A/N: So, i hope readers like this chapter; i'm having second thoughts about it, but that's because i've been marinating on it for too long. so, um, enjoy?

The cut above Terry's brow isn't serious, so after cleaning it, he applies a band-aid before joining Bruce by the console. "Nothing; again," Bruce starts pointing at the screen. After arriving to the cave, Terry demanded Bruce take a blood sample to check for something, anything that would explain the strange phenomena he's been experiencing.

"It doesn't make any sense."

Bruce lets out a tired sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Terry, there is another explanation."

"Lack of sleep isn't it," Terry replies glaring at him.

"Except it fits. You said it yourself; you've been having trouble sleeping the last three months. That's bound to catch up sometime."

"Drowsiness and puffy eyes is what happens, not hallucinations and out of body experiences! Bruce, why is it so hard to believe that Spellbinder is behind this?"

"Because there's no proof," Bruce replies getting annoyed. "He shot you with an overdose of chlorpromazine, and that's it. I ran the test twice. Not to mention we just took two blood samples with nothing strange turning up. Stop looking for something that isn't there. Go home and get some rest."

Letting out an irritated sigh, Terry runs a hand through his hair as he turns away from the monitor. Bruce swivels his chair around to watch Terry walk over to the cases lined on the other side.

"Terry, is there something you need to talk about?" Bruce carefully asks after a moment of silence.

"I'm not going crazy either," Terry bitterly replies.

The two men can feel the tension hanging between them. Bruce wants to help, but Terry isn't letting him. He thinks Terry needs to face the fact that his guilt and regret over Blight is catching up to him, and he needs to bring it to full light in order to get past it, otherwise his mind is going to keep torturing him. What Bruce doesn't understand though, is Terry's experiences are scaring him. Terry feels he's fighting a losing battle and the less answers he gets the more anxious he feels. If Bruce can't help him, then who will?

"I need to find him," Terry finally says, turning around.

"Who?"

"Spellbinder."

"And then what? Question him? And what if he denies everything?"

"He won't. I know he has something to do with this, Bruce. Why else would he try to tranquilize me?"

"Probably to get away. He knows he can't fight you," Bruce replies getting up.

"Then why didn't he just flash me? That's his MO."

"He could have thought ahead considering what happened the last time he tried that. He's a smart man, Terry."

"Whose side are you on?" Terry asks, frowning. "I'm suggesting we find him, you're saying it's not necessary."

"I'm on your side, but think rationally. You haven't been sleeping or eating well, and-," Bruce tries explaining before he falters.

Scowling, Terry bitterly asks, "and?"

"You recently found Jazz," Bruce continues with eyes glued on Terry.

Bristling at the accusation, Terry takes a few steps towards Bruce. "She has nothing to do with this."

"When did you start experiencing head-aches and sleep deprivation?"

"Since I met Spellbinder!"

"And since you found Jazz."

"You've got to be kidding me," Terry mutters tiredly running a hand over his face. "You're just saying that because you hate her."

Tired at constantly being attacked for no reason, Bruce begins walking towards the stairwell. "You wanted my help, I gave it to you. It's not my problem if you don't like it, but you need to clear your mind and start thinking with your head and not that unreliable gut of yours." Rather than listen to a reply, Bruce walks out the cave leaving Terry to fume over the conversation.

He barely managed to get through patrol before Bruce called him back about an hour ago. Disappointed by his own performance, Terry returns without argument and slips away to an alcove to change. Without facing Bruce, he quietly leaves the cave and heads towards the garage where he stored his motorcycle after he bought his car. It's been a while since he's taken it out, almost two years actually; so when he pulls off the tarp, a small nostalgic smile appears on his lips.

He loved riding that powerful machine; nothing else could bring him the sense of elation and freedom the way his bike did. It almost makes him glad he trashed his car. Putting the key in the ignition, he takes his seat and turns on the little monster that makes goose bumps cover his arms. After revving it a few times, he puts his helmet on and takes off as fast as he can down Wayne Manor's winding driveway before entering the freeway.

Early dawn is just breaking and the roads are mostly empty, so he doesn't hesitate to hit 120 mph. Hearing the roar of the engine he's sitting on and feeling the torque when he revs brings on a sense of adrenaline filled calmness. With his focus locked only on the road ahead, his worries disappear and all he's thinking about is turning on his blinker when he's ready to merge and pass the few cars around him.

Click, click, click, merge. Click, click, another merge. He passes Max's exit, speeds by his accident site, and ignores his exit. Click, click, click. He speeds up to 140 mph. The open ends of his jacket flap harder in the wind and sting his sides when they hit him, but he ignores it. Gotham U's exit is coming up, after that is Jazz's, after that is… well, just Gotham, the city he protects every night. He begins slowing down after he passes his mother's exit.

Where is he going? He doesn't know. He's just driving, taking a spin on a motorcycle he hasn't ridden in a while. He slows down even more. There goes Gotham U. The adrenaline rush is wearing off and his focus switches from the gearshift and blinker to his own interest. He's tired, maybe a little hungry. He remembers the casserole in his fridge, then he remembers how Jazz brought it to him. She was nervous, even worried. Keeping one hand on the handle bar, Terry straightens and looks up to read the next exit number.

It's too early for her to be awake, but then again she was up yesterday. Shaking his head, he leans forward again and keeps driving. Why is he even thinking about her in the first place? She's a friend just like Max. He's never thought about Max nearly this much and she's the one he confides in all the time. Looking up, he reads the exit is coming up in two miles.

'No, this is ridiculous,' he thinks to himself as he speeds up. One and a half miles left. What does he expect after he knocks on her door? She already said she has work, and he'll be seeing her for dinner anyway. One mile… He can't expect her to stop everything in her life because he wants to talk. Half a mile… Just forget about her. His hands grip the handle bars even tighter as he tries to stop counting down the distance. 'Just keep driving, keep driving…' Exit 53 on right.

A sigh escapes his lips. Click, click, click, he merges onto the exit ramp.

Bruce was right; Terry isn't in his right mind. If he was, he wouldn't be turning right onto Jazz's street and slowing down as he approaches her building. Realizing how ludicrous his actions are, Terry shakes his head in disgust before he makes a sharp U-turn to return to the freeway entrance. However, just as he is about to speed off, he recognizes Jazz walking down the sidewalk heading to what he presumes is the subway stop a few blocks away. Coincidence can play nasty games with you sometimes.

Slowing down, he honks to get her attention. Looking over, she frowns at the motorist's covered face not recognizing who he is. Stopping the bike, Terry takes off his helmet.

"Need a ride?" He asks.

Smiling, Jazz approaches him as she lets out an impressed whistle. "Nice bike. Didn't know you had one," she starts, looking the powerful vehicle over.

"I kept it in storage no thanks to mom. She doesn't find it safe even though I've had it since high school."

"So why take it out now?"

He sheepishly puts a hand on the back of his neck. "Because I crashed the car," he explains before quickly adding, "but I'm fine, it wasn't a big deal."

"Considering you got away with only a band-aid on your face, I'll take your word for it. I just hope you're a better driver on this baby than you were in your car."

Giving her a light scowl, he changes the subject. "I'm guessing you're on your way to work."

"Yeah."

"So, you want to hop on?" Terry asks patting the back seat.

She looks down the street at the subway station hesitating for a moment before she nods. Terry hands her the helmet as she throws her leg over the bike and puts her feet on the available rests above the wheel. She slides the helmet over her head and tightens the buckle.

"Ready," she announces clamping onto the seat's sides.

"Hold on to me," Terry orders turning his head so she could hear.

"I've been on bikes before, you know," Jazz replies.

"Not on mine, so hold on." Reluctantly, she places her hands on his sides, but the action makes Terry shake his head. He grabs her wrists and pulls them forward to wrap her arms around his torso. Although she blushes at being pulled so close, she doesn't protest. "This is how you hold on," Terry says before he revs the bike and takes off.

When the forward momentum startles Jazz, she tightens her grip making Terry laugh. It's true she's been on bikes before, but she's always been the driver, never the passenger. With Terry in control, she feels more anxious than she wants to and her tight grip makes it obvious to him.

"Relax," he shouts over the wind and pats her hand.

It takes her a moment to adjust, and when Terry feels her relax, he speeds up. This time though Jazz smiles when she feels the engine roar to life. It's easy to appreciate this impressive piece of engineering, and its handler definitely knows how to use it. She wants him to go faster, to see what he can do, and, as if reading her mind, he does. They feel the bike pull before the gears upshift creating a slingshot effect.

Terry skillfully weaves through traffic without forgetting that blinker and makes the smoothest turns Jazz has ever experienced. Before she knows it though, the bike slows down to a stop in front of the grooming salon. Disappointed, Jazz reluctantly lets go of her driver.

"That makes me wish I never cut my hair," she says pulling off the helmet and ruffling her short hair.

"I would have let you keep the helmet off if wasn't dangerous," Terry replies turning the engine off.

"Really?" She sarcastically asks as she pats the back of his bare head making him laugh.

Jazz hands him the helmet before she takes a look at her watch. "Twenty minutes too early," she sighs before leaning sideways to look Terry in the face. "Want to get some coffee?" As a reply, Terry kicks the stand out and the two get off and walk over to a nearby coffee house. With the place relatively empty, they take a seat at a table in a corner with mugs in hand.

"Do you usually start work this early?" Terry asks after taking a sip.

"Pretty much. So, how'd you get into an accident?" She asks setting her mug down.

Terry nervously rubs the back of his neck. "I'd rather not talk about that."

"Don't tell me you had too much to drink," she replies, hoping he wasn't that irresponsible.

"No, of course not. I didn't even make it to Max's party."

"Then what happened?"

With a sigh, he lays his arm down on the table and stares back at Jazz's concerned face. She can see the anxiety clearly written all over his tired face, hear the fear in his voice, and she knows he's hiding something serious enough to affect him this way.

"Terry," she tries again gently placing a hand on his wrist. "What's going on?"

Terry stares at the hand on his arm amazed by the effect this simple touch has on him. The tension that tightened his neck and shoulders releases, and the calmness he felt while riding his bike returns. He lifts his eyes to catch Jazz's gaze and finds himself wanting to spill everything. His nightmares, his experiences with Blight, even his Dana hallucination. But when he opens his mouth to start his story, an unfamiliar voice interrupts him.

"Morning Jazz," Becky, the blond groomer, greets moving towards their table.

Annoyed, Jazz pulls her hand away from Terry and looks up at her coworker. "Morning."

When Becky recognizes Terry, she realizes her mistake and winks at Jazz. "Sorry, didn't realize you were busy. I just thought you should know the shop's open."

"Ok, thanks," Jazz replies straining a smile. "I'll be there soon."

With a smile, Becky leaves, allowing the two to get back to the conversation. Unfortunately, the interruption brings Terry back to his guarded senses, making him look away to avoid another temptation.

"You were going to say something?" Jazz tries coaxing.

"No," he replies, bringing the subject to an end.

Disappointed, she picks up her mug and leans back in her chair as she takes a sip. "You know, McGinnis, sometimes you're too stubborn for your own good."

"I could say the same about you."

"I guess you could," Jazz replies, looking out the window. Biting her lip in thought, she brings her gray eyes back to Terry's face. "How about a trade?"

Interested, Terry's brow goes up. "Trade what?"

"Secrets."

A slow smile creeps on his face. "Bit childish don't you think?"

"If it works for 5 year olds…"

Giving it a moment's thought, he nods. "Sounds fair enough."

"Look at that, we're finally agreeing on something," Jazz says, making Terry smile. She takes a quick glance at her watch before she picks up her bag. "Time to get drenched," she says getting up.

The two walk back to the bike. "Still on for dinner tonight?" Terry asks as he puts his helmet back on.

"Seven o'clock," Jazz nods.

"See you then." He turns the engine over once Jazz disappears into the grooming salon and speeds off hoping to get home before the rush hour crowd clogs the highway.

- to be continued - reviews welcome -