DesertedMirage Says: Thanks for the PMs and reviews, guys!

Here's some action (in more ways than one)...

"Wait here and keep an eye out, I'll be right back." Terry's voice instructed over the communicator.

I settled into my cool, leather seat with a sigh, folding my arms over my chest. "That's the same thing I was doing on my laptop before. Now I just have a costume and car." I puffed, running a finger along the thruster handles of my bat mobile jet.

"Yeah, well, you're still in training."

Batman flew off into the darkness of Old Gotham, leaving me seated inside of my jet, wrapped in the shadows near the pier.

"Everything in time," Bruce's gruff yet quiet tone interrupted my thoughts. "Some of the most important work is done behind the scenes."

I tapped my fingers on the dashboard, watching Terry's signal on my radar.

Maybe, but Max is the behind the scenes one--not Batgirl.

I sat in silence for the next couple of minutes, scrolling mindlessly through news articles on the computer monitor at my hands.

It was Friday night, the end of a long, drama-filled week. I had trained every day, and this was my first official patrol. One would think I would be glad to be out and about as Batgirl, but it wasn't easy to get into the character when all I was doing was being parked on the sidewalk while Batman did all of the work.

Old Gotham. The only action that took place there were the usual drug and arms shipments. Maybe a raid or two. But nothing had happened recently. The police had virtually given up on stopping the underground crime of the old side of the city, but Batman kept a watchful eye. Many a night I had aided Terry with missions regarding Old Gotham, if you could even call them "missions," as they were almost always easily solved within a night's patrol. Catch the crook, throw him in jail--maybe a Joker or a random drug dealer. Was this really all being a hero was dished up to be?

I shifted restlessly. My legs seemed too long for the car, or maybe I was just dying to move.

A light flickered on the water, in the distance and more than a mile away. A light fog hung on the lake's surface.

There was something…familiar about this particular part of the pier, something about the buildings to my right, lining the docks.

Tapping my finger on the screen, I brought up the view through Batman's eyes. He was standing outside of a warehouse, a broken down and very formidable-looking warehouse.

I rubbed my chin, then began to run searches into the computer on Old Gotham's warehouses. A few mundane news stories popped up, until my eyes narrowed upon one in particular.

Russian jewels. Apparently, a rare collection of jewelry had gone missing in the past few months. One of the items contained a tracker, though, and its last signal had emitted from somewhere near Gotham Ports.

My eyes widened. But I still didn't know why the warehouse Terry was investigating was so familiar to me…

Why hasn't Bruce caught this story yet?

I argued with myself. Should I tell Terry?

"Uh…Ter--I mean Batman,"

"Hmm?"

"Um, I think something's off about this place."

"Whatever."

I exhaled a sigh. "Don't you think should, you know, be a little more careful? You could be poking around some important stuff."

"Not likely."

Batman continued to shuffle boxes around, crawling on his hands and knees and investigating, not making much of an effort to maintain his cover.

It could be a trap…

Finally having been able to take no more of the sitting and waiting, I exited the vehicle.

"He has it under control," spoke Bruce, but I kept walking, beginning to feel the familiarity even stronger.

Somethingwas off about this place--though I couldn't explain why, I knew that something was distinctly wrong. Someone powerful and sophisticated was hiding something here; this wasn't just another Jokerz hideout…

I let myself in through the hole Terry had carved into one of the dirt-caked windows, keeping my eyes on the lookout.

Boxes were everywhere, scattering the floor. It was dark, and the only light was muted moonlight pushing through the windows. Finally I spotted Batman, lying motionless on the ground a few yards ahead.

"Terry!"

Batman shot to his feet, bumping his head on a crate as he did so. "What are you doing here?!" he hissed while rubbing his forehead. "And I thought I told you not to call me that!"

"Sorry!" I whispered harshly, feeling my cheeks grow hot from shame. "Look, I did some research on the shipments and other activity here, and I think this is a pretty big hideout--"

"It's just the Jokerz," he quickly silenced with a wave of his hand, still scowling.

"Or international jewel thieves."

Batman frowned and stared at me. "No," he shook his head after giving it some thought. "Not everything in this job is action and jewelry raids--though you may want it to be."

I glared at his remark, but remained cool as I dropped to one knee to study the crates myself. "Then what would the Jokerz want with…" my sentence trailed off as I began to open the case.

Batman stepped forward. "Wait, what are you--"

Too late.

I had pulled the top from the box, and after I had flicked on my flashlight, both of us gazed in amazement at the twinkling, blood-red rubies inside.

"Uh…" Batman's jaw dropped.

Pressing my hands on my hips, I slowly twisted my neck around to look at Batman.

"Well?" I said expectantly.

He sniffed, crossing his arms. "It's only costume jewelry."

I rolled my eyes in frustration. "We'll find out."

I took a ruby into my hands, holding it flat on my palm as the suit analyzed it.

Batman impatiently tapped his foot.

"There, rubies--" I started to exclaim in triumph when the analysis was complete.

"Of some sort! You won't know the origin until we get back to the main computer and run a thorough test. Now why don't you go back to the car before you blow our cover?" Batman wagged his head in disapproval, then began to move off to another crate.

I clenched my teeth together.

Bruce, who hadn't yet managed to get a word in edgewise, suddenly spoke, "A little too late for that."

Batman and I whipped around, our eyes hastily scanning our surroundings.

And then came the laughter.

"Jokerz," muttered Batman.

One by one from the shadows, they appeared, some standing up from behind a crate or sliding in through a window or trap-door.

Their painted faces glowed eerily in the dim lighting, their teeth crooked and bright on their sneering faces. A sick sort of cackle escaped them, and chains, baseball bats and brass knuckles rested in their grip.

A chill writhed up my spine. This wasn't my first exposure to Jokerz, yet still…

"OOoooh," snickered a chubby one wearing a cowboy hat and goggles. "Looks like Batboy's finally got a girlfriend!"

The others hooted with laughter.

They circled us, staring and smirking, some twitching with anticipation to strike.

I expected Batman to make his usual witty (albeit corny) comeback, but instead he remained silent, focused.

I followed suit, still barely knowing what I was doing. Suddenly I wasn't feeling quite so anxious to be Batgirl anymore…

A knife gleamed in a female Joker's grip. I watched her closely, nervously, recalling my incident in the alley behind Terra.

"Get outta' here. I'll take them." Batman finally commanded quietly in my direction.

My eyes widened. "Not a chance!"

"Get 'em!" shouted the leader, and the next thing I knew, I was being pummeled from all sides, barely missing a slice from the dagger in the girl's hands before dodging a poison grenade to my left. I lost sight of Batman in all of the action, and was totally preoccupied with staying in one piece.

I rocketed to the ceiling, needing to take a moment to collect myself, to get away from the action. From above, hugging a an air-duct pipe, I could spot Batman skillfully fending off three Jokerz at once.

Feeling recharged, I dropped down to the floor, landing on the shoulders of the chubby one. With a flip, he was grounded and unconscious. A tall, thin Joker was quick to avenge his friend, and his baseball bat caught a painful piece of my ribcage. I marveled, though, at how much the suit's armored skin must have protected me from what could have been a deadly fracture.

Terry's got it rougher than I thought out here!

I was getting hit more than I would have liked to for my first fight, but holding them off nonetheless. After maybe a couple more minutes of brawling, I was hurled through a wall of crates. This marked my first bone-crushing hit, and I experienced intense pain as I lay somewhat dazed for a few seconds.

Holding my head and side, I slowly pulled myself up from the pile of boxes, staggering back to the action…or lack thereof.

Everything had ceased, and all eyes were on me.

I blinked, trying to re-correct my vision.

"Ter--" I stopped myself from saying his name again out of habit.

He was in a chokehold, held firmly by the ring-leader.

"Pupils, we have a new student in class!" announced the ring-leader with a toothy grin. "And I think she deserves a quiz!"

"So here's the question," chimed the girl, snapping her bubble gum as she spoke.

"What exactly did you see in that crate back there?" barked the tall, lanky one with the bat.

"And if you answer wrong, Batboy here will get a tad beat up," he snickered.

What was I supposed to do? Was it a trap? Suddenly I felt like the absolute worst possible candidate for Batgirl.

"Don't tell him." Batman spoke steadily.

But I can't lie--they must've seen us and heard us…

Bruce was silent. I decided to go with my gut.

"Rubies," I spoke confidently, "a whole case of them. They're the missing collection from Russia, aren't they?"

"Well, well, well," grinned the ring-leader. "He's picked a smart sidekick," he taunted, but kept his grip firm on Batman. "But, er, um, that ain't exactly the right answer. I mean, what would mere Jokerz like us want with something as fancy as--what did she say again fellas? Rubies?! Rubies?!"

Apparently, my answer must've struck the insane, hysterical laughter reflex, and the warehouse filled once again with wild cackling.

I clenched my fists, wondering if they were going to unhand Terry.

Still trying to get a hold of himself, the ring-leader cocked his head behind him to a row of crates, and the girl skipped along to slash them open. Beneath piles of packaging peanuts and foam were prank items--whoopee cushions, rubber chickens, red clown noses and masks.

The look of bewilderment on my face caused them to laugh all the more.

But how? There were rubies in those exact same crates just a minute ago!

"Sorry, toots. We just do it for the thrill, just for laughs--and a little bit of blood. But…perhaps you should be the one apologizing--to Batboy here."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because you answered incorrectly and invaded our privacy," he shrugged. "Somebody's gotta' pay."

The Jokerz closed in ominously upon Batman, and I rushed forward.

We were back into the action, fighting, defending. What we didn't see during it all was that the crates had been swapped. But to us, all was now a pointless fight with the Jokerz street gang.

After taking some hard hits, we had beat the Jokerz enough to make a getaway.

The cold water was like a shock to my face, and I choked as I breathed some of it into my nose. Coughing, I grabbed a paper towel and patted my face dry. I rinsed the blood down the sink, trailing from the cut on my lip. It wasn't much to wince over…not compared to Terry's wounds, that is…

I shut off the water and trashed the paper towel, then grabbed my things and left the bathroom.

I ran into Terry in the hallway, dressed in his street clothes and holding an icepack to his bruised neck, an arm wrapped around his bludgeoned side.

I stepped forward to help him walk, but he shoved my hands away and forced his way past me.

Silently, I followed him into the main corridor, then stopped as I watched him leave and get into his car. The engine revved angrily before it disappeared into a low zoom in the distance.

Bruce was sitting in his chair before the computer, mute since we had arrived.

I stood staring at the metal doors through which Terry had exited, until my eyes slowly slid down to the ground, my bag hanging limply in my grasp. My own shoulder was aching, but I ignored it.

You've ruined the role of Batgirl, Max. You're a failure. You screwed up. If you hadn't jumped the gun and barged into the warehouse, you wouldn't have gotten him so beat up in that fight.

"I'll call for a cab," Bruce said in a neutral voice, tapping a number into his phone.

I didn't reply, and took my cue to wait up in the mansion's front room for the taxi.

My foot was on the first step leading out of the cave when Bruce spoke again, "And this is for you."

Slowly, I turned, walked back and scooped up the white envelope sitting on the desk to his right. He didn't speak again or turn around when I left.

Back in my room at my apartment, with my door closed and muscles attempting to relax into the soft bedding, I remembered the envelope I had subconsciously tucked into my purse.

Rolling over with a light grunt from my bruises, I picked it up and opened it.

1,600 creds. But I hardly felt I deserved them.

I shifted, rolling over onto my side. Sunlight warmed on my face, and I opened my eyes to see it delicately streaming in through my window. I closed my eyes again, still trying to remember the day before.

Terry…the warehouse, the fight…it was my fault… My soreness seemed to have multiplied, and the twinge in my back brought everything to complete remembrance. I tried to allow myself to relax, and the soothing rush of the air from the ducts began to lull me back to sleep.

It was a lazy, quiet Saturday morning, and I didn't have to be at Terra until 10.

My slumber was quickly interrupted, though, by clinking and clattering in the kitchen. A warm rush of bacon and pancakes slowly slipped beneath my door and into my room. I opened my eyes, suddenly feeling famished. When I tried to press myself up with my arms to a sitting position on the bed, nothing happened. My strength seemed to have left. Exerting myself a little more, and with lots of wincing, I was finally able to get up. Grimacing, I swung my aching legs over the edge of the bed, then stood up.

The room swam for a moment, and I grabbed the back of my swivel chair when my knees buckled. Bad idea, it slipped and I fell to the floor.

Ugh, it's like a bad hangover, only my whole body feels it…

It took another minute or two to summon the strength and endurance to stand up, and once I was onto my feet, it was straight to the shower. While the water heated, I brushed my teeth (gingerly, due to my cut lip) and surveyed my bruises in the mirror. I hissed at my own touch.

So this is what Ter goes through every week…what he's going through right now, thanks to me…

I stifled my guilt and quickly turned back to the shower. The mirror hadn't gotten foggy yet, and I frowned.

Placing my hand into the massaging stream from the showerhead, I was shocked to find that it was ice cold. My mouth hung open in disbelief. I had let it run for a good five minutes, it should have been hot by then!

Grumbling, I waited some more, then tested the water again. Still cold.

My eyes roamed the bathroom. Alicia's towel was hanging on the rack, and her spa items were scattered about the sink.

Thinks she can take an hour long bubble bath and use up all of the hot water, huh?

I was so angry that I flung my toothbrush clear across the room. It landed into the toilet.

"AAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGH!"

I stood still in the bathroom, the ice cold water steadily running, and Alicia, comfy and warm in the kitchen, probably ignoring the roar she had certainly heard me bellow.

After taking a moment to calm myself enough to think clearly, I finally made up my mind. I would hate myself for it, but I couldn't stand not showering at all.

I must have yelled through the whole shower (all 3 minutes of it) and when I was done, my body was numb, yet now the bruises somehow hurt worse.

I pulled on a baggy shirt and pants, then left the bathroom with messy, barely-dried hair.

I headed for the kitchen. Once inside, I paused in my tracks. Sure enough, Alicia was actually home for a change, seated at the table.

But this wasn't what made me halt. It was the green plaster clinging to her face, her puffy afro of hair, pink bathrobe and fluffy bunny slippers that stared back at me. She was stuffing her face with sugary cereal, eating out of a gigantic cooking bowl, with plates of remnants of bacon and pancakes surrounding her. She was slurping and breathing heavily as though she had never seen food in all of her life.

"What?" she finally shot, apparently equally as pissed as I was.

I held up my hands and averted my eyes. I didn't want any trouble (I had coaxed myself into letting her hot-water-stealing go before I left my room). All it would take is one wrong word, and we would certainly slaughter one another. I realized with a smirk how good of a thing it was that she had been conveniently away with her car and boyfriend whenever I was home.

I opened the pantry and reached for the Fruit Loops, eager to soothe my nerves with a couple of bowls. My hand, however, grasped an empty box.

"What in the--" I stopped myself. No need to get upset any more than I already was.

I breathed a sigh. So Alicia had chosen to eat all of the cereal. No big. I would survive.

I'm feeling toast this morning anyway.

Alicia munched loudly from behind, then slurped the milk again. I cringed. I HATED slurping. She was trying (and succeeding) to annoy me.

I gathered a breath and began my quest for the bread. I had just used it the night before, it should be here somewhere…

"If you're looking for the bread," began Alicia through a mouthful, "we're out."

I straightened from where I had been bending before the pantry.

"Somebody chose not to do the grocery shopping this week," she concluded accusingly.

My blood began to simmer.

Don't speak to her, Max. She's just trying to bug you. Eat something else and move on.

Ignoring her to the best of my tested ability, I opened the freezer and chose a box of frozen spaghetti, since all of the breakfast food was gone. Alicia's eyes followed me as I moved about the kitchen, preparing an unorthodox breakfast. With my food spinning on the turntable of the microwave, I waited for it to finish cooking, standing with arms crossed, muscles taught and jaw clenched.

Alicia cleared her throat after a moment, twirling her spoon. She then proceeded to smirk to herself, thus causing her to choke on her cereal. She now sat on the edge of her seat, coughing and gagging. I briefly raised an eyebrow at her, then returned my gaze to the microwave. She had now keeled over and fallen out of the chair.

After a minute or two, she slowly pulled herself back up to her seat, trying to appear as though nothing had happened.

She cleared her throat again.

"I noticed you got in late last night."

I kept my mouth closed.

"Again."

I watched the food closely, focusing all of my being and might on the box of spaghetti.

"You know this is, like, the hundredth time you've been getting in late, Max. And don't act like I don't know your work schedule."

My throat began to gurgle with anger, my hands were twitching. Why must she do this to me? If she would only shut her mouth…

I am going to die. I am going to die from stifling my anger.

Munch munch.

"So I've been worrying an' all."

Munch. Slurp.

"An' I think it's only one possible thing that could be keeping you out like that."

Munch. Crunch. Slurp. Slobber. Sputter.

"Are you dating Terry McGinnis like I always knew you eventually would?"

I have no earthly clue as to how I managed to keep from leaping over the island, onto the kitchen table and curling my fingers around her throat.

I was staring so hard and passionately at the spinning box of frozen food that the rest of my view was going black.

"Well,"

Slurp.

"I think we need to have a little talk with Mom, 'cause you've got a lot of nerve carrying on like this--and with McGinnis, of all people."

Crunch crunch. Slurp slurp.

"I mean, I know you're in love with him and all but--MAX!"

(I suppose it's easy to guess what I did next.)

"IF. YOU. EVER. TALK. ABOUT. TERRY. MCGINNIS. AGAIN. OR. INTERFERE. IN. ANY. WAY. SHAPE. OR. FORM. WITH. MY. PRIVATE. LIFE. I. SWEAR. I'LL. MURDER. YOU!!!"

We went hurdling over the table (which overturned under my weight) and onto the floor, milk and cereal flying from Alicia's bowl and into our hair. The syrup bottle toppled over onto the floor, and we rolled around through puddles of sticky gunk, pulling each other's hair--screaming, yelling, shouting.

Alicia somehow managed to kick me off of her, and I slid back into the island, hitting it hard enough to knock a scorching hot pot of coffee over and right onto my head.

My scream must have been heard across the apartment complex, but Alicia merely grinned evilly. Without a second thought, I grabbed the pitcher of coffee and hurled what was left of it onto her.

Alicia shrieked and sobbed and swatted at her dampened afro. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"

"BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT UP!!"

"OH SO NOW YOU WANT TO FIGHT, HUH?!"

"BRING IT ON!"

I ripped open the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, crawled over to Alicia and poured it over her head. Once I was finished, she glared daggers at me and snatched the syrup bottle from the floor. With a satisfied smile, she squirted it into my face.

Hollering, I lunged again, but she rolled out of the way and got up to run off. I grabbed the back of her robe and she came crashing down to the floor.

Finally, I had pinned her. My leg kicked the table and more hot liquid came showering down onto us. We both screamed in agony.

"WHY DO YOU NEED TWO JUGS OF COFFEE, YOU IDIOT!?" I shrieked.

"IT'S CALLED HOT WATER FOR MY OATMEAL, YOU DORK, NOT COFFEE!!"

We both sat seething for a moment, until Alicia reached up to her hair. "OH MY GOD! My hair! This is all your fault, Max!!"

My eyebrows shot up. "My fault!?"

"Well, yeah. You're the one who tried to kill me!"

I glowered menacingly at Alicia, having had all I could take of her. Bolting off to her room, I grabbed her favorite teddy bear from the bed and ran back to the kitchen. I walked past Alicia to snatch a knife, then stood before her.

"If you don't swear to me here and now that you won't poke your nose into my business anymore, then Mr. Fluffles here is gonna' wish he'd never been purchased!" I hissed, knife to the teddy bear's throat, ready to decapitate.

Alicia's eyes grew wide with horror. "YOU WICKED GIRL!" In a heartbeat she had tackled me to the ground and I was beating her back with the bear when the doorbell rang.

With a final shove, she was up and away, locked in her room with her precious bear.

After another angry shout, I somehow got up and looked through the peephole. The landlord. Great.

"Ms. Gibson we'd appreciate if you kept it down! And your rent is two weeks due!"

I puffed a sigh, then wiped the syrup from my eyes and stalked to my room for my purse.

"Just a second, Mr. King!"

Oh well. At least we aren't going to get evicted.

Come noon, Terra was practically overflowing, yet I was simply too busy anticipating my date with Nick to care. Batgirl had been given the night off, thanks to Bruce (and I wouldn't count out Terry wanting his space for the night, either). I hardly expected McGinnis to come pick me up and take me home as he usually did (even on weekends) when I got off, as we hadn't spoken since the Jokerz fight in Old Gotham.

I had succeeded in stuffing my guilt over the incident for most of the day, but I remembered Terry's angry exit from the Batcave during the quiet bus ride home from work.

At my apartment, I showered, dressed and primped, all while struggling to shake Terry from my thoughts. I wore a black, turtle-neck dress that reached just below the knees, and leather, spiked-heel boots.

My hair, which I had been growing out all season, was now touching my shoulders. I pinned my bang to the side with a rhinestone clip.

I let out a laugh while standing before the mirror in my room, realizing I was a bit over-dressed for laptop shopping.

Oh well. He did mention dinner…

The doorbell rang. I swiped up my phone, purse, and hurried for the door.

Nick stood with a wide grin on his face, dressed in a black jacket over a white shirt, and black slacks. "I hope you're wearing dancing shoes."

It was called Milogna Café. The aura inside was alive, moving, yet very laid back. Dramatic, authentic tango music set the mood, and all was a mixture of shadow and light. Waiters balanced trays of food while couples twirled on a hardwood dance floor in the middle of the room, beneath red-tinted lights. The air was slightly warm, and everything seemed to have a pulse.

"Table for two?"

Nick nodded to the maitre d', who then proceeded to lead us to a corner booth, passing couples coolly sipping wine over dinner.

"Wow, this is…" my voice trailed as I looked about the place, once we were alone.

"Is it alright?" Nick quickly asked, concern passing across his features.

I fumbled for a reply. "Oh no, of course. I love it. I've heard of this place, but I've never been here before," I smiled. "I didn't know it was so…" I shrugged, "so great."

Nick smiled in return, and we began to scan our menus.

"I'm glad you like it. I know you were probably expecting Italian, but this is the one place I've actually frequented since I've moved to Gotham."

I looked up. "You're a regular here?"

Nick chuckled. "Well…" he blushed slightly.

"Nicholas, who's your friend?" interrupted a tall, red-haired waitress as she arrived, setting down glasses of ice-water. She looked a couple of years older than I, with a sociable, cool demeanor.

"Jenna, this is Max Gibson," introduced Nick. "Max, this is Jenna,"

"Ah, so you're the girl Nick's been dying to bring here," smiled Jenna knowingly, pulling out her handheld to take our orders.

I chewed my lip, feeling my cheeks redden. "Nice to meet you."

Jenna herself looked like one of the skilled dancers out on the floor, and was dressed in black leggings and heels.

"Jenna's a miracle-worker, Max," Nick laughed. "She taught me to tango."

I chuckled, and Jenna rolled her eyes.

"He's exaggerating. He's a natural," she spoke over to me with a wink. "What can I get you guys to eat? I'm just getting off the clock, but I heard you were here and figured I could get you started on some drinks."

"Shirley Temple, Max?" Nick asked me. "Don't worry--it's dry."

"Sure." I nodded, still staring at the dance floor, amazed at the precision in the steps. Their legs flicked, heads snapped and feet slid to the steady tango rhythm.

"Two Shirley Temples," repeated Jenna with a quick tap into her handheld. "Alright, I'll send these back and let you decide on your dinner."

"Oh, um," I stopped her. "When does the dance lesson start?"

Jenna stared for a moment, then smiled with a glance between Nick and I. "Whenever your teacher sees fits."

As she walked off, I sat in confusion, but Nick was smiling.

"It's kind of a seek and find place, when it comes to learning the tango," he explained.

"Oh," I reached for my water glass, feeling embarrassed.

Our main course arrived, and the music continued to play. When we were finished eating, we both sat watching the dancers in silence, starting short conversations every now and then.

I watched as more couples flooded the floor when a slower, passionate-sounding tango began to play. I felt Nick's eyes on me, then turned to him with a smile.

"They're really good…"

He nodded, then suddenly scooted out of his seat and stood up, extending his hand. "Let me teach you."

My eyes widened. I guess it wasn't that I hadn't exactly been expecting (and secretly hoping) that this would happen, but still…

My heartbeat quickened at the thought.

I'll make an idiot of myself out there with all of those professionals!

Yet all it took was a smile from Nick, and I had placed my hand into his.

We walked to the very edge of the dance-floor, away from the crowd. We stood in the standard closed tango hold, which was practically an embrace. The music was so loud, and we were standing so close, that Nick had to say into my ear, "Think of the tango as walking, but to a certain beat. Follow this rhythm."

And then we were moving. With Nick stepping forward and myself stepping backwards, we danced a simple tango. I picked up the walk relatively quickly, and soon we were able to add a few leg flicks and fancier footwork. We laughed lightly when we stepped on each other's toes, having a good time dancing together.

After I had learned a good bit of tango basics, I was asked to dance by an older gentleman, who taught me more steps and technique as Nick looked on smilingly. Later, I watched Nick tango with one of the professional dancers on the floor, marveling at his skill.

By the time we finally left the dance floor, ready to leave, we had been at the Milogna Café for a good three hours, and I had become well-acquainted with the friendly regulars whom Nick already knew.

"It's raining," I commented as we stood in the vestibule of the restaurant, looking out the windows at the wet parking lot.

"I'll bring up the car," Nick readied his keycard, but I stopped him, touching his arm.

"No, it's okay. I don't really mind the rain," I said.

He smiled at me. "We'll have to make a run for it, then."

Without thinking, we reached for each other's hand.

We bolted out the doors, laughing as we jogged through the pouring rain. I felt the wind whipping through my hair and the rain on my face as we made a mad dash for Nick's car. I splashed through deep puddles, getting quite soaked, but I didn't care. I was having fun.

I opened the passenger door and swung inside. Nick got into his seat at about the same time.

We shut the doors on the noisy weather, and suddenly there was muted pattering as we sat panting and dripping from head to toe. You could hear only the rain drumming on the roof of the sedan--muted and peaceful.

"I've always liked that sound," I commented as I tried to catch my breath.

"What sound?" asked Nick as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Rain on the outside of a car while I'm in it," I leaned my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes, a smile slowly forming on my face. "Maybe also on my bedroom window when I wake up on a rainy Saturday morning. Or when I'm reading a book…" I opened my eyes and looked over at him.

Nick was gazing intently, aurora-like eyes locked into mine, brown hair clinging to his brow. Raindrops slid down his nose and onto his lips.

I found myself hypnotized as he tilted his head down closer. I slowly closed my eyes and could feel the warmth of his forehead on mine. His lips weren't far from mine when suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder.

We both opened our eyes and jumped.

"Um…I guess it's more than just rain, huh?" Nick chuckled, then started the engine.

I cleared my throat and smiled, feeling warm despite the water on my skin. "Yeah…yeah I guess so."

Nick dropped me off at my apartment, as it had begun to storm and all of the computer stores were closed anyway. We said goodnight at my door after planning to buy the replacement laptop another time.

As I lay in my warm bed, I fell asleep hearing the romantic tango violin in my ears, remembering the feeling of Nick's arms wrapped around me.

"What's with the hoodie? And why the limp?"

"Don't exactly wanna' be recognized in Ellington's, Chelse."

"And the limp?"

Terry didn't answer this question, and instead kicked his toe against a clothes rack in the crowded department store.

"Street-fighting again?"

"No," he replied shortly and somewhat crossly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. With a grumble, he was sauntering off, face down.

Chelsea rolled her eyes, pushing her arms through the sleeves of her denim jacket.

"Okay, okay, I'm only joking," she said as she caught up with him. "So I was thinking Say-So's or Knight's, then maybe Faze. What do you think?"

Terry frowned as they ambled out of Ellington's and into the loud, bustling Gotham mall traffic.

Say-So's…Knights…Faze--these were all places where he usually shopped anyway…

"I'm thinking I don't know what's going on," he rubbed his jaw line, noting the stubble he had forsaken to shave that morning. "I thought you were turning me into a prep."

Chelsea chuckled, sliding her red-tinted shades onto her head. "You're so paranoid," she spoke smoothly. "I only said that to show that I was serious…and because I was a little angry."

"At me?" Terry questioned dryly.

"Well yeah…" admitted Chelsea as gently as she could. "I talked to Max. She's pretty miserable these days."

Terry didn't respond, his gaze remaining straight ahead.

They wove between a large group of pre-teens, and when they fell back in step Chelsea added, "And something tells me you might have had just a tad to do with it."

"Chelsea, I didn't come to be guilt-tripped," Terry spoke firmly.

"I know you didn't," she nodded. "I just want to get you two out of angst land--seriously, you're taking this high school drama thing a little too seriously."

"You don't know the half of it," muttered Terry, eyeing a love struck young couple a few feet ahead, holding hands. "Nothing I could say or do could ever affect her… I'm invisible, to Max."

Chelsea breathed a heavy sigh. "Again with the angst. Honestly…" she rolled her eyes, then switched tactics. "So assuming you're right--that you can't affect her--then I guess that means you could be cruel to her or talk about her behind her back or--"

"That's not what I meant! Max is my friend and I lo--"

Chelsea smiled as Terry scratched frantically at his head, staring at the floor with reddened cheeks. They had stopped walking, and the traffic brushed by on either side.

"I know you do. And two people in love will always end up hurting each other in some way."

Terry smirked sadly as they started walking again. "Yeah, well, there's only one person in love in this case."

Chelsea sighed her disagreement, then veered off toward Knight's watch store. "C'mon, let's see if we can't find you a watch that rival's Nick Vinelli's."