A/N: first off, i'd like to thank everyone who has been submitting reviews! you guys are awesome! second, i'd like to thank those who are actually keeping up with this fic! you guys are awesome too! no, this isn't the last chapter, but i thought a little thank you would be nice, wouldn't you agree? anyway, this should get the ball rolling. to those of you who figured out what will happen next, good for you. for those who didnt, aren't surprises great? anyway, let's get some suspense started, shall we? enjoy!
Terry has been on the gurney for a half hour now and he hasn't shown signs of waking up. If Bruce is panicking, he hasn't made it obvious yet. He checks Terry's pupils, and just like the last two times, his eyes react normally to the light meaning his brain is responsive. Blood work is clean, breathing is normal, blood pressure normal, pulse normal, everything is normal. Frustrated, Bruce moves away from Terry's side and walks towards the console. He can't figure out why a healthy twenty-three year old would all of a sudden collapse and stay out for so long.
Maybe Terry is right; maybe something else is going on. Bruce shakes his head in disbelief. Only yesterday he was telling Terry that this was all in his head, a physiological manifestation of a psychological issue; a problem common enough not to raise alarms. However, now with Terry laying motionless a few feet away, he's afraid to realize he was wrong.
"Mr. Wayne?" Max cautiously gets his attention as she moves away from the bed.
Bruce looks at her from the corner of his eye. "Go home. There's nothing else you can do here."
"I still think we should take him to the ER," she says, ignoring his orders.
"His life isn't in danger."
"You can't be sure about that," Max replies. "You don't even know what's going on in his head. He could have a lesion, or God forbid a brain hemorrhage."
Bruce turns to look at her processing what she just said; he can almost hear the mental gear click into place. What's going on in his head. Without responding to Max, he moves away from the computer to fetch an EEG hidden away with his other medical equipment. Maybe this will help provide some answers and hopefully a solution.
Sirens and flashing lights are what he wakes up to. His heart is banging in his chest and his head feels light as though he's about to pass out again, but that's when training kicks in. He can't afford to be afraid; he has to be ready for anything. He steadies his breathing, and sits up to look around. He's in a building, a museum by the looks of it. He jumps to his feet and realizes he's dressed in black – no, in his suit – and a bag is slung over his shoulder. Frowning with confusion, he opens it to find the DNA case he saved from the Kobras a few days ago.
'This can't be real,' he thinks to himself rubbing his head. However, when Jokerz all of a sudden burst into the room and swarm him, Batman realizes now is not the time to figure out what's happening. Dodging a bullet, he punches the closest Joker and throws him in the shooter's way as he makes his escape.
Kicking another Joker out of the way, he runs towards a window as he tries contacting the cave. "Hello? Can you hear me?" When nothing replies a moment later, he curses under his breath and decides to crash out the window. Before he could leap through it though, metal bars suddenly slide down blocking his escape and bringing him to a skidding halt. Looking back, he can see the Jokerz catching up to him. He flicks his wrist commanding a batarang, but nothing comes out.
"Slaggit, not this again!" Knowing he needs a quick escape, he takes cover behind a vase display hoping to figure out what to do next.
The alarm goes off in the cave making Bruce look up from Terry's head. Gotham's art museum is in the middle of a crisis, but there's nothing he can do about it. Ignoring the warning, Bruce continues attaching sensors around Terry's head before he turns on the EEG.
"What are you looking for?" Max asks, standing at the foot of the bed, but Bruce doesn't respond as he reads the graphs printing out the side of the machine. When a frown creases his brow, Max can't help but nervously wring her hands. "What?"
"His brain wave activity," he replies without looking at her. "It resembles that of a fully conscious person," he explains when the corner of his eye catches the video feed of the commotion happening in the museum.
He moves past Max heading towards the console with eyes narrowing in thought as Spellbinder leaps behind a vase display to hide. His gears begin spinning faster as his grip tightens around his cane.
"You think he has something to do with this?" Max asks following his line of vision. He gives her a single nod. "Okay," she hesitantly says, shoving her hands in her pockets. "So, now what?"
"Now, you leave," Bruce orders, turning around.
"I'm not leaving."
"Then what exactly do you plan to do?" He asks, hoping the question will force her to realize she's useless at this point.
"Help you figure out what's going on," she stubbornly replies making Bruce wonder if his intention ever crossed her mind.
"Do you have a theory?"
Looking back at Terry and the EEG machine, she bites her lip in thought before she returns her gaze to Bruce. "Spellbinder likes messing with minds, right? Maybe he figured out some telepathic way to do this to him."
"No; he's not a telepath, and even if he had access to someone who is, he doesn't have anything to offer that would make them work for him."
"Well messed up brain waves doesn't make much sense either."
Bruce falls silent as he watches Spellbinder sneak up on a guard, put him in a choke hold, and drag him back into his hiding place. "He's our answer," he finally says nodding at the screen.
"And how are we going to get him?"
Bruce's finger hesitates over the phone button on the console before he presses it, dialing the number belonging to the last person he thought he would need.
With her chin resting on crossed arms laid out on the table, Jazz stares at the phone sitting in front of her hoping for it to come to life. She's been waiting for it to ring for the last forty-five minutes, but her intense glare hasn't helped. Sighing, she straightens up and contemplates whether or not to settle her growling stomach with a turkey sandwich. Before a decision can be made though, the phone suddenly buzzes excitedly, wanting to be picked up. However, when Jazz reads the incoming number, her eyes narrow with curiosity before a finger presses the green button.
"Terry?"
The reply doesn't follow immediately. "No."
She stiffens at Bruce's cold greeting. "What is it?" She asks all of sudden afraid of what he has to say.
"Come over."
"Why? What happened?"
"Just come over," Bruce repeats before hanging up.
Without wasting time, she grabs her bag and runs out.
After paying the cab driver, Jazz rings the intercom button by the gates and waits for the doors to slowly creak open. It takes a moment before they do, but she doesn't wait for them to open all the way. Managing to squeeze through, she sprints up the driveway reaching the front door in seconds. Knowing she's expected, she bursts through the doors and towards the familiar grandfather clock. As she starts her descent down the stairs, fear grips her when she spots Terry lying on the gurney and hooked to an EEG machine.
"What happened?" Jazz pants getting the attention of the other occupants in the cave.
"We're not exactly sure," Max replies when Bruce returns his eyes to the video feed. Although she's wondering why Max is in the cave, Jazz pushes the thought aside as she approaches her unconscious partner. "We do know Spellbinder is connected to this, though."
Jazz reads the graphs sitting at the end of the bed and frowns. "I take it you don't know why his brain waves are messed up either."
"No, but you're going to help me find out," Bruce finally addresses her as he swivels the chair around.
Surprised, Jazz takes a step away from the bed. "What?"
Max switches her gaze between Bruce's steely eyes and Jazz's worried ones. "You're the only one who can help stop him," she tries persuading Jazz.
"No, I'm not. Quitting means I don't have to do this anymore," Jazz says locking eyes with Bruce. She takes a few steps towards him. "The commissioner can arrest him, and if you give her a call, she can-"
"I wouldn't have called you if it were that easy." Bruce nods towards the screen behind him. "Spellbinder has been dodging guards and police for the past half hour and is on the verge of escape."
Jazz looks up at the screen and takes a step back. 'This can't be happening,' she thinks to herself as she starts panicking. The reason she quit was so she wouldn't have to battle with self restraint every time she had to face a criminal, but now Bruce is forcing her to step back into that war so he could help his protégé. She doesn't know if it's worth the anxiety that comes with every punch she throws hoping it's not the killing blow, another month of sleepless nights, or the regret she would feel if she fails.
"No, I can't do it," Jazz whisper, desperately shaking her head as she backs away.
"Jazz," Max tries again, "it would just be for tonight."
"You don't get it," she replies narrowing her eyes into a glare that switches between Bruce and Max. "I can't; I'm not going to."
As she turns to run out, a glimpse of Terry from the corner of her eye stops her from taking the first step. He needs her help, he always has. She can no longer ignore the fact that the last three months have taken a toll on him. Although her head is screaming for an escape, her legs go the opposite direction walking towards Terry. Looking down at him, she notices a fresh scar running up his arm, one she can't help but feel responsible for. It could have been avoided; the pain from receiving it, the hassle of treating it, and now having to live with this disfigurement brings a surge of guilt that's heavier than she can bear. She owes him more than she can repay, but she has to start somewhere.
A sigh escapes her lips before she turns to Bruce. "Where's my suit?"
- to be continued - reviews welcome -