The first thing Terry feels when he comes to is a splitting migraine headache. Or at least that's what it feels like – there are scraps of memory in the back of his mind, clues to what the pain actually is and what caused it, but when he tries to chase them down they swirl away. Head injury, he concludes. It's a good enough explanation for now.
Now he has to figure out where he is. Wayne told him that he should never open his eyes as soon as he regains consciousness; instead he should stay still and use his other senses to gather information. From the softness under his head and body, and the light, comfortable weight resting on him, he guesses that he is in a bed. There's a beeping noise coming from up and to his left, and a band snugly fitted around his forearm on that side. He's in a hospital, definitely. On the other side a light is shining through his closed eyelids, and he senses the presence of another person in the room, a presence which is confirmed by the rustling of clothing and the creak of a chair.
Terry decides it's safe to open his eyes. When he does, though, he has reason to reconsider – in his state, even the relatively weak light in the room is enough to pierce painfully through his eyeballs and overload his nerves. He doesn't even manage to keep his eyes open long enough to determine who's sitting next to him. Terry winces and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Terry?" It's his mother's voice – he should have guessed she'd be here. Her tone is a mix of worry and relief. He hears her slide forward in her chair, feels her squeeze his right hand in her own. "Terry," she repeats, a little louder and more anxious this time. "Are you awake?" Her slight increase in volume rattles his skull in a very unpleasant way.
"Yes, Mom," he answers. Talking hurts a little, but he can handle it.
Mary McGinnis lets out a sound that might be a sob, or a cry of relief, and hugs him tightly. Terry yelps as the sudden disturbance sets off another jolt of pain in his head. His mother draws back. "Sorry," she says, laying a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to do that, it's just…"
"It's okay," Terry assures her. He tries to open his eyes again – this time it's not as painful. A quick look around confirms that he is indeed in the hospital. The room's a white tile box, with windows on the right wall and a door to the left. Since the shades are open, he can see that it's night outside. The overhead fluorescent light is off, but a small goose-necked lamp on the bedside table to his right provides the room with some illumination. His mother is sitting in a plastic chair on that side, looking happy despite her obvious exhaustion. To his left is a stack of monitoring equipment and an IV, both of which are hooked up to his left arm.
"How are you feeling?" Terry's mother asks.
"Like someone's been using my head as a drum set," Terry responds. "What happened, and how long have I been out?"
Mary sits back in her chair. "The doctor said you've got a concussion and some bruised ribs. Mr. Wayne told me you were carrying a box of books down from the attic and tripped on the way down," she answers. Her tone of voice makes it clear that that explanation is only a cover. Terry isn't sure what really happened himself. He considers asking his mother for details, but decides against it – even if she knows all the details, this isn't the time or the place to talk about it.
"You've been here since last night – so have I, for most of the time. Matt's staying at Mrs. Wilkie's apartment downstairs. Maxine told me to call her as soon as you wake up, but since it's 2 AM, I think that can wait until tomorrow." She stands up from her chair. "I should tell the nurse you're awake, so she can check on you. It'll just take a minute."
"I'll stay put, I promise," Terry assures her. She grins at him, gives him a final pat on the arm, and walks out.
Terry sighs and looks up at the ceiling. Now that he's alone, he can't help but be painfully aware of the beeping machine near his bed. The sound is starting to get on his nerves. How long until I can get out of here? A couple of days, at least, and probably more. Until then, he won't know what exactly put him in the hospital – unless he can remember it himself. In his mind he tries to find his last clear memory and pick up from there. He remembers catching Natalie, and flying off with her, and then it all starts to get hazy…
His contemplation is interrupted by the return of his mother, this time with a nurse in tow. By the time the nurse is through checking his vital signs and making sure that he's working right, more or less, he feels too tired to chase his memory down again. Staying awake for even a few minutes takes a monumental effort.
When he drifts into sleep, with his mother holding his hand, he dreams of nothing at all.
~***~
Terry gets more visits over the next three days than he has in his entire life up to this point. Or, at least, that's the way it seems to him. Max, Matt and Wayne are among the first to see him. Much to Terry's frustration, Wayne will not discuss anything Batman-related in the hospital. The closest he gets is saying that Terry will have a week off once he's discharged, whether he likes or it not. Terry thinks that, back in the day, the old man would have been out on the streets again the very night he left the hospital and no buts about it, but he doesn't say that. Dana and Chelsea stop by to see him; the encounter with his ex and her best friend is not as uncomfortable as he would have expected it to be. Max comes again, this time with Jared and Howard. His mother's parents come in from Massachusetts, and his father's sister from Virginia. The visitors all start to run together after a while, and being the center of attention loses its appeal very quickly.
Barbara Gordon doesn't really have an excuse to come in and see him – she's part of his other life. But she does send a get-well card with only her first name signed to it. He also gets a card sent by Natalie and Kitsune – it's signed with the initials "N. M." and a brushwork picture of a fox. The cards make him feel both appreciated and uncomfortable in equal measure, and he hides them in the drawer of his bedside table.
Early on the third day, he receives a card with an impressionistic depiction of flowers on the front, no words…except on the inside, where a message is written in a graceful hand. I've been worried about you, but I'm glad to hear that you're getting better. We need to talk soon. I'll be waiting for you under the big clock at seven PM on Wednesday. There's no signature, but Terry doesn't need one. There's only one person who would ask to meet him under the big clock. And he's gotten enough of his memory in order by now to know that he owes it to her.
Terry holds the card open in his hands for a long time, looking at it the way he sometimes looks at nighttime Gotham from the top of a skyscraper. He spends the remainder of his time in the hospital anticipating, with mixed feelings, his talk with Wayne and his meeting with Melanie.