"Mom, I'm not falling behind," Terry's irritated voice echoes through the dark hallways leading into the east wing of Wayne Manor.
After his lunch with Jazz, he had decided to head back to the mansion to finish neglected homework and maybe solve some other cases. He received a call from his mother when he arrived a half hour ago, and is now trying to convince her that postponing his graduation date for the second time isn't hurting his academic career. He never liked arguing with his mother in front of people, so he starts wandering into the still deserted parts of the manor knowing he won't be running into anyone there.
"I had to drop a few classes this semester because of schedule conflicts," he explains as he passes by a door that is cracked open.
He finds this strange since he knows Bruce still has many of the unused doors locked. His mentor may have an honest relationship with his protégé, but it doesn't mean he's careless with secrets. He stops in front of the door as he finishes his conversation with his mother. After reassuring her for the fourth time that he will be graduating in one more semester, he hangs up before she could ask about work. He pushes the door open to find a roomful of tarp-covered furniture and the black piano sitting in one corner of the room. Figuring he's in a music room he never knew about, he walks in wondering who could have used it recently.
Terry has always been a curious person, poking his unwanted nose into business that didn't concern him. During the five years he spent working with Bruce, he has gone off countless times to explore the huge estate without Bruce's permission. Eventually, the old man warmed up to Terry and soon many of the closed off rooms were reopened; pieces of furniture, though unused, were uncovered and cleaned; and it wasn't long before the manor slowly returned to its glamorous state. Terry never thought that the rejuvenation of the manor reflected Bruce's spirit, but he noticed a positive change in his mentor, so he never stopped exploring.
He begins pulling the tarps off uncovering the elegant furniture that was hidden away years ago. He has never seen old-world style furniture, so he takes a closer look at the wood detailing carved into the couches and chairs. He continues admiring the artful designs with both his eyes and fingers, forgetting about the reason he drove to the manor in the first place.
With Henry at work and finished with her classes for the day, Jazz decides to head to the manor to practice her self-taught piano lesson. She walks down the hall she is familiar with, but halfway to her destination, the sound of music stops her. Frowning with confusion, she stops short of the open doorway and quietly listens to the harmonious melody coming out, admiring the flowing notes that crescendo perfectly before smoothly quieting down. If she didn't know better, she would have assumed a professional pianist was performing the symphony. When she pokes her head into the room, her brow rises with surprise when she finds Terry seated at the bench focusing on the piano keys he presses.
His fingers flow perfectly over the ivory keys and his memory never wavers as he remembers the next measure just before the previous one ends. As he reaches the symphony's conclusion, he looks up to find Jazz staring at him from the doorway with mouth agape. Returning his gaze to his fingers, he effortlessly finishes the piece before closing the instrument's lid.
"I'm assuming you're the one who uses this room," he says, standing as he steps out from behind the piano.
"That was amazing," Jazz praises walking towards him. "How come you never told me you played?"
Terry shrugs. "Not something I tend to mention."
"How long have you been playing?"
"My parents signed me up when I was a kid, but I stopped taking lessons when I was twelve."
Nervously shifting her weight to her other foot, she enviously stares at the glossy instrument. She has always admired the piano, at one point dreaming about performing moving symphonies with perfection.
"You, uh, you think you could teach me?" She timidly asks.
Amused by her coyness, he gives her a small smile. "You want me to teach you?"
"If you're willing." He gives it a moment's thought before nodding towards the bench, inviting her to sit. "What were you playing?" She asks, hiding her excitement by moving to the piano and lifting the lid.
"Tchaikovsky's June; it's tougher than it sounds. So what do you know so far?"
"Don't laugh, but just a few chords," she replies in a small voice.
"We all start somewhere," he shrugs, easing her initial nervousness.
She's glad Terry is handling her vulnerability with a gentleness she didn't expect. Sensing he'll be just as supportive during the lesson, she slides to the right side of the bench and he sits on the other.
"What do you want to learn?"
She takes out the book she has been studying from and opens it up to a page. Reading over the notes, Terry raises a brow at her. She chose Weber's Perpetuum Mobile, a very complicated piece that even he feels he couldn't perform correctly.
"Uh, how about we start with something simpler."
Flipping through the pages, he finds the perfect piece that provides finger exercises and an easy to learn melody. Open on Hovhaness' Moon Dance, he rests the book on the stand and explains the symbols being used. After showing her how to play the left handed notes a few times, she begins playing it for herself starting slow then speeding up after her mistakes diminish before all together disappearing. With shoulders touching, he asks her to repeat it as he fills in the missing melody with his right hand. Stumbling at first, Jazz gets the hang of it, and as her performance smoothens out, a smile creeps onto her face.
"Relax your fingers," Terry instructs. "Your notes shouldn't sound choppy. Good, there you go."
"You're a better teacher than a sparring partner," Jazz quips still smiling.
"Ever thought it might be because you're a better student?" He counters, intently watching her fingers repeat the same choreography on different keys.
"How am I better?"
"You're actually listening to me," he replies, adding a little trill to the melody that wasn't on the music sheet before playing on.
"I've always listened to you." He raises a disagreeing brow at her. "In my defense, you make it hard when you're constantly telling me what I did wrong."
The comment causes his finger to slip onto the wrong key, breaking the melody for a split second before he corrects himself. It makes him realize that he's adopted Bruce's training style, something he was hoping to avoid since he resents the unmerciful challenges Bruce puts him through before reprimanding him for mistakes and forgetting to compliment him on achievements. He knows first hand how difficult training can be when negativity is the only thing that surrounds him.
"Am I that bad?" Terry asks, looking over at Jazz.
"You are when you're pissed," she replies, her eyes concentrating on her fingers.
He uses his left finger to lift her chin a little. "Keep your eyes on the sheet, your periphs on the keys." The gesture momentarily throws her off, but she quickly corrects herself, intent on hitting the right notes without gazing down.
"It's not that I mind the harsh treatment; Henry used to be a lot less forgiving. It's just, I don't know," she tries to think of the right words. "It's like it doesn't suit you, being that tough, you know?" The sigh that escapes him brings Jazz's apologetic eyes to look at him. "Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you."
He shakes his head. "No, it's not that. I just didn't realize how much of Bruce I let rub off on me."
"You say it like it's a bad thing."
He shrugs. "Too much of Bruce is a bad thing; I mean, come on," he adds, looking over at her with suggestive eyes.
"I guess," she replies, remembering how unsympathetic Terry was during training the other day.
The sound of the soft notes playing harmoniously fills the room for a few minutes before Terry's hand abruptly lifts away, making Jazz stop as well.
"Before all this happened, you were just a job to me," he finds himself quietly confessing while avoiding her gaze. "I clock in by training you, clock out by bandaging your cuts. I didn't really care about anything else."
"I don't blame you," she replies with equal unexpectedness. "I didn't give you a reason to think of me otherwise." He brings his eyes to lock with hers. "I really am sorry, Ter," she apologizes with sincerity he's rarely seen her use.
"So am I," he replies, carefully watching her face, amazed by how different she seems with her vulnerabilities laid out.
For the first time since they met, Jazz feels truly free in his presence, no longer bound by the fear of being judged. It's been a long time since she's felt this way, a smile stretching her lips to show her relief. Who knew learning to play an instrument could help two people get along so well?
"So does this mean you're going to take it easy on me?" She asks, making him scoff.
"Not that much," he replies with a grin, making her eyes roll.
"Can't say I didn't try," she sighs, bringing her attention back to the music sheets. "So, what does that symbol mean?" She asks pointing at a straight line running under the notes, starting and ending with notches.
"Right pedal," he explains, pointing at the three levers beside their feet. "Press down on the first notch, release on the next and so forth. Play your part and I'll show you," he says, placing his foot on the pedal.
They play the sonatina harmoniously, Jazz feeding off of Terry's calm energy as he plays the melody with the kind of gentility musicians can add to any piece.
"You want to try playing my part?" He offers, stopping a few measures from the end.
"Uh, sure," she hesitantly replies.
"Relax, you'll do fine," Terry encourages, moving over just enough so she can reach the right keys.
He explains where her fingers go and demonstrates one last time before handing it over to Jazz.
"Start out slow," he coaches, "and don't worry about making mistakes."
"Easy for you to say, Mozart," she says as she lines her fingers on the appropriate notes.
He ignores her comment and waits for her to start. The first two measures she manages to play slowly but without mishap, but her fingers fumble when she moves on, making her cringe and apologize.
"Sorry for what?" Terry asks, pointing at the next set of notes for her to play.
"I don't know, messing up," she replies, slowing down even more as she tries to coordinate her fingers, each hand trying to master their differing choreography.
"And what are you expecting in return? To be blessed with perfection?"
"You're point, McGinnis?"
"I'm only Mozart because I really sucked when I started."
"Liar."
"You can call my mom and ask her yourself," he replies.
"So how'd you get better?"
"I was competitive."
"Competitive?" She asks raising a brow but keeping her eyes on her fingers.
"You seriously expect a hyper six-year-old boy to actually like the piano?" He counters.
"Good point."
"To motivate me, my teacher turned everything into a competition, rewarding a different winner every week. Only reason I learned my chords in three days."
"So were you like the star prodigy or something?"
"Hardly," he scoffs. "But I was the one who improved the fastest."
"Wait, so you really did suck?"
He nods once as she reaches the measure before the last and stops there. Terry takes over and explains how to play the conclusion since the notes looked alien to her. After she tries it for herself, she looks up at him with grateful eyes, knowing she never would have even gotten this far if he wasn't there to help.
"Can you, uh, play June again?" She asks, hoping to watch his fingers in action this time.
He shrugs and cracks his knuckles as Jazz gives him room to play. His hands drift to the appropriate keys, and after taking a deep breath, he starts the moving piece, playing the first notes with slow, deliberate strokes. He keeps the tempo steady, his flowing hands adding emotion to the music.
She flits her admiring eyes between the graceful hands to his concentrating face, impressed by how in control he is but seeming so carefree. Not a trace of rigidity shows as the tempo suddenly picks up, transforming the piece into a lively one. The speed with which he moves his fingers makes her eyes widen with awe, amazed by the way he maintains the accuracy despite the swiftness before the melody slows down again.
She marvels at his ability to move from an uplifting and energetic section to the original, calming tempo without making the piece seem fragmented. As his fingers drum over the last few notes, quieting down as the sonata comes to an end, he looks over at Jazz to find her eyes wide with wonder.
"You're really good," Jazz praises when he finishes. He timidly places a hand on the back of his neck as he quietly thanks her. "Wow, Terry McGinnis is actually bashful," she teases.
"I don't like performing in front of an audience."
"Even an appreciative one?"
"Hard to tell between appreciation and sympathy sometimes."
She frowns at him. "What do you mean?"
He lets out a sigh as he fiddles with a few keys. "When I was eleven, I performed at a concert where I got a standing ovation. Still being competitive, I worked hard for a year so I could top it at the next concert. When that day came though, I must have psyched myself out or something cause the next thing I knew, I was messing up at least a dozen times. But when the audience still got up to applaud, it made me wonder if I was really that good or if I had a pitying audience. Dropped out of lessons after that."
"You were just a kid, though; they were just boosting morale."
"I don't need them to doing me a favor."
"You're too tough on yourself, McGinnis."
He raises a brow at her. "Oh, cause you pat yourself on the back every few minutes?" He sarcastically asks, sending her eyes into a roll.
"We're a pair to be admired," she quips, making him scoff with laughter.
"Being Batfolk doesn't help much."
"Was that a complaint?" Jazz playfully asks, making him grin. "Never thought you were the type."
"I'm human, Jazz," he replies, closing the lid over the keys.
"Never would have guessed," she jokes as she closes the booklet and tucks it into her bag.
"I could say the same about you," he retorts as he gets up. "So, you want to meet here same time tomorrow?" He asks.
"Really?" She asks, surprised by the offer.
"You want to reach that unrealistic and unattainable perfection, don't you?" He sarcastically quips, receiving a playful scowl in reply. "Then we meet tomorrow. Anyway, I have homework to finish before heading out. You can have surveillance duty for the night."
"Thanks."
"Hold the gratitude till after I brew a full pot of coffee."
She smiles as she watches him walk out, realizing that letting her guard down around him is an experience she won't regret. The damage she had done to their relationship over the last seven months is finally repairing itself. As she rises, she places a hand on the black instrument as if with gratitude for bringing them closer together before she makes her way to the cave.
Terry, meanwhile, takes a slight detour into the kitchen to satisfy a growing hunger. Opening the fridge, the first thing he sees is a container of food with a note hanging on its side making him smile. He pulls off the note to read "shepherd's pie almost from scratch" written in Jazz's uniform handwriting before transferring the cold food to the microwave and counting down the seconds to appreciating her talent as a cook.
Gracefully gliding from one building to the next, Batman stays in contact with Jazz through the comlink. Since Bruce is busy resolving company issues for a morning meeting, he doesn't have a problem with Jazz taking control of the console for the whole night.
"It's a pretty quiet night," Jazz announces as she listens to the police radio.
"Don't jinx me," he replies. "Any sightings on Thorn?"
"Nothing on the security cameras," she replies, switching the screen over to the video surveillance at the pier.
"You sure Henry said he's working there?" Batman asks, his eyes scouting his surroundings with scrutiny before perching himself on a high-rise building.
"I thought you were starting to trust me."
"You, yes. Mysterious friend from the past who's the human equivalent of Wikileaks, not so much."
"He's more reliable than Wikileaks."
"I still wouldn't site him in my bibliography," he quips before a shadow leaping from one building to another catches the corner of his eye and making his head whip in its direction.
Using his cowl's sensitive lenses, he zooms in on the dark mass standing on the roof of a nearby building before it makes its way down the fire escape. He's somewhat surprised that he recognizes the man to be Jimmy "The Thorn" Falon, but he's more concerned when he realizes Thorn looks like he's on a mission when he emerges from the alley's shadows. After looking both ways, Thorn pops the collar of his jacket to partially hide his face and makes his way across the street towards a building familiar to Batman.
"Bad news for Henry's reliability," Batman starts, turning on his vid link for Jazz to see.
"What's he doing?" Jazz asks, swallowing the innate rage she feels when she recognizes Thorn.
Batman leaps off of his perch to follow Thorn heading towards Jazz's apartment building. "Looking for someone; you, I'm presuming. Good thing I got a party planned for him. Better say hi."
Taking advantage of Thorn's distraction, Batman glides down to the sidewalk. Before landing, he fires the batarang with the titanium ribbons that wrap around the would-be intruder before he has a chance to draw a dagger. Falling to the ground, Thorn looks up just in time to see Batman land by his head.
"Well, this is an unexpected surprise," Thorn greets with a taunting grin in his voice. "How's the girlfriend?"
Grabbing his shirt, Batman effortlessly pulls him up. "She has a message for you," he replies before knocking him out with a single blow.