as fast as the Flash, or a flying Kryptonian he still felt it too slow. A growl was building in the back of his throat as he felt the urge to put his fist through the panels, hitting them. It wasn't as if they would break, but still a mouthful from Max - who'd exclaim the wonders of the technology, as well as Bruce, who had poured in the dollars stopped him from doing so.
Who knew what else Max was doing at the moment? His phone call had dropped, he hadn't been able to connect. He hoped she were somewhere safe, but he knew better, even in the 2030's few building could whistand the blasts of the kind of bombs Mad Stan had. The explosives had also seen an upgrade in their potency, and most of Gotham hadn't been rebuilt, no, rather they were old buildings, hundreds or dozens of years old and repurposed with flashy- but weak - paint and addictions.
The fact that they were friends meant that the Neo-Batman didn't have to ask to input her name on the computer to find where she lived. Though in the state he was in he had done just that. The Automatic Pilot of the Batmobile was an asset that Terry knew he could count on, and, with his mind in the state it was in, he felt thankful for it. Max was one hell of a girl, but the fact was she wasn't bullet or explosion proof. And a nagging worry - as well as a inconsumable rage, were starting to build in his head.
It was a lot like a pressure in his skull, a headache as it added up to the lack of sleep and teenage romantic hijinks he had had that very same day just seemed to never end. And while he was used to pulling nights - talking to Mr Wayne or - more often than not - Max was at least a distraction from the dull ache that built in his muscles. The suit helped - it was an engineering marvel after all, but still he was only human. No matter how much of a reputation and figure the Bat was to criminals around the city, and a symbol of hope for the common people, Terry was little more than a teenager. He knew how to fight, sure, and he had the best mission control imaginable, but still, just a kid, as Mr Wayne had put it.
It wasn't until he had no one to talk to that the tiredness had begun to show. He might stumble in the mornings, but usually the nights were the fun parts, he got to thrash goons and serve justice while doing it. If there was anything that he could say it was that it wasn't tedious - in fact it made his heart beat faster and faster. He usually loved it, it was the thrill of a street fighter mixed with the sense of justice of doing the right thing. But then usually the goons didn't even approach those he cared about.
The trip seemed to last for an eternity but the clock indicated otherwise, as he approached the center of Gotham, near a residential area no more than 20 minutes had passed. It wasn't very long in the grand scheme of things, but it was long enough for Terry to imagine a million and one scenarios, most of which didn't end well for Max. It was maddening knowing that even if he had the speed advantage Mad Stan had the proximity advantage. It was a race, a wicked, spine chilling one.
While the old rogue gallery of villains, the ones who his mentor had faced were clever ones. Deceitful and eager to try and confuse and illude, Terry found that none of that cleverness was present with Mad Stan. The clue was in the name, really. While he had fought shape shifters, and those who could change his perception, it was Mad Stan who worried him more, when it came to him getting close to someone he cared about. Because he had no motive, he had no plan and he had no goal. He was, quite literally mad as a hatter.
And while Commissioner Gordon did her best, Barbara wasn't really in such a spot where she could do much more. She did her job, her police force, with a little help of Terry, caught the criminals. No, the problem was when they escaped. Arkham Asylum had been closed for decades, and yet the prisoners weren't held any more tightly. They kept escaping, and that was a bane in Terry's sleep. He did not know the reason - going to investigate, invisible, he had seen the great big hole in the cell - but Mad Stan kept running and running. It wasn't as if he was particularly smart, or at least he didn't appear so, but he was good with the home made devices. And he could craft bombs out of most anything.
Terry sighed. The pressure in his shoulders seemed enormous. It wasn't like back at school where, while he wasn't exactly the most popular guy he handled stuff, with the help of his tech wiz and friend. No, it was as if he couldn't relax. And with the day he had had, he'd like to relax.
It was anger that propelled him forward and it was anger that helped push his movements forward. He docked and landed the batmobile, turning it invisible. So far he had heard none of the screams or booms associated with Mad Stanley, but he knew better than to be relieved at the fact he had arrived first. If indeed he had done so, then that was good, but by no means solved his problem.
Attaching himself to the walls Terry started climbing. The vehicle he had driven, or rather been driven itself was remarkably quiet, and it would take someone who was playing quite an intent attention to notice any so he didn't expect Max, if she were alright, to be expecting him. Not even the sensors she had placed in her room, from her half a dozen crazy science projects could detect the Batmobile, at least, not that he knew of, he wouldn't put it past her to manage at some point. He felt sheepish as he approached the window, the thought that he'd been intruding on the privacy of his crush quite clear in his head. Not that he had noticed that Mad Stan hadn't exactly gotten Max he allowed himself time to think. As much as he wished to pummel Mad Stan's face, his priority was clear, get Max to safety.
The plan wasn't a hundred percent clear in his head, but one thing was certain in his mind. This situation, with him peering on her window, ready to enter and check for her safety was not at all like all the times they had web chatted, or video chatted. There was a certain sense of invasion of privacy as he pondered the best point of entry. Sure, she had shown him her house a couple times, mostly on study sessions, but that did not give him an intrinsic knowledge of the building.
Luckily for him, though, the scanner in his mask could see through walls. In fact he had the whole layout of the building in the corner of his sight as it had been pulled from Gotham's Archives. Thanking technology for keeping everything connected, and even more so the old man for developing such fast decrypting tools he picked a point of entry. He was certain that what he was doing was the right thing, as certain as he was that explaining his wild heartbeat would be hard to do to Mr Wayne. He hadn't even entered a combat scenario yet.
Getting in was easier than expected, and he had no trouble finding his way around. The lights were on, and there was the delicious smell of cooked noodles coming from what he knew to be the kitchen. It was late, and Terry couldn't see Max's heatwaves in the division, so he figured that to be the rest of her dinner. Seemed some things never changed - while he was more of a fan of Pizza, something he had taken to ordering more and more as his mother seemed distracted - noodles were at the bottom of a college student's food pyramid. With the voice of Mr Wayne telling him to be careful he advanced. Steps muffled, and figure invisible, he didn't fear being caught, but he was cautious nevertheless.
That was when he found her, she had quite clearly fallen asleep against her best efforts. Her chin was on top of a computer's keyboard, her main one, and about 300 pages of "I" had been typed and still ongoing, on the floor was her cell, which he assumed her to have been holding. It was simultaneously the most adorable and dorky vision of Max he had ever seen. And he hated to break it.
Turning himself visible, Terry thought about pulling down the mask, but choose to keep it in case someone showed up. She knew who he was either way. To be this close to Max was tantalizing, she looked so frail, in her sleep. None of that "Strong girl" attitude she projected. Even with the Winter boots and the clothes that would be fit for a punk. He loved her sense of style.
He shook her shoulder, and she mumbled something technical in nature. Unsure of what exactly she meant, and aware that Mr Wayne was observing his every movement he kept gently shaking her until she awoke, she didn't seem very aware of her surroundings however.
"Mmmh, Terr?", she asked recognising the hooded figure, any other girl would have screamed at the sight, but to her it was only the figure of her best friend. With what appeared to be half her brain shut off she didn't even try to be snarky, she was just confused. "What's going o-"
A loud noise was heard and she buried her head in between Terry's shoulders. That had jolted her wide awake, whatever was coming had broken into her apartment, and Terry was there, in his suit, she was quick to make the math she was in danger. She felt no urge to scream, as she knew Terry to be near her, and thinking him more than ready to handle the situation but that didn't mean she didn't feel scared. Her heart beat at a thousand miles per minute and she had the strange thought that Terr could probably hear it.
As debree settled, her computer probably ruined but her figure and body safe, she let go. The eyes of the suit had turned to slits. Terry seemed very, very angry. She stared at him. Trying to give him the encouragement.
"Don't worry", he said, the growl that had been growing in his throat all night coming out. "I got this."
And, just from the way his shoulders stood tall, and his chest puffed, she was ready to believe it.
The fight was on
Author's notes: So the last time this updated was on July 23rd 2016, and, seeing as we're in March of 2018 there was quite a break in between chapters, huh? A lot of things contributed to the fact, and after over 90 oneshots or chapters in other works, I realised I felt capable of finishing this. Something I didn't quite feel prepared or capable of doing at the time. As you can probably guess in those (almost) two years my writing has changed quite a bit. Still I hope you enjoy it. If you any commentary, criticism, or thought, leave a review. Thank you.