*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*
*Chapter Five*
Author's Notes [v2.0] : Here is the promised long chapter! So sorry for taking so long to write it! I haven't given up on this baby (contrary to popular belief) and I am sincerely ashamed it took me this freakin' long to get it out. Anyway, I knew exactly where I wanted to take this - just didn't know how to get there. I'm convinced this is the first Terry/Max fic on ff.net, if not the 'net itself. Thusly, I'm proud. (And I had NO idea there were so many Terry/Max people on-line!) While I'm rambling…good mercy! 1000+ reads! *lol* And I honestly have no clue why the title's "Friends Incorporated"…I figure I'll work in some line with it later on. Also, I've stopped writing first person for Max - I dunno about you all, but it was confusing me like anything. 0.0; By the by, anybody else watch ZETA PROJECT? I love West and Lee as a couple! Silly, adorable, loveably incompetent West!
WARNING! There are mentions of rape in this along with serious matters of the like. Being a 14-year old, I'm unwilling to describe it and thusly bump this fic up to NC-17. There IS a lot of abuse in this, along with blood, bruises, etc. And the Bat family reunites! (Bruce, Babs, Terry, and, yes, Ace. Geez, I love that dog…0.o) This chapter is R. Which means the entire fanfic has been bumped up to R. You have been warned.
****
Terry McGinnis ran a hand in front of his face, the fingers trembling weakly. A thick lump lodged itself cheerfully in his throat and he closed his eyes, exhaling softly. The grim, uninviting front of Wayne Manor glowered darkly down at his form; his slender frame and broad shoulders were suddenly insignificant as he stood before the supreme mansion, a chilly, bitter wind hollowly echoing about it. It looked like the kind of place where tragedies had occurred and eerily resembled a haunted mansion not unlike those he had read about as little child.
{{Terry inhaled deeply, then straightened his posture and rolled his shoulders back, determined to not back down. Though, admittedly, running home like a spoiled, sobbing baby was pretty damn tempting…but Max was by the gate, sitting, hunched over and blankly playing with the gravel and dirt at the foot of the cement block; scooping up a handful of the mixture before letting it slip dismally between her brown fingers, her expression was one of a lost child, bewildered and distant. He owed it to her.
Thumbing the doorbell irritatedly, his anxiety morphing into something akin to frustration, anger, and utter helplessness. "Damn it to hell, old man, why don't you ever answer the frickin' DOOR?" he muttered foully, tapping his foot before, growling slightly, he swiftly knelt and lifted part of the lawn--a patch of artificial grass--and scooped up an old-fashioned brass key, idly twirling it around his finger before using said device to unlock and open the door. "Hey, Wayne, you in here?"
A grunt echoed in response and he shrugged, stepping inside just as Ace happily trotted out the door; the Doberman made his way over to the slouched, almost hidden form of Maxine "Max" Gilbson. A ghost of a lopsided smile twitched across Terry's face. "Go cheer her up for me, boy," he told the eager dog and, woofing an affirmative (smarter than your average canine, the teen thought in amusement), Ace exploded, limbs stretching out as he streaked across the frost-covered lawn, bowling a very, very startled Max over. Her shrieks of long unheard laughter broke the weighty silence as Ace's long, rough tongue slapped her face. He almost could've sworn he heard her yell something along the lines of, 'down! Down! DOWN! Down, damn it!,' but it was most likely a trick of hearing caused by the giggles and happy barks.
Rolling his eyes at the exuberantly childish behavior of the supposedly vicious dog, Terry entered the house, closing the door quietly behind him. Following the path of the satin red carpeting, he approached his employer, unflinching, prepared to give up what he'd fought for the rights to. "I'm quitting."
And with that, he tossed the pack he'd brought with him, containing the Bat-suit. Terry turned on his heel and left in a calm, unbroken pace.
Max and Ace looked up at him, sharing confused expressions.
He'd have to tell her sooner or later.
Preferably later.}}
Terry shook the memories off painfully. Max was strong; she would be fine…
His finger depressed the doorbell.
^
Why couldn't Dana ever get into this kind of trouble?
Max glared as hard as she could at Haunts, feeling weaker and weaker every minute. She didn't even care anymore whether or not she was resting in her own dried blood. Now it wasn't a matter of sickness, it was a matter of survival. Live, live to fight, live to find revenge, live to exist.
"Get," she hissed, "away from me, you slobbering sonuva-"
Haunts tossed his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking in dark mirth. "My, my," he grinned cruelly, "what language you use, my dear."
Struggling to get up to her feet, one quivering hand pressed to the tear over her chest, she gave him a scowl that would have made Bruce proud. "I'm not your dear and I'll use whatever language I goddamn want to use!" she snarled.
His eyes hardened and he lifted one white-gloved hand, snapping his fingers. The goons with him backed off silently, one handing him another fluid-filled needle as she retreated, the other closing the door behind them both. "Somebody needs to teach you a lesson in respect, you insolent little bitch," he spoke harshly, stomping across the acrid smelling floor to her. Thick, black chemicals swirled in a dizzying maelstrom in the clear glass needle, fascinating her perversely.
With great effort, Max tore her gaze away from the liquid, opting to glare once more at the Joker, her pink hair matted to her skull by crusted, rusty blood.
"Get away from me," she cried, "you asshole!"
"You're in no position to be giving _me_ orders, little girl," he snapped coldly, grasping her shoulder and forcing her to a side, plunging the needle into her skin.
She screamed, once, before a sudden, sweet delirium swept over her.
"Do you like it?" hummed Haunts' voice. "We call it the Dream Toxin. It makes whatever is happening to you seem unimportant. Now, dream away, little girl. We're going to have some fun."
"You," she slurred, the drugs taking quick hold over her, "aren't…my type…"
"And that geek that tried to protect you is?" he was amused she noted vaguely.
Max tried to resist, tried to fight off the drugs' effect.
"Giggles killed him."
Oh, she thought silently, no. No, Terry…Terry…
"Now, you be quiet, like a good little girl."
Lost in a tumultuous haze of tempting nothing and utter loss, she said nothing.
And then the pain began.
^
The clock was ajar and Terry heard Commissioner Gordan's voice down in the echoing vastness that was the Batcave, followed by Bruce's rougher one.
A whining sound caught his attention and he turned, seeing Ace - good old trusty Ace - wagging his tail happily at his feet. He barked, softly, and Terry grinned in spite of the gravity of the current situation. "I missed you, too, boy," he assured softly and Ace nuzzled his leg, panting joyously.
"Hello?" came Barbara's faint voice. "Who's there?"
Terry pulled out the photo she had handed him and burned the image into his mind. For Max, now. His father, Warren, would always leave a hole in his heart, but now…
"Good-bye, Dad," he whispered to the air, prepared to enter the dark world of Batman once more, "I have to fight for Max, now."
He pushed the clock aside and descended the steps, Ace trailing behind him.
He wasn't alone anymore.
^
Faint sounds, rather like the ticking of a clock, strained desperately through the air, pushing angrily against her ears. Fierce, throbbing pain stabbed through her head, pulsed in time with some lost, forgotten rhythm. She slowly curled herself into a ball, shivering, keeping her eyes shut tightly, lips clamped together in thin white lines. She felt strange, eerily lightheaded, yet with a monstrous headache. And she was clean, dry, no longer bleeding. She didn't know why. She didn't care why.
The ticking grew louder, angrier, forcing its way into her skull and smashing against the bones, echoing and ringing dangerously in her mind, mixing with the faces of her broken family, and images she distantly recalled. Before Max knew what she was doing, she was crying, tears sliding down her face and staining the dirty sheet tossed carelessly over her body. Kicking her legs out, she screamed, a horrible sound, hiccupping, gasping, crying uncontrollably. Pain tore through her abdomen and she pulled her legs back up, discarding all the shields, all the barriers that had made her strong. Made her independent. Made her what she was: sarcastic, intelligent, Terry McGinnis' best friend.
It's all my fault, her mind screamed, and she started yelling things between her tears and her hiccups, words and hopeless sentences that she couldn't remember, that didn't mean anything. All my fault, she chanted mentally, snarling and cursing with her mouth, all my fault.
All my fault. She curled up into a fetal position again, wrapping her bruised arms tightly around her knees.
All my fault. They'd replaced the blood in her body…why? To torture her further?
All my fault. She'd done something to deserve this, she knew it - why else would it have happened to her?
All my fault. And then, suddenly, Max started giggling, dark eyes clenched into an odd shape.
All my fault! Laughter spilled out: frenzied, hysterical laughter. It kept coming, pouring from between her bruised, gashed lips, dripping in a wave that tainted the ancient dusty room. And she didn't stop laughing, just kept it up until tears streamed freshly from her reddened eyes and she was gasping for desperate air between laughs, between tears.
The door slammed open and Haunts stood there, dressed in his Joker-inspired purple suit, a horrid smirk, self-satisfied and smug, beaming down on her. Grabbing the incessant clock of the oddly painted dresser nailed to the wall beside Max's head, he dropped it carelessly to the floor, smashing it with his foot. Lifting his boot, he brought it down again on the clock, repeating the destructive motions again and again until the clock was scattered, gears and wheels spinning crazily along the hardwood floor.
He bent down and grabbed her pink hair in his fist, dragging her up off the floor in an awkward position. "Hi, honey," he breathed in her face, the putrid sickly sweet scent of rot plugging her nostrils, "I'm home."
And all she could do was laugh, with tears pouring down her face.
/All./ /My./ /Fault./
Slapping her across the face, again and again, until blood dripped slowly from a new cut formed on her cheekbone by the twisted metal ring he wore, Haunts chortled like a toddler with a new toy, tossing her back down. He pressed a boot firmly against her diaphragm and pushed down until she could no longer laugh, tortured wheezes escaping her throat. "Don't like that, do you, bitch?" he teased sweetly. Removing his boot from her chest, he let her have a few seconds to catch her breath, rich chocolate face glittering with tears, then delivered a swift kick to her ribcage. "How 'bout that?" Again. "Or that?"
"Stop," she whimpered, voice so soft he could barely hear the dullest murmur. "Stop!" With sudden rage, she wrapped her hands around his ankle and jerked at it, throwing him off balance. Haunts landed, hard, on his back, and Max scrambled to her feet, staggering to the open door, skidding over pieces of the dead clock. "Stop!" she screamed again, mindlessly, running out into the corridor and stumbling along it, pushing herself to run farther, harder, than she ever had before. Pain lanced up through her leg and she forced it out of her mind, thrust forward by pure adrenaline. Skidding around a corner, she came to the door - the one that must lead outside, she thought with a mixture of hope and deeply rooted pain as she saw sunlight stream through cracks in it. Laying a hand on the chipped brass doorknob, she was beginning to turn it when she saw her hand.
Bright flamboyant green thread, thick thread, had been used to sew the gashes together, forming a sickly smiling face, threaded choppily. With a stifled cry, she released the doorknob and staggered back, sinking to the floor numbly as she stared at her hand.
A blow crushed against the back of her head and she pitched forward, smashing her forehead against the door. "You little whore!" Haunts snarled at her, grasping her torn shirt and slamming her into the door over and over and over. "I'll kill you!"
Smiling grimly at him, more than a bit of the old Max returning, she gritted, "Make my day."
She was swallowed by darkness again.
^
Bruce stared blankly at the enormous computer screens turned towards him, the computer console glowing as it always did. Why hadn't he done anything? If he had just told Terry how proud he was of him, given him a compliment…told Max that she was a fine young woman, like a young Barbara Gordon…if.
If. He hated that word. There were too many 'if's in his life already. *If* he and his parents hadn't gone to see ZORRO, *if* he had never made Dick reject him, *if* he had saved Tim in time from the Joker and Harlequin, *if* he had told Barbara how he felt before she married, *if* *if* *if*! He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth together, sought to control his hopeless feelings. It isn't over yet, he thought darkly. Not now, not when there's still a chance that Max is alive, not when Terry can still help us find her.
"Still as cozy and inviting as ever, hmm, Bruce?" the wry voice of Commissioner Barbara Gordon of the Gotham Police Force inquired, suitably grave, yet a bit lighthearted.
"What are you referring to?" he replied dead-pan. "Me, or the Cave?"
"Both, I suppose," she continued, hands loose in her pockets as she strolled across the cave floor, white hair curled tightly along her head. "Beating yourself over McGinnis and the girl?"
"Why do you say that?" Bruce interjected abruptly, tone suddenly cold and more formal than it had been in years. The last time, she reflected, it had been that detached was when Dick left for Bludhaven, becoming Nightwing. "And what brings you here, Commissioner?"
Barbara grimaced at the formal title and eyed the back of his head critically. "One, I know you better than most people alive," she retorted dryly, "and two, I'm here to help."
"With what?" he evaded carefully.
"With locating Maxine Gibson, of course," she smirked briefly. "Your computer is still the most advanced piece of technology this side of the globe. And, being the former Batgirl, I figure I have certain privileges that allow me the right to further examine materials and equipment you might happen to keep lying around here." She gave him her most dazzling smile, lighting up her aged face. "Can't keep that from an old friend, can you?"
Bruce told her, straight, "You've always been obnoxious."
Before Barbara could indignantly reply, they both heard the sound of Ace barking in greeting to someone whose silhouette was dimly cast upon the wall next to the stone stairs spiraling into the actual cave, the light from in front of the old clock spilling forward a bit. "Hello?" she called, instead of continuing her banter with Bruce; "Who's there?"
Stepping into the Cave, followed by the figure of Ace, his tail wagging happily and tongue lolling in pleased acceptance, Terry McGinnis matched eyes with Barbara, who smiled a tiny, knowing smile, then locked eyes with Bruce.
"Um," he started, mentally kicking himself. "I'm back."
And then, to his surprise, Bruce smiled. "Welcome back."
~TBC~
End AN: Ohmigosh! I finally updated! *lol* This chapter wasn't as long as I'd been hoping to make it, but there's only about two chapters left, and then the epilogue and thank-you section (the thank-you section is gonna be LONG). *sniffles* My baby's growing up. Okay, I know this chapter was incredibly serious and dealt with very adult topics - that's the worst this story's going to get, although there might be some more abuse in the next chapter.
Rape is not a light subject. I have no idea what it truly is like for a rape victim, so I apologize deeply to anyone that this might have offended. Please forgive me. Keep in mind that it is not the victim's fault that they have been sexually abused - it is the abuser's fault and wholly theirs. DO NOT REMAIN SILENT. Contact an official or a support group if you or someone you know has been sexually abused. (I thank God that I have never been violated in that way, and never will be.)
God bless.
*Chapter Five*
Author's Notes [v2.0] : Here is the promised long chapter! So sorry for taking so long to write it! I haven't given up on this baby (contrary to popular belief) and I am sincerely ashamed it took me this freakin' long to get it out. Anyway, I knew exactly where I wanted to take this - just didn't know how to get there. I'm convinced this is the first Terry/Max fic on ff.net, if not the 'net itself. Thusly, I'm proud. (And I had NO idea there were so many Terry/Max people on-line!) While I'm rambling…good mercy! 1000+ reads! *lol* And I honestly have no clue why the title's "Friends Incorporated"…I figure I'll work in some line with it later on. Also, I've stopped writing first person for Max - I dunno about you all, but it was confusing me like anything. 0.0; By the by, anybody else watch ZETA PROJECT? I love West and Lee as a couple! Silly, adorable, loveably incompetent West!
WARNING! There are mentions of rape in this along with serious matters of the like. Being a 14-year old, I'm unwilling to describe it and thusly bump this fic up to NC-17. There IS a lot of abuse in this, along with blood, bruises, etc. And the Bat family reunites! (Bruce, Babs, Terry, and, yes, Ace. Geez, I love that dog…0.o) This chapter is R. Which means the entire fanfic has been bumped up to R. You have been warned.
****
Terry McGinnis ran a hand in front of his face, the fingers trembling weakly. A thick lump lodged itself cheerfully in his throat and he closed his eyes, exhaling softly. The grim, uninviting front of Wayne Manor glowered darkly down at his form; his slender frame and broad shoulders were suddenly insignificant as he stood before the supreme mansion, a chilly, bitter wind hollowly echoing about it. It looked like the kind of place where tragedies had occurred and eerily resembled a haunted mansion not unlike those he had read about as little child.
{{Terry inhaled deeply, then straightened his posture and rolled his shoulders back, determined to not back down. Though, admittedly, running home like a spoiled, sobbing baby was pretty damn tempting…but Max was by the gate, sitting, hunched over and blankly playing with the gravel and dirt at the foot of the cement block; scooping up a handful of the mixture before letting it slip dismally between her brown fingers, her expression was one of a lost child, bewildered and distant. He owed it to her.
Thumbing the doorbell irritatedly, his anxiety morphing into something akin to frustration, anger, and utter helplessness. "Damn it to hell, old man, why don't you ever answer the frickin' DOOR?" he muttered foully, tapping his foot before, growling slightly, he swiftly knelt and lifted part of the lawn--a patch of artificial grass--and scooped up an old-fashioned brass key, idly twirling it around his finger before using said device to unlock and open the door. "Hey, Wayne, you in here?"
A grunt echoed in response and he shrugged, stepping inside just as Ace happily trotted out the door; the Doberman made his way over to the slouched, almost hidden form of Maxine "Max" Gilbson. A ghost of a lopsided smile twitched across Terry's face. "Go cheer her up for me, boy," he told the eager dog and, woofing an affirmative (smarter than your average canine, the teen thought in amusement), Ace exploded, limbs stretching out as he streaked across the frost-covered lawn, bowling a very, very startled Max over. Her shrieks of long unheard laughter broke the weighty silence as Ace's long, rough tongue slapped her face. He almost could've sworn he heard her yell something along the lines of, 'down! Down! DOWN! Down, damn it!,' but it was most likely a trick of hearing caused by the giggles and happy barks.
Rolling his eyes at the exuberantly childish behavior of the supposedly vicious dog, Terry entered the house, closing the door quietly behind him. Following the path of the satin red carpeting, he approached his employer, unflinching, prepared to give up what he'd fought for the rights to. "I'm quitting."
And with that, he tossed the pack he'd brought with him, containing the Bat-suit. Terry turned on his heel and left in a calm, unbroken pace.
Max and Ace looked up at him, sharing confused expressions.
He'd have to tell her sooner or later.
Preferably later.}}
Terry shook the memories off painfully. Max was strong; she would be fine…
His finger depressed the doorbell.
^
Why couldn't Dana ever get into this kind of trouble?
Max glared as hard as she could at Haunts, feeling weaker and weaker every minute. She didn't even care anymore whether or not she was resting in her own dried blood. Now it wasn't a matter of sickness, it was a matter of survival. Live, live to fight, live to find revenge, live to exist.
"Get," she hissed, "away from me, you slobbering sonuva-"
Haunts tossed his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking in dark mirth. "My, my," he grinned cruelly, "what language you use, my dear."
Struggling to get up to her feet, one quivering hand pressed to the tear over her chest, she gave him a scowl that would have made Bruce proud. "I'm not your dear and I'll use whatever language I goddamn want to use!" she snarled.
His eyes hardened and he lifted one white-gloved hand, snapping his fingers. The goons with him backed off silently, one handing him another fluid-filled needle as she retreated, the other closing the door behind them both. "Somebody needs to teach you a lesson in respect, you insolent little bitch," he spoke harshly, stomping across the acrid smelling floor to her. Thick, black chemicals swirled in a dizzying maelstrom in the clear glass needle, fascinating her perversely.
With great effort, Max tore her gaze away from the liquid, opting to glare once more at the Joker, her pink hair matted to her skull by crusted, rusty blood.
"Get away from me," she cried, "you asshole!"
"You're in no position to be giving _me_ orders, little girl," he snapped coldly, grasping her shoulder and forcing her to a side, plunging the needle into her skin.
She screamed, once, before a sudden, sweet delirium swept over her.
"Do you like it?" hummed Haunts' voice. "We call it the Dream Toxin. It makes whatever is happening to you seem unimportant. Now, dream away, little girl. We're going to have some fun."
"You," she slurred, the drugs taking quick hold over her, "aren't…my type…"
"And that geek that tried to protect you is?" he was amused she noted vaguely.
Max tried to resist, tried to fight off the drugs' effect.
"Giggles killed him."
Oh, she thought silently, no. No, Terry…Terry…
"Now, you be quiet, like a good little girl."
Lost in a tumultuous haze of tempting nothing and utter loss, she said nothing.
And then the pain began.
^
The clock was ajar and Terry heard Commissioner Gordan's voice down in the echoing vastness that was the Batcave, followed by Bruce's rougher one.
A whining sound caught his attention and he turned, seeing Ace - good old trusty Ace - wagging his tail happily at his feet. He barked, softly, and Terry grinned in spite of the gravity of the current situation. "I missed you, too, boy," he assured softly and Ace nuzzled his leg, panting joyously.
"Hello?" came Barbara's faint voice. "Who's there?"
Terry pulled out the photo she had handed him and burned the image into his mind. For Max, now. His father, Warren, would always leave a hole in his heart, but now…
"Good-bye, Dad," he whispered to the air, prepared to enter the dark world of Batman once more, "I have to fight for Max, now."
He pushed the clock aside and descended the steps, Ace trailing behind him.
He wasn't alone anymore.
^
Faint sounds, rather like the ticking of a clock, strained desperately through the air, pushing angrily against her ears. Fierce, throbbing pain stabbed through her head, pulsed in time with some lost, forgotten rhythm. She slowly curled herself into a ball, shivering, keeping her eyes shut tightly, lips clamped together in thin white lines. She felt strange, eerily lightheaded, yet with a monstrous headache. And she was clean, dry, no longer bleeding. She didn't know why. She didn't care why.
The ticking grew louder, angrier, forcing its way into her skull and smashing against the bones, echoing and ringing dangerously in her mind, mixing with the faces of her broken family, and images she distantly recalled. Before Max knew what she was doing, she was crying, tears sliding down her face and staining the dirty sheet tossed carelessly over her body. Kicking her legs out, she screamed, a horrible sound, hiccupping, gasping, crying uncontrollably. Pain tore through her abdomen and she pulled her legs back up, discarding all the shields, all the barriers that had made her strong. Made her independent. Made her what she was: sarcastic, intelligent, Terry McGinnis' best friend.
It's all my fault, her mind screamed, and she started yelling things between her tears and her hiccups, words and hopeless sentences that she couldn't remember, that didn't mean anything. All my fault, she chanted mentally, snarling and cursing with her mouth, all my fault.
All my fault. She curled up into a fetal position again, wrapping her bruised arms tightly around her knees.
All my fault. They'd replaced the blood in her body…why? To torture her further?
All my fault. She'd done something to deserve this, she knew it - why else would it have happened to her?
All my fault. And then, suddenly, Max started giggling, dark eyes clenched into an odd shape.
All my fault! Laughter spilled out: frenzied, hysterical laughter. It kept coming, pouring from between her bruised, gashed lips, dripping in a wave that tainted the ancient dusty room. And she didn't stop laughing, just kept it up until tears streamed freshly from her reddened eyes and she was gasping for desperate air between laughs, between tears.
The door slammed open and Haunts stood there, dressed in his Joker-inspired purple suit, a horrid smirk, self-satisfied and smug, beaming down on her. Grabbing the incessant clock of the oddly painted dresser nailed to the wall beside Max's head, he dropped it carelessly to the floor, smashing it with his foot. Lifting his boot, he brought it down again on the clock, repeating the destructive motions again and again until the clock was scattered, gears and wheels spinning crazily along the hardwood floor.
He bent down and grabbed her pink hair in his fist, dragging her up off the floor in an awkward position. "Hi, honey," he breathed in her face, the putrid sickly sweet scent of rot plugging her nostrils, "I'm home."
And all she could do was laugh, with tears pouring down her face.
/All./ /My./ /Fault./
Slapping her across the face, again and again, until blood dripped slowly from a new cut formed on her cheekbone by the twisted metal ring he wore, Haunts chortled like a toddler with a new toy, tossing her back down. He pressed a boot firmly against her diaphragm and pushed down until she could no longer laugh, tortured wheezes escaping her throat. "Don't like that, do you, bitch?" he teased sweetly. Removing his boot from her chest, he let her have a few seconds to catch her breath, rich chocolate face glittering with tears, then delivered a swift kick to her ribcage. "How 'bout that?" Again. "Or that?"
"Stop," she whimpered, voice so soft he could barely hear the dullest murmur. "Stop!" With sudden rage, she wrapped her hands around his ankle and jerked at it, throwing him off balance. Haunts landed, hard, on his back, and Max scrambled to her feet, staggering to the open door, skidding over pieces of the dead clock. "Stop!" she screamed again, mindlessly, running out into the corridor and stumbling along it, pushing herself to run farther, harder, than she ever had before. Pain lanced up through her leg and she forced it out of her mind, thrust forward by pure adrenaline. Skidding around a corner, she came to the door - the one that must lead outside, she thought with a mixture of hope and deeply rooted pain as she saw sunlight stream through cracks in it. Laying a hand on the chipped brass doorknob, she was beginning to turn it when she saw her hand.
Bright flamboyant green thread, thick thread, had been used to sew the gashes together, forming a sickly smiling face, threaded choppily. With a stifled cry, she released the doorknob and staggered back, sinking to the floor numbly as she stared at her hand.
A blow crushed against the back of her head and she pitched forward, smashing her forehead against the door. "You little whore!" Haunts snarled at her, grasping her torn shirt and slamming her into the door over and over and over. "I'll kill you!"
Smiling grimly at him, more than a bit of the old Max returning, she gritted, "Make my day."
She was swallowed by darkness again.
^
Bruce stared blankly at the enormous computer screens turned towards him, the computer console glowing as it always did. Why hadn't he done anything? If he had just told Terry how proud he was of him, given him a compliment…told Max that she was a fine young woman, like a young Barbara Gordon…if.
If. He hated that word. There were too many 'if's in his life already. *If* he and his parents hadn't gone to see ZORRO, *if* he had never made Dick reject him, *if* he had saved Tim in time from the Joker and Harlequin, *if* he had told Barbara how he felt before she married, *if* *if* *if*! He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth together, sought to control his hopeless feelings. It isn't over yet, he thought darkly. Not now, not when there's still a chance that Max is alive, not when Terry can still help us find her.
"Still as cozy and inviting as ever, hmm, Bruce?" the wry voice of Commissioner Barbara Gordon of the Gotham Police Force inquired, suitably grave, yet a bit lighthearted.
"What are you referring to?" he replied dead-pan. "Me, or the Cave?"
"Both, I suppose," she continued, hands loose in her pockets as she strolled across the cave floor, white hair curled tightly along her head. "Beating yourself over McGinnis and the girl?"
"Why do you say that?" Bruce interjected abruptly, tone suddenly cold and more formal than it had been in years. The last time, she reflected, it had been that detached was when Dick left for Bludhaven, becoming Nightwing. "And what brings you here, Commissioner?"
Barbara grimaced at the formal title and eyed the back of his head critically. "One, I know you better than most people alive," she retorted dryly, "and two, I'm here to help."
"With what?" he evaded carefully.
"With locating Maxine Gibson, of course," she smirked briefly. "Your computer is still the most advanced piece of technology this side of the globe. And, being the former Batgirl, I figure I have certain privileges that allow me the right to further examine materials and equipment you might happen to keep lying around here." She gave him her most dazzling smile, lighting up her aged face. "Can't keep that from an old friend, can you?"
Bruce told her, straight, "You've always been obnoxious."
Before Barbara could indignantly reply, they both heard the sound of Ace barking in greeting to someone whose silhouette was dimly cast upon the wall next to the stone stairs spiraling into the actual cave, the light from in front of the old clock spilling forward a bit. "Hello?" she called, instead of continuing her banter with Bruce; "Who's there?"
Stepping into the Cave, followed by the figure of Ace, his tail wagging happily and tongue lolling in pleased acceptance, Terry McGinnis matched eyes with Barbara, who smiled a tiny, knowing smile, then locked eyes with Bruce.
"Um," he started, mentally kicking himself. "I'm back."
And then, to his surprise, Bruce smiled. "Welcome back."
~TBC~
End AN: Ohmigosh! I finally updated! *lol* This chapter wasn't as long as I'd been hoping to make it, but there's only about two chapters left, and then the epilogue and thank-you section (the thank-you section is gonna be LONG). *sniffles* My baby's growing up. Okay, I know this chapter was incredibly serious and dealt with very adult topics - that's the worst this story's going to get, although there might be some more abuse in the next chapter.
Rape is not a light subject. I have no idea what it truly is like for a rape victim, so I apologize deeply to anyone that this might have offended. Please forgive me. Keep in mind that it is not the victim's fault that they have been sexually abused - it is the abuser's fault and wholly theirs. DO NOT REMAIN SILENT. Contact an official or a support group if you or someone you know has been sexually abused. (I thank God that I have never been violated in that way, and never will be.)
God bless.
