Stretched out on her couch, Max spent the rest of the night hacking into Bruce Wayne's computer (for fun of course) while her Organic Chem book laid next to the side. She studied a bit then hacked a bit while listneing to the oldies station."Come Over" by a girl named Aaliyah played on her laptop. Sweet sounds of classical R&B filled the room until the phone rung a quarter to midnight.
She grabbed the headphones. She didn't bother to turn the vid-phone on, not waiting to be seen in her jammies.
"Hello?"
Chelsea was on the other line. "Tell me you're going to the Valentine Hearts Party."
"What is this? Harass Max Week?"
"Come on girl, you know you want to go."
"I'm not going."
"Go stag."
"I'll rather not be forced to watch make-up sessions." Max continued typing.
"Come on, I'm going stag."
"Then you're going to ditch me for some kid on the wrestling team."
"I will not!"
"You disappeared for two hours at the Winter Fling. I had to listen to your date's friend. Not scwhay." She studied her nails listening to her friend defend her romantic flings.
"Honey, besides. . ."
Thump. Her ears perked to the noises in the silent house.
"He wasn't all that cute and . . . . Max?"
Thump.
No sound came from the pink-haired's end. Chelsea called her, "Max? Hellooooo, Max?"
Thump.
The sound caught her attention again. Like someone was in the house with her. . . .
"Max, are you listening to me?"
"Chelsea sweetie, I have to run now. I think I heard the cat knock down something."
Her finger clicked the phone off before she could hear protest as she walked toward the sound.
'Terry. It has to be Terry.'
She called out his name. "Terry?"
Her parents were still AWOL, and her sister wouldn't be home from school until Spring Break. Her sister decided to go back to school in Metropolis, still sending money to provide for the household expenses while Max finished her senior out there in Gotham.Max was used to being the only other living creature in the house other than the cat.
Another thump followed, a lounder one. The front door sounded like it opened and closed.
"Terry-wait?" Max corrected herself. "Wait. Terry doesn't break in. Terry usually calls first."
Her fingers fell on the first thing that could be used as a weapon and she kicked her bedroom door opened.
Her heart stopped.
A former Joker was sitting on her couch with flowers.
To an outside, the calm scene of a guy lounging on a girl's couch after midnight wouldn't raise eyebrows. To an acute observer, Maxine Gibson clutching her broom to her chest as Carter Wilson aka Terminal sat on her couch casually would raise many.
He sat there in brown dress slacks and a white shirt. A bouquet of a dozen black and red roses sat on the table next to a tiny brown teddy bear sporting a blue bow. Grinning.
At her.
Hands behind his head in expectation, he spoke sweetly to Max.
"My lovely Max, you're home."
He watched the girl swing the broom in warning at him, voice trembling.
"What are you doing here? And why shouldn't I have a good reason to call the cops?"
Carter slicked back his hair and stood up. He started walking toward her, his open button shirt flashing peaks of the wifebeater underneath.
"I know we started off on a bad foot."
"You tried to kill me." She hissed, swinging the broom again . . . only to watch it land next to the couch.
"That's all in the past my love." He dismissed with a wave.
"It was six months ago!"
"Why don't we start fresh," He tried to take her by the arm. "Start over anew again."
"With you trying to give me a new grave. Yeah right, Wilson." She pulled back from him.
"You're funny, beautiful, and witty." He leaned in closer, she stepped back. "What a woman!"
"This is some bad dream, I'm going to wake up and realize I feel asleep eating Rocky Road and watching scary movies. " Max kept stepping backwards, bumping into various chairs and shelves around the living room. Carter was following her around, a funny gloss in his eyes.
"Why not a lovely dream where can sail off together, away from the world-"
"If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're crazy!"
"Crazy about you."
"That make-up must have seeped into your brain."
The hurt flashed briefly in his eyes after she snatched them away as if he were diseased. Then confusion. Genuine confusion.
"Your words are daggers to in heart." Suddenly he crossed the room and took her up into his arms, holding her by the waist, noses nearly touching.
"Listen to me."
Wiggling free was out of the options, his muscles were only twice the size as hers.
"I need you, Maxine."
Thoughts have a funny way of forming in one's head when presented with extreme fear.
'If he wasn't a dreg Joker who tried to take me out, this scene actually would have been touching.'
She shook her head. What's wrong with me? 'Didn't he point a gun at me once?!?'
"I can't eat. I can't sleep. Your face keeps haunting me. I can't let you go, let you run away and leave me a broken man." Was she hearing desperation in his tone?
She was too shock to respond. His gripped tighten, forcing their eyes to meet.
"I need you like a dying man needs water . . ."
Eyes wide as saucers, her eyes took in the view of his lips brushing hers.
Softly. His eyes closed, his heavy breath tickling her neck . . . .