What the....?

Barbara Gordon's thoughts came to a jumbled halt as she watched Terry, in the guise of Batman, drop to her office floor.

She shook herself into action when the crumpled heap of black remained unmoved where he fell. Knees creaking painfully, Barbara knelt down beside him.

"Terry... come on kid." She attempted to straighten the awkwardly bent form. He moaned and flinched when her helping hands contacted the injured shoulder. "You're acting unusually wimpy for a hero who claims he's dealing with a simple flesh wound. Care to elaborate on the true extent of the injury?"

Terry let out another soft moan in answer, his head lolling weakly to one side.

"Guess not." Barb sighed resignedly and proceeded to remove his cowl.

A palm against the flushed face told her he was burning with fever. She gritted her teeth angrily and unlatched the sophisticated fasteners that held the suit together, not surprised to see fresh blood soaking through the bandage Terry had managed to get in place before coming to see her.

"Dammit kid..." she ground out in frustration, long experience giving her a good idea what Terry's body was dealing with. "The bullet's still in there isn't it?"

Her mind worked furiously for a solution to this problem. She had a wistful memory of Dr. Leslie always coming to their rescue in the old days when any of them got into a fix like this. Unfortunately that option did not exist today. Terry needed a hospital to remove the bullet and deal with the infection that had set in. And from the way he looked right now, he'd need help getting there.

How to get him there and come up with a valid excuse as to why he had been shot would be the toughest parts to deal with. Obviously the batsuit would have to come off......

Sam's dry-cleaning! It was still hanging in the office closet. Her husband and Terry had somewhat similar body size. The pants and shirt should fit the younger man well enough to get by. Okay, one problem solved.

Now how would she explain Terry's presence in her office when her receptionist never saw him come in? He had arrived through her tenth story office window as Batman.

Simple. Send him off on an errand and claim Terry had come while he was out. If anyone bothered to check the security vids, the cover was blown, but there was no reason why they should.

Kneejoints squealing in silent protest Barbara stood and stiffly walked to her desk. Touching an intercom button, she said in a calm voice,

"Emmans?" The reply came a second later.

"Yes Commissioner?"

"I'd like you to go down to the records vault and bring up the files on the A.P. Donner murder investigation."

"Sure thing Commissioner. And I won't even ask why, when that very same information is available at the mere touch of your fingertips."

Barbara grinned, but kept her tone formal. "Thank you for your astute observation Mr. Emmans. Bring them in as soon as you return."

"Yes ma'am."

That may buy them ten minutes. Terry began to stir as she returned with Sam's clothes and towels from the washroom. She helped his groggy struggle to sit.

"Easy Terry."

"Commish?" He eyed her in bleary confusion. "What happened?"

"You were taking a nap on my floor and just woke up. Here- you need to put these clothes on."

"Wha...?" Terry squinted, trying to focus. "Wh... those aren't mine."

"I know," She replied patiently, " But you can't wear, you-know-what, to the hospital."

"Hospital... ? No I... I have to get back to the cave. Hannah and Craig-- "

"Will sit tight while you're getting taken care of. Now, let's get that suit off."

"But Bruce- "

"Will be more than a little upset if he finds out you've been ignoring a bullet wound. I'm not sure which would kill you first."

"I'm o- " Sucking in a pained breath as Barb pressed a towel against the bleeding wound, he finished with a whispered. " ...kay."

"Right" Barb grimaced sympathy at his obvious pain. "And Blight is a wonderful, caring human being too. Now, work with me here before you pass out again."

************

Matt was angry. That Craig had turned out to be a jerk!

How he wished he had Green Lantern's ring. If he did he would make a giant hammer and bop that guy into outer space next time he saw him! But he couldn't see anything with the blindfold over his eyes. And he couldn't get that off until his hands got loose.

Frustrated tears came as his small hands furiously struggled to free themselves from the strong, sticky duct tape wrapped around them. A sob was cut short by the gag taking up space in his mouth.

Where was he? Why had Terry's friend done this to him? What was going to happen?

A soft sound nearby caught his attention. He stopped and listened carefully. There it was again. Kind of a moan.... sounded familiar, like.... MOM!

"Ummm... mm... mm....."

No good! He couldn't call out to her with his mouth stuffed like this. But wait... why didn't she talk to him if she was here? Why was she moaning? Did that creepy Craig hurt her?

If he did he was going to be in big trouble! Even if he was too little to do much, once Terry found out, his brother would pound Craig into minced meat! (He didn't know what minced meat was, but his Mom always yelled that and punched her fist into her hand when she watched vid-wrestling.) But he couldn't tell Terry anything unless he got free.

Matt renewed his struggles, twisting and pulling his hands to stretch or rip the tape. Gradually it gave way, his wrists parting. He finished tearing the tape off, then yanked the gag from his mouth and pushed the blindfold up and off his head.

A quick twist of his head showed the sight of his mother, bound and curled on a bed beside the one he was on.

"Mom!"

She did not respond to his excited, worried call. He fumbled with the knot of the rope that confined his ankles together. With that loosened, he kicked the strands away and scrambled over to his mother. He shook her shoulder.

"Mom? Mom, can you hear me?"

Still no sound or movement from her and Matt hurridly freed her of all the bindings. After all his efforts, his mother's eyes remained closed, her body relaxed in sleep. Fighting tears, he sat beside her and gazed around the room, wondering where they were.

Curiosity compelled him to a window. He looked out and gaped in awe as the view showed a sweeping vista of steep cliffs. Far below, fierce waves of Gotham's river churning against the rocky base.

He'd seen that view before. Once, when Terry took him to Mr. Wayne's mansion for a visit. It scared him then and it still did now. He hurried back to his mother. So is that where they were? In Mr. Wayne's mansion? But why? He had to find a phone and call Terry. Terry would know.

Matt jumped down from the bed, went to the door and cautiously opened it. Stepping out into the dark hallway he headed to his left. Coming upon the next door he tried turning the knob. It was locked. Going to the next one, he finds that locked too. At the end of the hallway he found himself standing at the top of a sweeping staircase.

Suddenly something appeared in the shadowed darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Eyes going wide, Matt stared in horror as a huge creature started coming up towards him. He backed away, gaze riveted on the indistinct blob of darkness closing in, a scream stuck in his throat.

Paralyzed by fright, Matt could only close his eyes and stand still while it came closer and closer.....

Something rough and sloppy brushed across his face, causing Matt to expel a gush of pent-up air from his lungs. A cold, wet nose was suddenly nuzzling against his chest and armpit. Gentle snuffling sounds and soft whines combined to make Matt giddy with relief. He smiled and grabbed at the broad, furry head.

"Ace!"

Now he was sure where he was. Mr. Wayne might be kind of scary, but his dog was awesome. A distant, new sound made Matt stop his enthusiastic fondling of the happy dog. Something told him danger was approaching, not Mr. Wayne or Terry who would be expected to be here. An encouraging command for Ace to follow and in moments they were both back in the bedroom where his Mom slept.

Matt bade Ace to stay beside the bed and crawled up protectively beside his mother. Sound of unhurried footsteps came louder and louder until they stopped outside the closed door. The knob turned. The door opened. In stepped....

Creepy Craig! Matt huddled closer against his mother and yelled a simple command.

"Get'em Ace!"

With a snarl, the big dog leaped over the bed, knocking a surprised Craig to the ground. Craig yelled, threw his hands up in defense and made a frantic leaping dive for the exit.

He clawed his way desperately to the door, while the big dog tore at his pant leg, pulling and ripping and regrabbing again. Sharp teeth sank into the muscle of his calf and he screamed, kicking back with his other leg. A satisfying thud and startled yip gave Craig a momentary feeling of triumph. Heart thumping wildly he finished his plunge out the bedroom door, ramming it shut with such force that the whole wall vibrated, its sound echoing down the length of the mansion hall.

Grimacing in pain and breathing heavily, Craig pulled himself to a stand. A shaky hand dug the room key from his pocket and locked the door. He sagged against it for a moment, listening to growls and furious scratching sounds from the other side.

The door knob rattled, small fists pounded and Matt's muffled child voice yelled,

"Hey! Not fair! You gotta let us outta here!"

Thinking it safe to ignore his prisoners for the time being, Craig limped painfully to the nearest bathroom to tend his leg. A trail of blood marked his path. He almost passed out at the sight of the deep, jagged wound. Mustering courage and will-power he sloppily wrapped the leg in layers of gauze from the vanity medical kit and decided to go to the nearest emergency room for medical attention.

He could already feel the ringing in his ears from the slap his mother would give him if she found out about this. Maybe if he hurried he could get back before she came home from her meeting-- if she came back. He still believed she was walking into a trap.
A two hour delay in the hospital emergency waiting room, twenty minutes stewing in the examination room for the doctor to show up and another thirty before the wound was cleaned and stitched up and Craig was ready to explode in frustration. This was all McGinnis' fault! If it weren't for that interfering do-gooder, his mother wouldn't be so upset with him and he wouldn't have to be dealing with all this nonsense.

He grumbled as he made his way to the exit. A babble of voices at the desk caught his attention. One of the voices sounded familiar. Turning, he quickly saw the owner of that voice was none other than that annoying Maxine Gibson. She was talking to an old, silver-haired woman whose tone held an abundance of authority. Craig paused and tuned his hearing to what they were saying.

He strained to connect jumbled words. "... out of surgery... doing okay... antibiotics for infection... room 415... fool-headed McGinnis... taking chances...."

So, McGinnis was hurt. Apparently his mother was a better shot than she realized. But he wasn't dead. Too bad. Wonder if there was anything he could do to change that? Maybe a little look-see on our hero might be worth the effort.

It was hard to be unobtrusive with a limp, but Craig did his best. The targeted room loomed into view. He ducked behind a corner as the door opened and a nurse exited, a tray balanced in one hand. Stealthily he approached the door and peeked inside the room. No telltale sounds or sight of anyone moving around, so he slipped inside.

An evil grin widened his face at sight of McGinnis lying helpless and sedated on the bed. Oh, this was too good to be true! His vision caught sight of an extra pillow sitting on the chair beside the bed. It was all Craig could do to keep from laughing out loud in triumph. The murder weapon, conveniently located near the soon-to-be victim. How much easier could this get?!

With a furtive glance around the room, he walked to the bed, picked up the standard sized pillow and slowly lowered it over McGinnis' pale face.