"Batman old buddy! Still working on the side of bogus bureaucratic authority?"

Slowly, Batman turned to see the heavily muscled and armed psycho known as Mad Stan standing near the entrance. He had a broad grin on his big square face and a loaded bazooka cradled lovingly in his arms.

"That's right Stan." He carefully moved away from Max, wanting her out of the fight that was sure to come. "You oughta reconsider joining this side of the law. Maybe then we could put aside all this hostility and become friends."

"Har! Har!" Stan's laugh boomed through the room making any non-deaf presence wince in discomfort. He walked towards the center of the room, closer to the retreating Batman. "You know you can be real funny sometimes Batman."

"Yeah, I'm downright hilarious if I try." There was nothing funny about Stan. He was a flamboyant nutcase with a quasi noble cause and enough knowledge of explosives and the like to make him very dangerous. So what had drawn him here? "You related to Mr. Darven? Is that why we get to be honored by your presence?"

"Naw, but we do have something in common. I was watch'in the news and after seeing what was going on, I figured I should help out. You know that old saying--any enemy of my enemy is my friend? Well here I am, just help'in a friend deal with a bunch of laws that were meant to crush the spirit of middle-class America. So unfair." He smiled and with a swift movement that belied his bulk; lifted, aimed and fired his weapon in Batman's direction.

Batman ignited the suit's boot-jets, cursing his body's sluggish reaction time. The blast missed him, but its' repercussions sent him tumbling out of control into one of the ballroom support columns. Impact toppled the column and its surrounding attachments. As the last of the wood and plaster rained down, Batman rose up from the heaped shambles that had been part of the ballroom ceiling.

A wild hope that he could talk Stan out of fighting was foremost in his mind. The weakness he was feeling would tip a direct confrontation decidedly in Stan's favor . Holding his arms out in a gesture of surrender, Batman tried to reason.

"I'm not your enemy Stan. I'm here to help you. To keep you from making a big mistake."

"You're the one who made the mistake Batman. Just by being here. Now I'm gonna have to kill you."

Stan emphasized his words with another haphazard firing of his weapon. With something so powerful he didn't need to be very accurate.

Batman disappeared again under a barrage of ballroom construction. He emerged from the settling dust and debris and managed a series of huge leaps around the room as the continuous blast from Stan's weapon tracked his movements.

A second slower than he should have been and Batman was once more buried, this particular pile blocking the main ballroom entrance. Thankful for the short respite for his flagging body, Terry realized he couldn't keep doing this. The warmth of blood trickling inside the suit reminded him he was running out of time. He had to get up-close and personal with Stan. He needed to get the lunatic into a position where he couldn't fire any of his weapons for fear of harming himself and then stop him permanently.

Despite knowing he should get out there and fight, Batman could not get his exhausted body to move. He rested inside a cocoon of plaster, plastics, wood and metal waiting for a surge of energy to come. A dull thought crossed his mind that Stan might decide to blast this particular pile to smithereens and put him out of his misery.

Nah. Stan was too fond of dramatics. He'd want to actually see Batman's body pieces being spattered across the room before feeling satisfied.

So all he had to do was just stay here until Stan uncovered him then move like a 'bat out of hell' at the right moment. That's a lousy plan McGinnis. Let's hope it's not your last. Wonder if Max made it out of here okay. She'd probably have a better chance at handling Stan than he had so far. Yeah. All she had to do was give Stan that-- 'You're a disgusting piece of dirt!'--stare that she used on him and the big, bad doofus would crumble to the ground in surrender. Terry's insides tickled with humor at the thought and what Max would do to him if she knew what he was thinking right now. And somehow that emotion drew out a new reserve of energy. Enough that he was ready when he heard Stan coming closer.

Stan's approach was marked by heavy crunching footsteps and his deep voice mocking in a sing-song manner.

"Come out, come out where ever you are Batman. I know you're under there somewhere."

Impatient with waiting and irritated that Stan was calling the shots, Batman ignited his boot-jets and shot out of the pile in Stan's direction. A minor shift in his flight pattern and Batman was barreling straight into his surprised antagonist. He hit Stan hard and tore the bazooka out of his grip as the man fell backwards.

Landing a few feet beyond the prone figure, he bent the weapon in a few different directions with his hands and sent it skidding across the ballroom floor far away from its owner. Knowing Stan still had plenty of armament on him to resume his 'fun', Batman hurriedly returned to the man who was already climbing to his feet.

Quickly he grabbed Stan's arms and locked them behind his back, strong enough that the huge man was growling loud in discomfort, his thick muscled arms and neck bulging with the effort to break free.

With little strength left to continue this fight, Terry made a decision. He had to do it before he passed out--before Stan could finish what Piggy had started. It was a move that could have been done with neatness and precision considering the strength and control the suit gave him. But desperation and his own bodily weakness made it a sloppy one. All he could do was pull on Stan's limbs until….

Crouched far out of the way of the action, Max winced and covered her ears every time Stan fired his weapon. He really had Batman hopping to avoid a direct hit. It was bad enough that he kept disappearing beneath falling debris, but each time it took him longer to rise up out of the rubble. Losing so much blood had taken a huge toll on his energy level. As usual, she was worried about him and though she thought determinedly for a way she could help, nothing came to mind.

He had just disappeared again beneath a storm of debris and she waited, every muscle tensed, for him to reappear. Her fingernails gouged furrows into her palms and her jaw ached from gritted teeth before he suddenly burst into sight. The brightness of the suit's flaring jets left a trail as Batman slammed into Stan and sent him flying backwards.

She heard the scream of tortured metal as Batman stood aside to twist the bazooka into a pretzel shape and then tossed it away. A second later he was hauling Stan up and yanking the big man's arms behind his back.

Max heard a loud snap. She heard Stan's sharp howl of pain and then another cracking sound. Again Stan cried out and suddenly went limp. Batman let him fall to the ground. The big man slumped over, his arms hanging at odd angles at his sides. He was moaning and rocking slightly from side to side.

What happened? Curiosity had her searching gaze narrowing. She saw blood flowing from the soft flesh of Stan's upper arms and from there caught sight of splintered bone ends of white protruding. Aghast, Max realized Batman had deliberately broken both of Stan's arms. Her stomach churned violently, bile rising in her throat. She took two staggering steps in the opposite direction and heaved all over a pile of garbage.

Wiping at her mouth she looked up to see Batman had the barely conscious human bound and was walking towards her. She could hear his labored breathing as he got closer. He spoke out breathless, concerned,

"Max?"

"I'm okay. How about you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me that…" he paused to take in a deep breath. "…a minor blood transfusion couldn't fix."

She watched him pull the cowl part way off his face, noting the moisture that spotted his paled forehead and cheeks. Maybe now wasn't the time to discuss how shocked she was, but the feeling was too strong to hold in. She had to say it.

"I can't believe you did that."

"Wha…" Looking confused for a moment he followed her line of sight. "Him?"

Max nodded, her big eyes solemn on him. "That's not your--style."

"My style--" Terry said the word with distaste. "Is to get the job done. Whatever it takes. I broke his arms. Big deal. There were worse things I could have done to stop him without killing him. And he had to be stopped Max, you know that right?"

"Yes, of course I do. I just thought that--"

"And what do you mean it's not my style? There are plenty of times I've gotten rough with someone who was asking for it. You've seen it often enough through the vidlink. Why is it bothering you now?"

"I don't know," she shrugged and turned away from him, smoothing thick hair from her forehead, "I guess seeing it in real life makes it more…real."

Terry chuckled, "That's gotta be one of the dumbest things I ever heard you say."

Max whirled, a mixture of anger and shame on her face, "Go ahead and keep laughing, especially when I tell you that I don't think I could have done what you did if…" She took a steadying breath, as if what she had to say was the hardest thing she had ever done. "If I had been in your place."

His expression now as serious as her own, Terry closed his eyes and bowed his partially cowled head, "If it makes you feel better to know--" his face tilted up slightly, dark brows creased. "I didn't enjoy doing it."

"Not really." Her mouth twisted in chagrin. "So…how do you feel knowing you were right about me?"

"Nope. I was wrong. You handled yourself real good Max. I was impressed."

At least until she got to Darven and he had presented more of a challenge than the others. Like she just admitted--she couldn't make herself hurt him enough to completely stop him. Witnessing that and hearing her surprising admission left him feeling disappointed. Maybe, deep down, he really had thought she'd be ready to fight alongside him someday. Why the hell did Bruce have to be right so often?

"You were?" Her face brightened in delight.

Terry grinned and nodded then watched her happy expression slowly fade before she said,

"How did…?" Her eyes narrowed, mouth stretched into a tight line. "You were watching me?"

"Ah…" Feeling suddenly pensive at how his generous praise had set him up for disaster, Terry took a subtle step away from her as her arms crossed themselves rigidly beneath her breasts. "Maybe…just a little."

"For how long?"

"Ah…not long," Terry shook his head for emphasis, regretting it as the scenery and Max started dipping and twisting around him. Slapping a hand across his eyes and tried not to sway. He felt steadying hands on his shoulders and Max's silky voice scolding,

"Don't even think about passing out here. The police will be swarming the place any second."

"Understood, but I think that… blood transfusion… would be real helpful right now."

His legs trembled from the effort of standing, his entire body feeling about as strong as a column of jelly. He let himself lean against Max, dimly aware she was struggling to keep them both standing. Ever so slowly they sank to the floor. Awareness faded for awhile until he heard Max calling his name and jiggling his shoulders to get his attention. Her voice was anxious and insistent.

"This is really lousy timing. You have to wake up Terry. Now. Come on. You can do it. Wake up!"

He jerked his head from her shoulder as the shout reverberated in his ear. "Okay--I'm up--I'm up." Then he let it drift gradually back to her shoulder and mumbled, "Just… give me another minute."

"Terr?"

"Hmm?" He felt like he was floating and Max's voice was coming from far away.

"I know you've sort of fallen for me, but this is getting ridiculous."

"I can't help myself," he murmured, liking how amused she sounded. Maybe she was in the right mood for him to wheedle a little more sympathy from her. Besides, he could use some since he was feeling mighty wasted right now. "Who better to catch me when I'm passing out… than my Back-up? It must be… in the job description somewhere."

"I don't recall any job description for this position."

"Hmm." Max's shoulder was so comfortable. He could stay here for hours. If only she wasn't so dead set against furthering their relationship. He spoke wistfully, "You know… you could take advantage of me when I'm so… vulnerable like this and there's not a thing I could do about it. I admire your… self-control."

"Do you?"

"Not really," he replied, encouraged by the amused lilt in her tone. "I wouldn't mind if…you had your way with me."

He felt her chest move as she sighed and relaxed.

Could this be a turning point for them? Anticipation triggered a slow surge of adrenaline and a return of strength to his body. He let one arm work it's way around her back, the hand making small languid motions between the plain of her shoulder blades.

"Terr?"

"Hmm?"

"I may not be able to break one of Stan's arms, but I doubt I'd have a problem breaking one of yours."

He halted his roving hand and gradually lifted his head from her shoulder uttering a disappointed mutter, "Understood."

"Good. Do you feel strong enough to move now? Sounds like the police are just outside the room."

Muffled shouts and the clatter of people clearing an opening into the barricaded ballroom became steadily louder.

Terry was up and moving away from her quickly enough that she was not compelled to help him. He stopped to look at her for a moment, his head cocked in a contemplative manner and said,

"You realize--this is not how I thought the evening would go."

Max smiled wryly, "Yeah, I think I have a good idea how you wanted it to end. And you know it never would have happened."

Terry grinned tiredly, but there was mischief in his eyes. "We'll have to try it again before I'll admit to that," he replied before fitting the cowl over his face.

"Not in this lifetime," she countered strongly then softened her tone. "You going to be o--"

The sound of doors crashing open diverted Max's attention from Terry. She saw a stream of uniformed police flow through the door and take up their trained positions. A worried glance at Batman revealed that he was no where in sight. Breathing a sigh of relief she raised her hands to show she was not a threat and waited for the police to approach.

She felt a small erg of triumph grow inside. This little adventure was over and despite the seriousness of many aspects of it she could still claim a modicum of success in her part of the story. If nothing else came of it she could now clearly admit to herself that she was not cut out for the aggressive approach she would need to become a vigilante like Batman. Perhaps being his back-up was enough for her after all.

Still…if she changed her way of thinking….maybe...

The End

I hope this was somewhat of an entertaining read for you. That was the goal anyway. And you 'guys' have to pat me on the back for completing this. It's only the second story I've finished in my long life of writing for personal pleasure. Thanks so much for reading and letting me know how you felt about it. I feel so honored that you took the time to review. Peace and happiness to all of you!

p.s. concerning writer's block: Hang in there faithful writers and readers! Someday all those nasty blocks will fall before an onslaught of creative imagination and not only will 'Stumbling' be completed, but also "Identity' and 'Beyond Knightfall' and a slew of other great fics we've been patiently waiting to be continued.

Thanks again for the words of encouragement!