Author's thing: This story lives! I found an old tape of BB, unmarked, and the episode was "Hidden Agenda." It reminded me why I fell for T/M in the first place. The chemistry is just smoking. It may take a while, but I'm determined to finish this story, I promise. In the meantime, read and review if you like, and if you could, put in your fave T/M episode! Mine is not Hidden Agenda. Actually, my favorite would be . . . Babel. Love Max's speech!
~Seven~
There were, so far as Terry could figure, two possible ways the whole thing could end: Death by Sandlips Stephens' slightly inept firing squad, or death by one of Bruce Wayne's glares when and if he found out what was going on in the warehouse. Sweat pooling beneath his suit, the Bat almost felt that the first option would be more desirable and a good deal less painful. The old man was dozens of miles away, but Batman could feel those cool, blue eyes boring a hole in his brain like a fine-point bullet from a high-gauge blaster.
As quickly as he could while still edging his way toward the remnants of the gangster's thugs, Terry ran down his options – he could fib a little to Wayne . . . say that he was hearing things . . . you know, at his age, it was bound to happen. He could tell the old man that Max was nowhere near the action . . . which was, well, not entirely true, but . . .
McGinnis, stop stalling. Tell me what's going on out there? What are you doing in Old Town this time of night?
Terry nearly wept. The goddamned tracking device in his suit! In all the excitement, he'd forgotten to disable it. Sure, it was something that came in handy – especially the time his suit developed a "mind" of its own, and deposited him straight into the Gotham River. Then, Terry was grateful of the homing device Bruce had slipped into the wires of the suit, but there were times the Bat found it necessary to disable it – like stopping at Max's at the tail end of patrol, for example. This little excursion of his and Max's would have been another good time to give the tracker a night off, but, slagit, he'd forgotten . . .
"Uh, Bruce . . ." The Batman spoke softly as he reached the main area of the warehouse. The smoke from his X-Pellets was dissipating a bit, and he could see a few shadowy forms moving around, guns drawn, most likely, Terry realized, looking for him. "This is really not –" He reared back as one of the tallest men whirled around quickly, and spotting him, drew his blaster and fired. "—a good time!" Ducking just as a bullet whizzed above his head, Batman hit the floor rolling, engaging his camo option just as a few more thugs followed suit, emptying their guns in the general direction of where Terry had dived.
Gunfire. Bruce was near about to burst, Terry could tell. The older man's voice was tense and replete with concern. Where are you? Are you hurt? Did they –
"Can't talk." Terry made his voice below a whisper. "I'm in camo . . . they're . . ." He fell silent, not wanting the thugs to be able to track him by the sound of his voice. They were looking warily around, peering around corners and looking up at the drafty catwalks, all of them bracing, it seemed, for a sudden reappearance of the Bat. Slowly rolling up from the ground, Batman rubbed his side, which had banged uncomfortably into the hard floor, and crept closer, confident that he still had the element of surprise on his side.
McGinnis, turn the lenses in your cowl on. I want to see where you are. Bruce's voice was calmer now, the old man picking up on the danger of the situation.
Terry started. Oh that would be just great, giving Bruce an eyeful of Sandlips Stephens, a musty old warehouse, and Max in her costume. Any one of those could, Terry knew, give Bruce a massive heart attack. "Wayne, I don't think –"
That's obvious from whatever situation you've gotten yourself into. Terry winced. Wonderful. The anger was back. Turn it on. Now.
Submitting to the inevitable, Terry flicked the control in his cowl that engaged the vidlink, and closed his eyes tight for a second, ready for Wayne to start cursing or worse –
What the blazes are you doing in the old Marthey's Furnishings factory?
"Uh, funny you should mention blazes . . ." The Bat opened his eyes one at a time. Far from seeming hopping mad, Wayne sounded almost curious, as if he were conducting a college-entrance interview for Gotham State and asking a potential student why he wanted to come to good old GSU.
Seizing on Bruce's curious tone, Terry went for a light-hearted, "Um . . . sightseeing – ah, slagit!" he hissed suddenly, as he saw Sandlips give a signal to cease fire and waved all his men toward the door. "They're booking! Bruce, I gotta—"
Who is? Let me see. The old man was quiet while Terry aimed his cowl in the direction of the now-fleeing thugs, magnifying their images to fill the Batcomputer's screen. Wait. Is that Sandlips Stephens? Bruce sounded confused now.
"Yeah. He and his boys were having a pow-wow here." Batman said, sliding behind a crate. "They were behind the heist at Salem Jewels. Only, one of the guys wanted to cut Sandlips and the others out of the deal. He hid the stuff here . . . Sandlips found out about it, though, and came here to collect."
How'd you find this out? Sandlips is below the radar . . . the men who move in his circle even more so. You drop in on them on patrol?
"Er . . ." Terry tugged at his cowl . . . it was feeling awful tight. "Um . . . kind of – huh." He blinked as the group halted at the door. "That's weird. All of a sudden, they've stopped their brilliant get-away plan. Maybe their car's got a flat."
Get out. Curiosity and confusion was gone from the imposing voice now, and Terry could once again feel Bruce's hard gaze drilling a hole in his forehead. Let the police handle this. I'm putting in a call straight to GCPD dispatch – I don't want you there when they get there.
"But –"
No buts, McGinnis. Bruce's tone brooked no argument. Out. Take Maxine and yourself home. We'll talk about this later.
Terry shook his head slowly, feeling his heart speed up to supersonic levels. Hearing the subtle click that signaled Bruce's severing the connection, he eyed the crooks, who seemed to be in some sort of conference, and he seriously contemplated wrapping the gang up nice and tight . . . a little gift for the Gotham Police. Bruce didn't say he couldn't –
I said now McGinnis. Wayne's voice was suddenly again in Terry's ear. Police are on their way. I accessed their database . . . one of the cars Sandlips is using was stolen from impound three weeks ago. The plates are being tracked . . . so even if they get away, they won't get far. Wayne out – and you'd better be, too, next time I run a scan.
With a frustrated sigh, Terry switched out of camo and walked back to where Max was crouched, somewhat uncomfortably, behind the same filing cabinet. She looked up in surprise at his approach. "Back so soon?"
"Game's over." He crouched next to her, pulling his mask off to air out his sweating face. Getting a verbal working-over by Wayne beat doing calisthenics any day. "Wayne's calling it a night for all of us."
Her eyes widened. "The old man checked in? But how? I thought you said he was out of the loop."
Terry shook his head slightly. "With Wayne, there's really no such thing. He overrode the controls. He's been listening in the past few minutes."
Stripping off her mask, Max rested her hand on his shoulder. "Does he know what you were doing here?"
"Not exactly." He laughed a bitter, I'm-so-slagged-laugh. "But he heard us talking . . . knew you were here with me. He wasn't . . . happy."
"Slagit." She sounded contrite. "I'm sorry, Ter. It's my fault. If I hadn't tried to . . . you know . . . live up to the suit . . . you would have had the guys caught, and we coulda been long out of here before the old man could know any different."
"Hey." Terry removed her hand from his shoulder and held it tightly in his own. "You saved a guy's life tonight . . ."
"Yeah, but according to Sandlips, that guy deserved slagging."
"Maybe so." Terry held her gaze. "But he didn't deserve it here – not from Sandlips. And you stopped it from happening." He smiled a little. "If that's not living up to the suit, I dunno what is." Terry's eyes lowered for a moment. "Though, seriously, you do that suit justice without even having to move."
Max laughed low and ducked her head slightly, and Terry could have sworn the girl was blushing a little. "Still, though, you didn't get to figure out your Great Bat Escape Puzzle. You were so excited . . . and now, nothing to show for it. Plus, the old guy's gonna make you regret ever stepping foot in here."
"No way." He slid a finger under Max's chin, lifting it until they were facing each other again. "Wayne can dissect me . . . feed me to Ace . . . whatever, and he won't make me sorry about tonight. I won't – I don't regret it. Any of it."
Terry watched the liquid-velvet gaze widen ever so minutely in understanding, and to the unmasked hero's dismay, Max turned away from him. "Ter . . . about that stuff earlier . . . I . . ."
"We'll talk about it later," Terry said softly, hearing the tell-tale whine of police sirens in the distance. "Now, we gotta get out of here before Wayne comes breaking down the door with his artificial hip, or something." He got to his feet, pulled on his mask, and helped Max to her feet, flushing when she rested her head briefly against his chest. Watching the girl re-mask, Terry bit his lower lip hard. Yeah, they'd have to have a conversation all right – sooner, rather than later. Because just as he had been unmasked just a few moments before, so too, he felt, had his true feelings for Maxine Gibson. And unlike his face, his desire for her couldn't be covered up with a fine layer of latex and microchips.
Steering Max around a maze of boxes and discarded furniture, Terry cocked his Bat-ears toward the door, his long-range audio sensors picking up a commotion outside the main door. Smiling grimly as he saw the flashing police lights dribbling through the slats in the windows, he and Max hung in the doorway for a moment as quite a few of the Stephens gang were rounded up by Gotham police officers and shepherded into patrol cars.
"Sure, we leave them with the easy part," Max murmured as the cop cars sped away, their sirens echoing in the still night. "Let's seem them act so smooth in these heels."
Stifling a snicker, Terry stepped carefully outside the door, glancing around to ensure the coast was clear. "Poor Max. But nobody ever said crime-fighting's a glamorous job."
"Right. This coming from the guy who has the killer suit, the killer car and the killer cave."
"Point taken. But then, I never . . ." Terry trailed off a moment, blinking rapidly. He could have sworn he'd seen movement on the other side of a lone dumpster. He leaned a little closer, adjusting his UV lenses . . . and saw nothing, but his vision was going staticky – a byproduct of having the suit on so long and draining its resources. After a moment, he cut the lenses off. He'd need his night vision for the trip back to Max's . . . plus, apparently, there wasn't anything to see. He glanced over his shoulder once more . . . but then again . . .
"What's wrong?" Max looked around. "There a problem?"
"Um . . . no." Terry was uneasy. Everything seemed sinister in that part of town – even the air. He released the breath he'd been unwittingly holding. One thing he'd have to agree with Bruce on – Old Town was not the place to be at night . . . for several reasons, the creep-out factor being just one of them. "Just . . . um . . . nothing. Let's get outta here."
"Darnit. I was hoping not to get back 'til dawn." She smiled ruefully at Terry's questioning look. "Well, I'm a night owl. I won't be able to get any sleep, so that means I won't have any choice but to study some more O-Chem. Thanks a lot, McGinnis."
"O-chem? You're determined to go down in Hill High history as the one person who uses insomnia as an excuse to study. You need a life, Max. Or maybe a boyfriend."
The words had slipped out before he'd realized what he was saying, and once again, Terry was thankful for the cover of his mask. His face was crimson enough to be a red-light district all its own. He wrapped his arms around a noticeably silent Max, and spread his wings, the sound of his boots firing almost drowning out the thudding of his heart.
~*~
Fifteen minutes had passed since he'd heard the backfire of rockets and saw the crimefighters disappear into the night, and only after a sinister calm had descended again on Old Town did the fugitive Don pull himself from behind the corrugated iron sheet behind which he'd hidden himself.
He was aware that he probably should be looking over his shoulder . . . he'd seen enough to know that the cops hadn't caught all of his former employer's goons . . . but he was too wrapped up in the bit of knowledge he'd gleaned in just the past few minutes. He'd thought he was a goner when he'd broken free form Sandlips' death squad. After Batgirl had stayed his execution, so to speak, Don had been able to stumble out of doors and behind the dumpster, where the haunted man had thrown up repeatedly and flopped down behind a pile of trash, too sick with terror to move. When Sandlips and the rest had poured out of the warehouse, Don had been scared spitless. He was sure Batman and Batgirl would take care of the gangsters, but it seemed not to have happened that way.
The unlucky ex-gangster was in the midst of saying his final prayers when another was answered – the police showed up and hauled in all those who didn't scatter in time. Sandlips and his now ex-friend Telly Marvanne had been among the ones who'd gotten away, which, again, would have scared Don to no end, except . . .
Except the Bat pair had come out. And for "shadowy" hero-types, they sure were chatty.
Don ran a hand over his dirty hair, contemplating all he'd heard the pair say, focusing on two very interesting bits of information. One – the Batman apparently was just a kid. A high school kid . . . and a Hill High student at that. A local . . . named McGinnis. That'd be easy enough to remember – he'd done time with a guy name McGinnis. A real twip, too.
As for the second interesting piece of information . . . Don smiled slightly. Well . . . the second interesting piece of information was just as interesting as the not as vital as the first – not yet, anyway.
But it will be. He glanced up at the sky, grinning at where he'd last seen the two, and wondered just what other guys he could trust to help him pull off the best and biggest job of his career – getting the Salem Jewels diamond haul and getting rid of Batman once and for all.
~*~
"'Kay, Ter, tell me. What's the worst that could happen?"
Terry looked up from the vidscreen that he'd been listlessly studying and accepted the warmed-up slice of pizza Max offered him. "The worst? He could take the suit away . . . fire me as Batman."
Max nudged him over to the other side of her bed and flopped down beside him, fixing him with a steady look. "You think that's what he'll do?"
Terry considered that a moment, munching on the pizza while he thought it over. "No. He'll probably suspend me a couple days. Give me the silent treatment a couple more. But stopping me from being Batman? I really can't see it . . . he knows that the city needs me – uh, the Bat. Even if I screw up sometimes."
They both fell silent, and Terry devoted his attention to the wonderful slice of heaven before him – and the pizza was pretty decent, too. But what was catching his eye was Max, now out of her Batgirl regalia and in a very unglamorous oversized T-shirt and shorts. It was the type of outfit that looked dowdy on anyone who didn't have mile-long legs and a beautiful face, so seeing as Max had both, Terry was finding it hard to concentrate on eating.
He knew he should be getting home – if only to change completely out of the suit and get some rest for school the next morning, but after dropping off Max at her apartment, Terry had found it difficult to just . . . go. Leslie, Max's older sister, was still out, and Max's mother was on the road as usual, so the apartment was empty. Plus, Terry was still rather keyed up from the night's events, his Mom and Matt were long-asleep, and since debriefing with Bruce was out of the question, Max had allowed him to vent to her. Somehow they'd ended up in Max's room looking at vids and talking . . . and now eating . . . and just being together, the two of them.
Terry gulped down a bite of pizza and tried not to notice Max's T-shirt rising slowly to reveal a glimpse of her tummy. He focused at the wall until he could feel himself breathing normally again. He'd been with Max alone before, but that night . . . it seemed different. Everything seemed different . . . Terry felt as if his whole world view had changed with just one patent leather outfit and a kiss.
"Why would he get so mad at you anyway? Just because you didn't check in when you got a jump on the bad guys?" Max rolled onto her stomach. "Fine. You could tell him everything jumped off so quick, you didn't have time to call him. It's not like you were taking out a passel of assassins. It was just a two-bit thug with acne."
"It doesn't matter. I can take whatever Wayne dishes out." Terry spoke with a bit of false bravado. "What really irks me is that I'm no closer to figuring out his escape route than before. And I've only got two days left -" He broke off uneasily when he saw Max staring at him with thinly veiled amazement.
"You're still gonna try to figure this out?" Max combed her fingers through her hair. "Ter, after tonight, I'd figure you wouldn't to see the inside of an old warehouse again."
"I really don't," Terry admitted, recalling his apprehension at being in the thick of Old Town. "Plus, the old guy's probably going to have me on a tight leash for the next little while . . . but . . . I need to know how he did it, Max. It's . . . it's . . . a pride thing."
"Men and their pride. The downfall of many an empire." Max intoned, shaking her head. "Ter, I could write a computer program – maybe even weave some VR into it – it'll be just like the real thing. If you're still so hot to do this, let's try to take some of the grunt work out of it. It'll save on suit mileage, too."
"That sounds schway . . . if, you know, you even have time –"
"I'll start working on it tomorrow night," she said, stifling a yawn. "It'll keep me from watching late-night vids, at least. Though," her voice turned lightly teasing. "It won't help me any in getting a life. Or a boyfriend."
"Um . . ." I wouldn't be too sure about that. Terry stared into Max's face, feeling that same desire wash over him again, their closeness was beginning to wreak havoc on his senses. Her eyes . . . he felt like he was drowning in them. "I . . . guess I . . ." Want her. He swallowed hard, tasting the cheese of the pizza he'd unthinkingly devoured. "I . . . um . . . better . . ." Tell Dana we can't be together anymore . . . can't be with her . . . it's Max I love. Max I need . . .
He shook his head a little to clear it. "I'd better go." The words came out in a rush, and Terry rushed to tug his mask back down, not afraid of his blush this time, but terrified that Max would be able to read his feelings in his eyes . . . was afraid what he was thinking was that close to the surface. He needed to sleep on this, think a little more. He was seriously considering complicating his life even more, and for what? Max wasn't even interested. Well, not much –
"Terry." Max's hand on his stopped him, and he stared mutely at her, seeing a flicker of something deeper flash across her face. And he could only sit there with his mask stuck above his eyebrows as the girl leaned close and kissed him gently on the forehead, then the tip of his nose, then both his cheeks before finally pressing her lips against his in a brief, but soul-igniting kiss.
Pulling back to stare into deep blue eyes, a small smile curved her lips upward. "I lied earlier," she said softly, running her thumb against his bottom lip. "You and me . . . it's crazy . . . and we shouldn't even go there, but . . . it would be a good idea. A real good one." She seemed about to say more, but thought better of it, her smile wilting somewhat. "I think now you'd better go."
Despite the smile, Terry could read the indecision in her face, and could see a slight sorrowful cast to the brilliant brown eyes. Terry had to remember that the Dana part of this complicated equation was in play for Max, too. And they had been friends before Terry had set eyes on either of them. Ending a friendship would be twice as excruciating as ending a relationship. Terry knew that it would come to that – he could see it in Max's eyes. She felt it, too – their bond, their closeness, the chemistry – and if he was reading her right, it seemed that like him, she was considering shaking up her world to explore it. But slagit, it was going to hurt. It was going to hurt like hell, and Terry knew that the only thing that could be done – if they had the courage to be more than friends to each other – was to be them to be there for each other when the going got rough as Bruce's voice during a training exercise.
With a gentle nod of understanding and a parting caress of Max's cheek, Terry pulled his mask into place and departed through Max's window without another word.
TBC
