A Terry and Ryuuji Fic

by egochan

For Fickle 'cuz livejournal won't hold it. TerryRyuuji, RyuujiTerry, whatever. Batman Beyond and YGO crossover. Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or YuGiOh.

5. Chapter 5

"No. And you're just saying that because you have a crush on us."

"Oh, c'mon," said Max, pleading now because Terry hadn't taken well to direct command. "You've got to ask Ryuuji out again. If he turns you down, then again. And again. Be persistent."

"No," said Terry resolutely. "I'm not doing that. It just gives him a chance to embarrass me more. He told everyone last time."

"So? Does that scare you?"

"No, it pisses me off."

"So what? There's two options." Max held up two fingers for emphasis. "You ask him again," one finger down, "or you don't do anything," closed fist, nada, nothing. "Not doing anything keeps you from getting your job done. Remember that: your job. This isn't about you or how you feel."

"No, it's about Otogi's father and whatever the hell is so special about him."

"Terry," said Max, her voice trailing off disappointedly. The fact that he'd answered her with "no" every time she'd finished talking had not been promising. "What else do you have in mind?"

"I dunno," said Terry with a shrug. "I'll think of something."

"Well, you've been thinking for what? Three weeks now? Yeah, I see how well it's working for you."

Terry made a face and went back to gluing popsicle sticks together. Staying after school to work on a project with an inquisitive Max in appendage-of-Bruce-mode was not his idea of a good time, but it had been unavoidable. The home economics teacher had finally lost the rest of her mind and assigned the class to build their dream home out of exactly three thousand and five popsicle sticks. Terry was convinced it was because she was sadistic. Ryuuji had suggested in the spirit of argument that she'd recently bought stock in the company that manufactured the popsicle stick brand she'd approved for the project. But, Terry, ever learning how to cooperate with the bane of his existence, had compromised and said it was most likely they were both right, therefore squelching any need to debate the matter further. Ryuuji had responded by knocking over Terry's first successfully standing wall, and had received for it a comment on his capacity as a businessman if he was so childish.

"I don't know if I can do this," said Terry with a groan, pushing his chair back and running his hands through hair to wake himself up. Max smiled because in doing so, Terry had unwittingly smeared a great deal of glue in his hair.

"Are you talking about Ryuuji or the stick house, Terry?"

"Does it matter? Both, maybe. What can I do?"

Max reached over and pulled Terry's wrist aside to get his fingers free of his now thoroughly glued and tangled hair. "Well, right now you should go to the bathroom and wash up, because there's glue in your hair."

"Slag it," said Terry, looking at the partially dried glue over his fingertips. "This is totally unschway."

"You go. I'll clean this mess up," said Max. She'd already started grabbing handfuls of popsicle sticks and glue cartons before Terry reached the door. "I was supposed to be home a half-hour ago."

"Okay, just pile it all in my bag. I'll try to work on it tonight…or, you know, whenever."

"Sure," said Max.

Terry was surprised his head even fit under the restroom sink. He'd never washed out anything bigger than a paint cup under there. It felt strange and cramped and freezing because there was no such thing as hot water at Hamilton. The position and the temperature immediately gave him a headache, but he forced himself through. The water didn't feel all that effective. He tried soap and then regretted it because it took maybe ten minutes to wash out, which a person didn't realise when only attempting to wash one's hands with it only to have it all run off immediately like useless, soap-scented slime. Then, of course, his cell phone had to choose an appropriate time like now to ring. He sighed, scrubbed his fingers one last time over his scalp, although he was sure there was glue and soap still in it, and answered.

"Yes?"

"Quick: did you think it was Old Man Wayne calling you just now?"

"What the hell do you want, Ryuuji?"

"That's not a yes or a no."

"Are you just calling to harass me? I'm busy."

"And you think I'm not so busy as you?"

"Yeah, whatever happened to that international game manufacturing-something-marketing company you're supposed to be managing?"

"Nothing happened. I just consider myself more of creator than a maintainer type."

"So there's a board of directors or something?" asked Terry, trying to remember if there in fact was a board of directors. Mr. Wayne had told him this.

"Certainly. And I own them all. I'm kinda like Bruce Wayne, but with infinitely more sex appeal. Does that make you want to be my personal assistant?"

"Not really, no."

"Too bad for you. My last personal assistant was a blond, dark-skinned Egyptian guy named Malik. I go for ethnic."

"Too bad. I'm not very ethnic."

"Don't be stupid, Terry. You're relatively ethnic."

"How?"

"I'm Japanese from Japan. You're some kind of miscellaneously white American. So there, relatively ethnic. Think about it."

"Certainly. Won't. Now, I've got to go. I'm busy."

"Fine. I just called to tell you to tell Max that I called."

"What the hell?"

"Just tell her I called."

"What are you talking ab-"

And Ryuuji hung up, which enraged Terry endlessly.

"Ryuuji called, rambled, and told me to tell you about it. Am I being tagged or something?" asked Terry when he returned, genuinely concerned about what the hell was going on. Max groaned and began to rummage around her satchel.

"Your cell phone's on the table," said Terry, assuming that was what she must be looking for.

"No, I owe him twenty credits," said Max. "I'm making sure it's here."

"What for?"

"A stupid bet."

Terry was understandably suspicious. One thing Mr. Wayne had made absolutely certain Terry knew was not to place bets with Ryuuji Otogi. He felt cheated on Max's account, since Ryuuji rarely bet on something unless there was a tremendous chance that he could win.

"What was the bet?" Terry asked.

"It doesn't matter," said Max, avoiding the answer. "Here, give this to him when you see him." She held out the twenty credits.

"Why am I going to see him? Give away your gambling money yourself tomorrow."

"But you're going to the hotel opening tonight with Mr. Wayne, aren't you? Ryuuji will be there. It'll be a conversation opener."

Terry shook his head and laughed. "Max, with Ryuuji, you never need a conversation opener. He just leaps right in there if you want to talk to him or not." He then frowned and picked up his book bag, ignoring the sticky crunch sound it made. "And anyway, what kind of a person would I look like in front of everyone if I just strolled over and handed him twenty creds? People would say things. Horrible things."

"Just try, okay? I don't like owing money."

"And you trust me with your money?"

"Terry, I love you, but you're an idiot. Yes, I trust you with my money. If you spend it, I will kick your ass. And besides that, you simply wouldn't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You're Terry, Terry." She waved the money a few more times. "Just take it. If you can't get it to him without epically defaming yourself, then don't, and you can keep it and I'll pay him back tomorrow. See, I'll even pay you."

"Fine," said Terry, caving. He reached over and took the credits from her. "Although paying me to not give him the money is not an incentive to try."

"But you will."

"Yeah. Right."

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Terry had always hated wearing suits. Working for Mr. Wayne had him dressing up more in the first three months than he had in his entire life, and it did nothing to lessen the displeasure. According to Dana, he looked nice dressed up, but so did every single man alive. Terry's main concern in life was not to look nice. For one, he assumed he looked great without trying. For two, suits were constricting and no fun. They were also impossible to change out of quickly and into the Batsuit.

Terry buoyed his good feeling, however, by assuring himself that all the other men in the hotel lobby were likewise suffering. Even Ryuuji had on something appropriate for the occasion, although it may have simply been a result of him owning half the hotel. Mr. Wayne had been telling him about it, and so Terry decided that Ryuuji was crazy with money and owned a little bit of everything. Just in the past week there had been hype about him co-signing with some famous Italian chef Terry had never heard of to open a restaurant in Domino. Terry remembered it in that he had been forced to spend his weekend doing some of the most mundane Batman work of his career without Ryuuji being irritating and distracting. Technically, Ryuuji had only been in Japan for little over five hours, but the trip had taken considerably longer due to the distance and a stop in San Francisco to check in on the Black Clown offices there. He hadn't contacted Terry once the entire time, and Terry was feeling a little slighted. According to Max, Ryuuji had called her five times, and Dana had been called a whopping twelve times. Terry honestly had no idea what the two had to talk about so much.

"You know, your assistant is starting to match you, Mr. Wayne," said Ryuuji, coming upon them sneakily from behind. "You both look very excited to be here."

"Yes. Extremely excited," grumbled Mr. Wayne. "I'm going to sit down. You two should talk."

Terry could have strangled Mr. Wayne for being so blunt. Who the hell left their personal assistant to chat and lollygag during a major event without doing what they were meant to do, which was assist? It made Terry look bad. Terry wasn't even officially invited. Mr. Wayne was. Terry was the help and no higher ranking than the caterers and doormen.

"Excuse me," said Terry to Ryuuji and immediately turned to follow Mr. Wayne.

"I didn't ask you to follow me, Terry," said Mr. Wayne, taking a seat at one of the lobby benches because he said plush chairs were difficult for him to rise from. Terry sighed and shook his head.

"The last credible thing I have is my standing as your nameless personal assistant, and I'm not about to lose that to this damn case, too," said Terry angrily.

"I don't mind if people think you're a bad assistant."

"I mind. I'm not going to socialise while you sit in the corner."

"Do you plan on making a career of personal assisting? Why does it matter what these people think? You accomplish nothing sitting with me. Everyone knows I would usually sit here and be unsocial. They would understand. They don't think you're very good, anyway. You're too young and you've been known to run off on me before."

"But I run off, I don't stay. You should join me. Chit-chat and everything. Say your doctor told you to."

"Which doctor?"

"A back specialist in India who unfortunately is unreachable because it's three in the morning in India right now."

"You're three hours behind. It's near six in the morning in India right now. And how does socialising improve my back? Why would anyone say that?"

"Just come up with something."

"Fine," said Mr. Wayne with a resolute sigh and standing. "Don't make me regret it."

This, in a round about way, also meant Terry had no choice but to make investigative progress tonight. If Mr. Wayne was going to sacrifice his loathing of everyone in the room, Terry should easily sacrifice his qualms over whatever held him back from Ryuuji. Terry sighed just as resolutely and prepared himself.

Paxton Powers was already heading towards them as Mr. Wayne stepped into the crowd. This was usual at all events they attended. Paxton would come over to Mr. Wayne and shake his hand, since it was Wayne who owned a great deal of his company. They would be civil enough, with Mr. Wayne looking no more cantankerous than was usual for him, and Paxton smiling and laughing more than he had a right to. Paxton'd recently started making disguised comments to Terry that belittled Mr. Wayne while the old man pretended not to hear. Terry only nodded curtly. Most of his conversations with Paxton outside the Batsuit involved very little speaking on Terry's side, which was how Paxton preferred it since he considered Terry of a much lower class than himself.

"Mr. Wayne, how have you been? Good, I hope," said Paxton, beaming magnificently.

Terry kept his expression firm, least he should give away just how much he didn't like the man. That was Terry's personal assistant persona, strong, silent, and alert. When difficulties arose, of course, he found it impossible to control his reactions, and Paxton used to poke fun at his panic stricken face in what he said was good humour, but was entirely sincere. His true opinion of Terry was extremely low. Terry didn't think the man even knew his name. To Paxton, Terry was only the face behind Bruce Wayne, and because Paxton disliked Bruce Wayne, he disliked Terry as well.

"Good evening, Powers. Have you developed an interest in Gotham hotel development?"

"Well, you can say I'm invested to be here by Ryuuji Otogi," he said with the sly smile he'd inherited from his father. Just like his father, he preferred to speak elusive double meanings without explaining himself, which lead to everyone becoming confused and suspicious. That was how Paxton liked it.

"By the way. We received the Armenian shipments yesterday, the ones you were asking about, Mr. Wayne. I sent you a notice, but you didn't seem to have received it." Mr. Wayne nodded and Paxton went into a long explanation of problems with shipments since harbour security had been upped a few months before to slow illegal goods trafficking. Everything was being searched, and Wayne-Powers had been forced to revise their quarter calendar to accommodate the delays.

"Well, at least Gotham is solving some of it's own problems at last," said a woman Terry didn't know inviting herself into the conversation. She held in her hands an electronic notepad and a microphone. "What have you got to say about the raids on your company's shipments in Singapore, Mr. Powers? Has Wayne-Powers been shipping illegal arms to Southeast Asia?"

Paxton glared at the woman. "Aren't you here to ask about my opinions of Gotham's future and the tourism boom expected in the next year; you know, the local economy?"

Paxton's tone was perfectly venomous. Mr. Wayne seemed happy about it, which supported Terry's hypothesis that the old man enjoyed angry people whether or not he himself was required to anger them. It explained most of Mr. Wayne's ornery behaviour to Terry, who had never taken a class in psychology and therefore could not imagine more complicated reasons. The old man had a problem.

"Terry, they're going to start giving speeches about why we're here in a few minutes," said Mr. Wayne after Paxton had long since walked off followed closely by the reporter. Someone had come up to them then and mentioned what a terrible job the reporter was doing in not sticking to the story she'd been assigned, the opening of a new hotel. This someone, and later his wife and three friends, turned out to be the owner of the local news media syndicate. He mentioned how drab current Gotham news was and lamented it with echoes from his wife. The usual stories, those about crime and corruption and the who's, how's, and why's of the Batman, had grown cliché. The three friends could only agree completely and in turn brought over more friends to join in-friends who dawned more topics and introductions to Mr. Wayne and their own invitations of new people to the conversation circle forming. Eventually a crowd had established itself by itself entirely around Mr. Wayne so that Terry could only look on, baffled. He was still in shock when Mr. Wayne had tapped him on the arm and said that the ceremonial speeches were about to start.

"You should…check on the car," said Mr. Wayne.

Which meant Terry should go and check his hand computer to see if there had been any major disturbances in the city in the last half hour. The Batman had never been psychic about crime, just consistently well informed. Terry was supposed to update himself every half hour. The fact that Mr. Wayne was always calling him proved just how observant Terry was of this.

Terry nodded his quick, and what he assumed highly professional, affirmative and walked away from the group. He remembered what Mr. Wayne had said about people thinking he was a lazy assistant, and he averted his eyes guiltily from those who watched him leave. He left the main lobby out off a side door and headed for the exit into valet parking just incase any runs for the Batsuit were required. Safely outside and in the garage, he checked how the city had been doing without him.

The city had been doing well. Nothing he desperately needed to worry about had gone down. Maybe a few unreported muggings and vandalism had occurred in his usual patrols beyond the scope of the hand-computer, but he would never know about them. Even on a regular night he couldn't protect everyone. Mr. Wayne had yet to build an omniscient crime meter, and even if he had, Terry would have found it humanly impossible to obey. Some crimes just had to happen and there was little anyone could do about it.

That wasn't to say Terry was fine to let a few muggings or Jokerz pranks pass by uninterrupted so he could sip cocktails and chit-chat. At times he was still young and immature enough to feel a guilty when he heard about the night's crimes on the news afterwards, whether petty or major. There was always the sense that he could have, should have, done something. Mr. Wayne had assured him that such thinking was irrational and that he would learn to work around it. Slowly Terry was learning to not take Gotham's crime rate personally. The only thing that made him feel severely deficient now was his sham of an investigation on Ryuuji Otogi. Life would be perfect if only he had earth-shattering deductive insights and a stoic demeanor. But, life was not perfect, so he lacked both. More than anything, that lack hit a nerve.

The door back into the lobby turned out to be locked. This was annoying, but not a major problem since Terry could just go around to the caterer's kitchen entrance. If he had had a choice, he would have preferred to say with the caterers. They were nearer to his level of society, and so Terry felt more comfortable around them than standing silently behind Mr. Wayne in the lobby. They were smart, too, in that they didn't rush to guide or serve Terry when he entered the room. That wasn't how a personal assistant was treated in Gotham, and no matter how nicely Terry was dressed, they recognized who he was immediately. He supposed each waiter and caterer reviewed a list of names and faces before working an event, because they knew everyone immediately and how to treat them. In Terry's case he was only high enough to be respectfully referred to a Mr. McGinnis and served if he asked for it. Otherwise the staff didn't notice him.

In the lobby outside the lights were dimmed and someone unknown was talking about the history of Gotham and the business environment of the future. Terry tried to find Mr. Wayne in the crowd, but it was too dark. He gave up and headed back to the kitchen to watch TV with the off duty waiters and caterers. They accepted him cheerfully enough with the camaraderie of those in similar occupational spheres. Since Mr. Wayne was more of relic than a Gotham political power, everyone assumed Terry was simply a well-dressed care-taker who tracked medication times and drove the man to his doctor appointments. If Terry had worked for someone more influential, watching TV with the event staff would've made them uncomfortable. But, as things were, they accepted him right away. It was possible they even felt sorry for him since young people usually did not like to work for the elderly.

"What's this?" Terry asked after watching what was on and deciding he had no idea. The small woman next to him answered.

"Brian Hebert's Cajun Cook-Out. Don't worry, none of us knows what he's saying. We just like to guess."

Terry almost didn't believe her, but then a discussion broke out about the grass-looking spice used to season crawfish boils. No-one present had ever been to a crawfish boil, and so it was a mystery what Brian Hebert was saying about it. Against his initial presumptions of how useless it was to watch a show one didn't understand, Terry was soon guessing along with them. His cooking knowledge was limited, but he liked to argue over the disambiguation of the pronunciations and claiming at what moments Brian Hebert was speaking French instead of English.

"You know, it says Cajun Cook-Out, but sometimes I swear he makes Creole food…"

"What do you know, Polson?"

"Well, I lived in New Orleans for a year."

"Yes, but you were cleaning toilets."

"I still lived there."

"Yeah, he still lived there."

"Well, I think you both should shut up."

And that was what Terry listened to and sometimes intervene towards for the next half hour. He enjoyed Brian Hebert and his jovial Cajun accented littered with mysterious phrases of what turned out to be absolutely random French. One of the caterers who joined them after fifteen minutes was a Frenchwoman who picked out Brian Hebert pronunciation to the best of her ability, although she had to keep reminding everyone that she didn't exactly speak the same language.

"Hey. McGinnis, where did old Wayne run off to?"

Terry shrugged and motioned towards the double doors at the end of the room. Brian Herbet's Cajun Cook-Out had just ended and everyone without immediate work chatted happily in the afterglow.

"He's out there somewhere," said Terry, not really caring. He'd begun accepting drinks to keep his mind off how badly he'd failed his investigation this evening. No-one questioned that he was underage. Again, many felt sorry for him and his thankless work for the cantankerous Mr. Bruce Wayne. The man who was speaking to him now, someone named Martin Thomas that sounded like the name of a saint, had said he wouldn't work for Wayne for all the man's inheritance.

"Are they still giving speeches?" asked Terry blearily over one of the toxic drink extras someone had lain on the table. Apparently the physics of the drink required that it to be served at a certain heat, and when it cooled there was no longer a use for it. The heat likely distracted from the fact that it tasted deadly. The key was to be too hot to have a flavor.

"No, everyone's moved to the dinning room."

"For how long?"

"It will probably be an hour. They won't let you in. It's a sin to interrupt the dinner, sorry."

Terry shrugged, not all that concerned. He was supposed to have updated himself on Gotham's criminal vitals twice already, but yeah, he hadn't done that. Another half hour was ending and he wasn't planning to do anything for it. Nothing much happened on weekday night anyway, since less people were out. Weekday crimes were usually daytime crimes like robbing banks.

"Oh well, I'm sure they can call an ambulance if the old man strokes out or anything," Terry said, pretending to think about it. "When's the party going to end? I have school tomorrow."

"You have school tomorrow? I have finals in a week," said a woman busily slicing cheese behind him. One-upmanship was vital in the catering field, it seemed. Otherwise, no-one would have a thing to talk about. "I haven't slept in two weeks. Perhaps an hour some nights if I'm lucky."

"Don't get me started" interjected someone else further off. " I have kids crying all the time. I will be home in a few hours, and they will still be crying the same as always."

Everyone then collectively melded in their self-pity and the stress of living. A few of the young girls mentioned how life would be perfect if they could marry Paxton Powers or Ryuuji Otogi. Terry wisely neglected to offer them his opinion that Ryuuji was gay, since Ryuuji seemed to be one the they were rooting for the most. He also didn't mention his theory that Ryuuji was gay with Paxton Powers, thus crushing two dreams with one stone. There was the off chance they would banish him from the kitchen for his profanities, and then where could Terry go? It was a sin to interrupt dinner and all that. He just had to be happy the girls didn't remember that he'd kissed Ryuuji Otogi in front of the whole world. It was a little reassuring that at least two people in all of Gotham City didn't know.

Martin Thomas, however, was not a saint like his name sounded.

"I'd think twice about Ryuuji Otogi. Just ask Mr. McGinnis."

Terry suddenly decided that he needed another drink and went to find one before anyone could ask him anything. Since when did eating dinner take an entire hour? Terry was all partied-out now and wanted to go home for feel sorry for himself there like he had for the past few weeks. It was a new low when he wasn't even safe among the waiting and catering staff. Everyday, he was going to lose another safe harbor, wasn't he? What would happen when he no longer had anyplace left to go?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooo

Dinner ended much later than Terry really thought it needed to. He managed one more crime update and found the city lacking. Just his luck, dinner ended when he was busy being so responsible, and Mr. Wayne was finally calling him and asking about bringing up the car already, he'd been waiting ten minutes. Terry had sighed wearily and felt too heavily demanded of, but he did as he was told. He drove to Wayne Manor in silence and, unbeknownst to him, to the surprise of the evening.

"You're temporarily fired," said Mr. Wayne, almost as a second thought before Terry left for the night.

"What?" asked Terry, taken aback and in several horrible ways both hurt and furious.

"I offered you as a gofer for Ryuuji Otogi. You'll still work for me, but also mostly for Otogi when I don't need you, whenever I don't need you. I mean whenever. I'm calling him when you're free."

Terry was outraged. He decided a frantic cascade of questions was most suitable. "No! That's not fair. I'm not going to have a life. How will I graduate high school? Why did Ryuuji even agree to that? How can you do this? Why?"

"He mentioned this evening how popular personal assistants are in Gotham, but how he would look like an idiot with one because he wouldn't know the first thing about having a personal assistant. So, I offered mine to borrow since you two already know each other."

"What?" Terry asked again, always needing to verify facts when he didn't like them the first time he heard them.

"You heard me," said Mr. Wayne. "I'm calling Ryuuji tomorrow after school so he knows I don't need you."

"My homework needs me," Terry argued back. "I still have to study."

"Maybe Ryuuji will be nice enough to let you have time for it," said Mr. Wayne with the hints of smirk. "You better work hard and behave yourself, or I'll make sure he gives you no such favors."

"You honestly don't care if I fail, do you? Do you?" asked Terry darkly. Mr. Wayne shrugged, making Terry realise he had no ally here.

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Terry was doomed, and now Ryuuji was going to make him fail high school. He should never again ask himself what more Ryuuji could humanely take from him. Apparently there was no limit, and asking about it only tempted an answer.

"I'd send you out for coffee again, but it's only been twenty minutes. I don't really drink coffee this late in the day, either."

Terry struggled with himself against the impulse to roll his eyes at Ryuuji and sigh. Mr. Wayne had told him to behave. It was one of the most difficult rules he'd ever had to follow as Batman.

"What does Mr. Wayne have you do? Get coffee all day?" asked Ryuuji in exasperation. He'd sent Terry out for coffee three times already and hadn't even finished his first cup. "You're good at it. Seven complicated orders in under fifteen minutes. That must count for skill in your profession."

Terry said nothing. That always made Ryuuji unhappy. He didn't like people not responding to him when everyone usually did. Terry was not exempt, but right now he was mentally putting himself in a better place deep down where Ryuuji Otogi didn't matter so much. The first step to finishing his investigation and saving Old-Man Otogi was to remain calm.

"I didn't give them to be mean," Ryuuji explained, "but just to give you something to do while I thought what to ask for next. But, apparently you are very good with coffee and got back before I could think of a single thing. What do you Gotham people use assistants for?"

Terry's mind when to fighting crime, but luckily his mouth did not follow.

"A gofer."

"But I don't need anything gone for," Ryuuji pointed out with a scowl at the thought. "This whole assistant thing seems like an extravagance. If you're too young or old for a wife, you spend all your money on paying an assistant. Then, you show them off to each other like purebred dogs or ponies."

"I don't remember Mr. Wayne ever "showing me off" to anyone," said Terry, unable to stop himself. The mental image Ryuuji was giving him was deeply unsettling, somewhere between being married to Mr. Wayne, and being Ace the bat-hound.

"Well, maybe my work-load is just too insignificant for an assistant," said Ryuuji, speedily coming up with another reason. "You Gothamians seem to value executives by their work loads, or by all the work their assistants do. Paxton Powers does very little most days. I've spent a great deal of time with him, and he never does anything. I don't know how his company functions."

"I'd say the same about you," said Terry.

"Didn't I already explain my position in Black Clown?"

"And because I'm from Gotham, your work load does not impress."

"Ch. I don't feel bad about it."

They sat there another long three minutes while Ryuuji looked at paperwork and twirled his pen over his thumb. Eventually, he cracked.

"How can you just stand there?" asked Ryuuji in exasperation. Terry made a mental note. The third thing that bothered Ryuuji after his clothes and being called out for speaking English was being in the room with someone not doing anything. "I can't function like this. Don't you have homework? I think we got homework in third hour today."

"Of course I have homework," said Terry, not moving. There was a paused for Ryuuji to realise he was actually going to have to give Terry permission. He seemed to find the idea incredibly stupid.

"Then what are you waiting for? Do it," Ryuuji ordered. He pointed to the door sternly. "Go in the hall and work on your homework. If you get stuck, I'll come out and help you. Or you can call Max. Or Dana. Or whoever you usually do your homework with."

Terry didn't point out that usually, he didn't even do his homework, much less with anyone else. His whole argument to Mr. Wayne about his homework needing him had be a ruse. Mr. Wayne hadn't fallen for it.

But because Ryuuji was absolutely neurotic about Terry standing around and doing nothing, Terry soon found himself out in the hall with six cups of tepid coffee and Ryuuji's math textbook, struggling over problems he hadn't even bothered to learn in the first place.

"Which question are you on?" Ryuuji asked, scuffling out of his office forty minutes later. He looked tired, which amazed Terry because he'd never seen a tired Ryuuji before. He'd just been looking over papers when Terry'd left. What was so strenuous about that?

"Number three."

"Out of twenty? You don't even sound ashamed of yourself, Terry."

"Well maybe I started at twenty and worked backwards?"

Ryuuji looked over at the page of work and grinned. Of course Terry was lying. It made Ryuuji happy to see it, though. Terry couldn't pin-point the reason. Was Ryuuji amused because Terry was being a smart ass, or was he amused because Terry was really a moron and only on question three?

"You butchered question two. That's nowhere near the right answer. You used the wrong formula," said Ryuuji. He pointed to the one before it. "You should have used the first formula. The questions are in order of the book, and these two types are in the same chapter."

Terry could only shrug. He hadn't really been focusing on his work. He'd been thinking about Ryuuji and Paxton Powers, about how that had worked. It didn't seem possible, and yet there it was.

Max, of course, had known all about it. So had Dana. And Mr. Wayne. Everyone in Gotham knew but Terry. That was how out of touch with the world his Batman duties made him. That, and the fact that the news sources that would've told him about Ryuuji and Powers were not the kind Terry typically looked into.

"Well, I've got to go to dinner now with some…people. You have to come with me and stand around so the world knows you've changed hands," said Ryuuji, stifling a yawn. He didn't look like he enjoyed the prospect of an evening out right at that moment, but he forced himself through with it for the sake of maintaining his face.

"It's probably good I have a personal assistant now who can prod me in the back when I fall asleep. Because I'm going to. The people who eat with me are all bores. Domino or Gotham, it doesn't matter."

Terry didn't say anything. Was he supposed to agree with Ryuuji or just listen? He had no idea. Switching from a speculatively subservient position to a positively subservient position in relation to Ryuuji made him unsure of most things.

"But, anyways. We'll have to get to my apartment so I can change. I got a new suit in today. As my personal assistant, you are ordered to remind me to never wear street clothes outside of school from now on. After prodding me awake, that is your primary function. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Terry unenthusiastically.

They had nothing much left to say each other after this. Ryuuji spoke a little about things Terry only half listened to, but in the end Ryuuji was too tired even for that. He confessed that for all the hype, he found Gotham boring. Nothing happened, and people were as boring in Gotham as they were anywhere else in the world. Terry made sparse comments back, mostly yes's and I see's. When they reached the apartment, Terry waited downstairs in the car for Ryuuji to get ready.

Terry had been trying to hide from himself that he'd already admitted to himself that he probably kinda "liked" Ryuuji. It was a complicated process involving a great deal of looking away and placing Paxton Powers beside Ryuuji in his mind's eye to cancel any related thoughts out. If anything was a buzz killed, it was a Powers. Terry had to remember that Ryuuji had been involved with Paxton in order to keep from remembering he'd been attracted to Ryuuji. There might still be hope that after this case that Terry could pull his questionable heterosexuality out unscathed from the smoldering ruins. The main ingredient needed until then was a great load of denial.

"I think this suit makes me look little," Ryuuji grumbled in the back seat, adjusting his sleeves and collar repeatedly. He'd tamed his hair while getting dressed, relinquishing a bit of it to the control of gravity. Terry was especially taken aback to look in his rear-view mirror and see Ryuuji wearing a hat. Hardly anyone in Gotham wore hats this century.

"It looks like a suit to me," said Terry. Actually, he hadn't seen the suit, he was just being supportive.

"It makes me look ten years old," said Ryuuji, grimacing as he looked down at himself. "I'll keep the hat, though."

Terry decided to go ahead and ask the main point on his mind. "Um. Why are you wearing a hat?"

it turned out Ryuuji had been fishing for this exact question. He couldn't wait to explain it. "I'm so glad you asked me that. See, I'm tired of Gotham fashion. I want to bring back hats. Maybe if I start, more people will follow."

"But why hats?"

"Because then I don't have to work on my hair so much. I just get lazier and lazier with age, and my hair takes a long time to sort out."

"Why can't you just stop doing your hair like you do it?" Terry asked. He'd already suspected Ryuuji's hair took horrendous amounts of time by the way Ryuuji went out of his way to protect it. "Bringing back hats is a bit of a gamble."

"You know how I feel about gambles," said Ryuuji smugly for an answer. Indeed, Terry did. Terry knew very well.

"Oh yeah," said Terry, just then remembering what Max had told him the day before. "Max gave me twenty creds for you. Here." He reached into he pocket and pulled the money out, handing it back over his shoulder. Ryuuji smirked as he took it, which angered Terry.

"By the way, I don't appreciate you making bets with my friends," he said sternly. He was pulling into the restaurant parking now, the car suddenly full of light as they drew nearer the building.

"Are you worried I will rob them?" asked Ryuuji in his usual annoying manner which Terry was getting more and more accustomed to. Maybe someday it would no longer even effect him. Then, as the Batman, Terry would have the valuable skill of dealing face-to-face with sons-of-bitches that he'd always hoped for. Sure, Terry wanted Ryuuji sometimes when his teenage impulses went to far, but that didn't make Ryuuji a better person.

"Just don't mess around like that with them. With me, it's different. I kinda deserved it after the airport…thing."

"Aw, you still feel guilty about that?"

"You don't let me forget it," said Terry, his answer having several meanings, most of which Ryuuji didn't know. It wasn't that Ryuuji actively refused to forgive him. No, it was that just being in the car driving Ryuuji all over Gotham right now was in itself a reminder of a plan gone perfectly wrong. Hell, Terry had even been chauffeuring to dinner on that fateful evening. Perhaps in some twisted taste for irony, Mr. Wayne had arranged that things would be just so in order to imprint in Terry more the important lesson not to jump too deep into cases before knowing if he could follow through to the bitter end.

"You sound so sad when you say it," said Ryuuji, relishing the words as he said them. Terry had already stopped the car, skipping the valet entirely. Ryuuji had mentioned before leaving his apartment that he wanted a moment to straighten his suit one final time. Side doors suited him just fine if an epic struggle with his clothing was involved.

"I'm not sad. It pisses me off."

"I forgot. Real men don't get sad in Gotham, they get furious. How pathetically macho."

Terry was trapped. He was stuck between admitting he could be sad and sounding like a wimp, or he could argue he was never sad and sound pathetic. He failed to realise that this had been Ryuuji's exact point.

"Huh," said Terry, blanking on anything else.

"Don't worry, Ter-ter," said Ryuuji, placing a reassuring hand on Terry's shoulder. "I believe you're a real, rough and tumble man. Although that can't mean much to you coming from a gay guy. You probably think I'm coming on to you."

Ryuuji was right. He took the thoughts right out of Terry's head before Terry could even think them. There was no chance Terry was going to admit that, though.

"Anyway, enough of this fun. I've got a boring dinner to eat and you've got to stand back and watch. Please restrain your obvious excitement."

Terry nodded and followed Ryuuji inside. In the light of the restaurant, he found that he agreed with the suit making Ryuuji look smaller. Oh well. That's what the guy got for having the narrowest shoulders of any executive in the country.

"You stay over here, I'm going to sit down," said Ryuuji, leaving Terry behind with a handful of other assistants. The other assistants nodded to Terry coolly, most of them straight-faced young women with tablets. Terry stood out among the group as the youngest and one of only three males. He also didn't own a tablet. Before the dinner started, they all took seats at outlier tea tables set up in all Gotham business dinners for the craze of personal assistance. Gotham had taken the fad to such an extreme that when you ordered a room for a party, you had to order something twice as large just to fit everyone in it.

"Why's Mr. Otogi wearing a hat?" asked the woman sharing Terry's table. Terry shrugged.

"I dunno. He wants to, I guess."

"Sorry," said the woman, tilting her glasses to give him a searching look. "What I mean is, why did you let him?"

Terry's eyebrows itched to furrow dangerously, but he fought against them. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you see anyone else here in a hat?"

"No."

"Do you know what that means?"

Terry kept his face as straight as possible. "That they all look bad in hats?"

The woman gave him her best yeah, right look and turned away. Her employer was calling her forward for assistance of some sort, and she became all business in under a second. When she returned, she was back to looking at Terry like he was an idiot.

"I can't believe you let Mr. Otogi wear that suit. It swallows him."

They'd been brought coffee and water while the woman had been away, and Terry was sipping at his disinterestedly. Was the whole night going to be like this? "He wanted to wear it," said Terry. "Most Gotham style clothes make him look small."

"Not so much until now."

"And what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Stop him."

Terry cocked an eyebrow at her. "And why would I care? I'm not his wife or his tailor."

"Apparently you're not much of an assistant, either."

"You know, you're absolutely right about that," Terry said, stirring the coffee angrily. He didn't care what Mr. Wayne had told him about behaving, about being responsible and getting on Ryuuji's good graces. This woman was starting to piss him off. He looked her directly in the face and scowled enough to match her. "Listen, lady. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I have school tomorrow. What do I care about suits and hats? He can walk out to dinner in a skinny showgirl costume including-yes, even so much as including-the gigantic ostrich feather headdress and all over sequins. Trust me. I would not stop him."

The woman glared at Terry, her face still. She turned her tablet around and shoved it into his hands, pointing around the screen with a stylus.

"Look at this schedule. Do you know the work you have to put into this schedule just to be considered half competent as a personal assistant?" She switched pages to another program. "Look at this catalogue. Every piece of clothing indexed with it's size, function, and color. Each matched to it's appropriate outfit options. Each dated, annotated, and checked every season." She switched to yet another program. "And here, business transactions, histories, sound bytes, memos. All categorized not only by day month and year, but by weather, place, and purpose."

Terry stared at her a moment, not sure what to say, or if she wanted him to say anything at all. He decided it was time to start handing the tablet back.

"Oh no you don't," the woman snapped, forcing it right back on him. "What I've showed you so far is all mine." She shuffled through everything again as emphasis. "My schedule, my wardrobe, my business. It doesn't even shadow in comparison to the data I have on my employer. You have no idea. There's drink preferences, anecdotes, cribbage strategies. You can't even imagine all that's there."

Terry tried to look apologetic to appease the crazy woman. Finally, she allowed her tablet to be handed back to her, but not without several consolatory gestures and confessions that Terry was indeed a bad personal assistant. After a little while, she seemed to halfway forgive him.

"Well, I suppose you're new to this. Mr. Wayne isn't exactly demanding."

"Nope, not at all," said Terry ruefully. "Totally easy. Nothing hard about working for Mr. Wayne. Nope. A walk in the park."

"I just feel bad that Ryuuji has to put up with someone as incompetent as you," she said. "I wouldn't let him embarrass himself in a hat. I wouldn't make him take the side door into the restaurant."

Terry didn't tell her how Ryuuji had actually suggested all those things. No. By now he'd begun to notice the tell-tale signs of a Ryuuji fangirl in the woman. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes and grumbled. Why did these girls have to be so slagging everywhere so slagging all of the time?

"So, why do you work for Ryuuji?" the woman asked, slowly calming down a little more. "You still work for Mr. Wayne, don't you?"

"Yeah, Mr. Wayne's kinda lending me out. I go to school with Ryuuji, so we know each other."

"So I've heard," she said, giving him another one of her penetrating looks. Terry had no idea what she was looking for. Part of him said she just did so for effect.

"It's really an elaborate hoax to get help on my math homework," said Terry, kidding because it was all he could think to say. The woman didn't look at all amused, just irritated. Terry wondered if she was a long lost niece or granddaughter of Mr. Wayne.

"Are you sleeping with him?" she asked out of nowhere. Something about her taking a sip of water had struck her as the proper transition point for this. Unfortunately, no-one had ever warned Terry that taking a sip meant anything other than someone was thirsty, so he ended up choking and nearly drowning in his gulp coffee. The coffee was hot, and it was painful.

"NO," said Terry as strongly as he could manage without drawing the whole room into this conversation. "Just why the hell do you ask?"

"My employer wants to know."

"And what the hell kind of sick employer is that?"

"Paxton Powers."

Terry growled murderously. "Figures," he spat, shaking his head. He looked over to where Ryuuji was sitting a few feet away and noticed for the first time that Powers was right next to him.

"And why does it matter to him?" Terry finally asked, furious and morbidly curious at the same time.

"They used to be together. Don't you know that?"

"Yes."

"Does there need to be a better reason?"

Terry looked at her darkly. "Yes."

"Other than jealousy, you really need a better reason?" she asked, not believing him.

"Yes. I don't see why Paxton Powers would be jealous."

"No. Actually he's suspicious. He thinks that maybe Ryuuji left him for you."

"He didn't. We're not together."

"Then I'll tell Mr. Powers so."

"Couldn't he just ask Ryuuji himself?"

"That's not how this works."

Terry was about to say something. He didn't know what. Maybe something about how stupid that was, or about how unwilling he was to believe it. But, once more, Paxton's assistant was called to assist, leaving Terry alone and fuming after her. She stayed away a long time, and Terry soon gave up glaring. It was starting to give him a headache. Instead, he went to looking morosely at his coffee cup, feeling like he'd somehow become very much stuck in the plot of a bad romance novel. And then, not only was it a bad romance novel, it was a gay romance novel, and that made it all the worse.

"Aw, poor Ter-Bear. Is Paxton's assistant not playing nice with you?"

Terry looked up with shock and anger to Ryuuji who had taken the seat across from him. Ryuuji tipped his hat and laughed.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Go sit at the table before anyone thinks I'm a worse assistant than they already apparently do."

"Meh. Face it," said Ryuuji, stretching and making himself comfortable in the empty seat, "you'll never been great. You might as well give up."

"Well, my final act of competence will be to get you to go back to the table before everyone starts to notice. Go."

"No," said Ryuuji, instantly composing his face to something calm and in control. It was almost scary. "Terry. There are people at that table talking about dessert. Do you know what I'm saying? They want me to sit there for another course and another hour-plus because they are selfish and want dessert." He sighed dramatically and pressed his fingers between his eyes, as if pushing back a strong headache. "Then, they'll want coffee. Then they'll want drinks. Then the coffee will take effect and they'll want to keep chatting well into the night, telling me all their golf stories again and other anecdotes until I want to impale my skull on a butter knife. Do you want that to happen?"

"I don't really mind," said Terry. Ryuuji frowned at him. Ever since Terry had started talking back, Ryuuji had been hard pressed to keep Terry under control. The secret to Terry's success? Easy. He'd surrendered to his fate, and in doing so had learned talking back to Ryuuji would sometimes shut him up if Terry said the right thing. And if not, at least it could irritate Ryuuji a little back. It was probably the one thing he'd really learned about they guy so far that Mr. Wayne couldn't tell him was contrived.

"So I'm right to presume that you and Paxton's assistant have really hit things off and you would love to chat with her for another three hours?"

However much Terry hated it, Ryuuji had a point. Still.

"You can't sit here all evening as an act of protest, Ryuuji. People are starting to look for you."

"And I'm easy to find with this hat on. Isn't that convenient?"

Terry decided now was the time for straight talking that would appeal directly to Ryuuji's common sense. Hopefully, Ryuuji possessed common sense, or Terry was going out on a long, precarious limb here. "Ryuuji. They will order dessert whether you want them to or not. Go back to your seat."

"What if I just turn to them all dramatically and announce that fellows, I'm taking my dessert to go? Then, I crush-kiss you for a good minute and a half, and we leave, golden."

"Yes, assuming I would ever in this life agree to that, we could."

"So you're in?"

"Not even near it."

"Slag it, Terry. I'm tired. I hope my expert use of the vernacular can convey that to you. Or do you not know what vernacular means?"

"I know what vernacular means."

"Well, then I'll let you know I'm slagging tired. I want to slagging go home so I can slagging get some slagging sleep so I'm not so slagging exhausted when I wake up for slagging school tomorrow. Am I sla-clear, slag it?"

Terry almost burst out laughing. Almost. Ryuuji gave him a look that spelled out painfully you suck, and so Terry fought back anything beyond a smirk.

"You can't just leave," said Terry, motioning to those in the rest of the room. "Everyone will ask."

"How about you just lie to them all for me? No kissing involved. Just pretend I'm late for something."

"At nine o'clock at night?"

"I'm really, really late."

"Yeah right."

"Maybe my father would be calling me. He's crazy and capable of anything. No-one would question it."

"But if he's crazy, why would you even bother to take his calls? Why would he even be allowed to call?"

"You just want me to suffer, don't you?"

"Always."

Ryuuji made a face at Terry, utterly disappointed. He told Terry so much in many, many more words. By then Paxton's Power's assistant had returned and was looking down at them expectantly. Terry couldn't tell if she wanted Ryuuji to move or Terry.

"Hello Angelica," said Ryuuji after she made a small cough to get his attention. "I'm busy chastising my assistant for being uncooperative. Can you fetch me a water?"

The woman didn't seem to appreciate being told to leave and obey Ryuuji, but a part of her seemed to really want to. Terry suspected the woman would still change places with him in a heartbeat. She probably would've agree to the whole kissing ruse as well and with enthusiasm. Forget what she'd said about maintaining Ryuuji's face. If kissing him was involved, she'd probably more than willingly make the sacrifice.

Terry, however, was not a late-teen to twenty-something young woman. Ryuuji was going to have to try a lot harder, regardless of how easy Terry had come off in the first few weeks since they'd met.

"You know, it's supposed to by my job to fetch you things, not hers," said Terry, watching Power's assistant flag down a waiter and start talking with him.

"Damn. That's a good point. I could've had you trip and spill it on me, thereby forcing me to take an early retirement from the dinner. Quick, I think there's still time to stop her. Why aren't you moving?"

Terry stared unsympathetically back. "Ryuuji, if I wasn't here, what would you've done by now?" he asked. "Honestly. Would you've suffered dessert, or would you've managed to sneak out?"

Ryuuji frowned before he answered, not approving of Terry's tone. "I would've got Paxton to come up with something. Sure he would've wanted sex later as payback, but that's just because he's used to women who bargain with sex. He hasn't figured out that I'd just as much agree then as any other old time."

Terry tried desperately to delete that mental image as soon as it began to take shape. He tried not to look at Paxton sitting at the table, totally unawares of what Ryuuji was confessing about their previous relationship. He didn't want to strengthen the picture of them both together doing…whatever the hell they'd done that Terry was not going to think about any further, thank you.

Avoiding the thought, however, only made it worse.

"Aw, Ter-Bear. Was that a bit much?" asked Ryuuji, grinning at Terry who was keeping his eyes resolutely glued to the table. "What bothers you most? That it was Paxton, it was me, or that we're both men?"

"That sounds about right."

"What?" asked Ryuuji, laughing. "Look up. You're not making sense."

Terry tried. He really did. But when he saw Ryuuji, he saw Paxton, and when he saw Paxton, he saw them. The though scared, disgusted, and intrigued him all at once. He quickly looked back down at his coffee and started tearing open sugar packets to pour into it. Adding sugar to his coffee became the entire universe, and no-one else was allowed into it.

Ryuuji didn't even knock. Terry reached for a fifth packet of sugar not noticing Ryuuji reaching as well until he'd intertwined their fingers and grabbed hold. When Terry yanked his hand back, he brought the rest of Ryuuji with it so that the other man was leaning over the table towards him. Both glasses of water fell, the one nearest Ryuuji rolling off the edge and exploding over the floor. Terry's own glass fell into his lap and he caught it with his knees. He took it and placed it back on the table, not looking away from Ryuuji for a second. He knew what the guy was capable of.

"What do you want?" Terry growled, noticing in the back of mind that the entire room had suddenly gotten a whole lot quieter.

"I already told you what I want." said Ryuuji softly, coming closer. "Everyone's watching. Make it good."

Ryuuji started to move in for the kiss. But before his lips touched Terry's, Terry turned his face to the wall. Ryuuji ended up kissing his cheek, but only for a second. He pulled back instantly and glared.

"Why you-" Ryuuji started angrily, but Terry was already standing. He used their joined hands to pull Ryuuji along with him out of the room. There was a quick explanation about how Terry was soaking wet, which he was, and that they had to leave, sorry about dessert. Terry dragged the fuming Ryuuji to the car with him, although Ryuuji didn't even try to thank him for it. The last thing Terry saw of the diners before closing the door was Paxton's assistant holding a glass of water and glaring after him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooo

"I can't believe you had to embarrass me like that in front of everyone, Terry," Ryuuji snapped, still furious at Terry as Terry drove them back to Ryuuji's apartment. "A kiss on the cheek? The cheek? What am I, your grandmother? Slagging hell. It was suppose to be bad for you, not me. You're the one who was being impossible. I didn't do anything but want to go home-but nooooo, Mr. McGinnis has to be all competent for once in his slagging life and tell me to go back to the table. I hate you now. I totally hate you."

"Good," said Terry. "I don't care."

Ryuuji fumed silently in the back seat for the next several minutes, occasionally reaching up to rub his cheek vigorously as if trying to get Terry off of it.

Terry couldn't decided how exactly he felt about Ryuuji hating him now. He'd always suspected that maybe Ryuuji should hate him. Terry had always sort of hated Ryuuji enough that it would only be fair.

Obviously the case was over for Terry now. Max would probably have to take over. Hell, did she want to be Batman? She could have that, too. Terry would just go on to live his life as a loser somewhere else far away while Mr. Wayne either gave up or went to find someone more competent. As far as Terry knew, his entire career had ended tonight.

"Why didn't you do it?" asked Ryuuji moodily. Terry couldn't pretend not to hear him. They were waiting for a light to change, so the car was relatively quiet. It was also the longest light in the history of man, so Terry was starting to grow frustrated.

"Why didn't I do what?" snarled Terry. "French you in front of a group of influential Gotham socialites when you'd set it up to make me look guilty? You know what; I have no idea. I guess I just wanted to make you angry. Yep, now that I think about it, the whole thing was just to piss you off. Personally, I can't even think of a better reason."

Ryuuji slumped down into his seat sourly, not looking at Terry, but out the window. After a few more blocks he let out a deep sigh and turned forward again.

"It wasn't about you," he said, though it sounded like it was taking a great struggle on his behalf. "What I was staging was not to get at you, you idiot. I was trying to make a point to someone else."

"Someone else as in Paxton Powers, right?" Terry couldn't help but ask.

"Yes."

"And what the hell was your point? I told his assistant we weren't together. Hell, I've told everyone we're not together, and they all think I'm easy or an asshole because of it. So, just what the hell happened to be your great point?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't understand that you're a vindictive son-of-a-bitch who broke up with the guy and isn't happy until you've rubbed it in his face a thousand times over?" asked Terry. "I don't even like Powers, but you're just being petty."

"Oh please," groaned Ryuuji, rolling his eyes at Terry. "That's because you hate Powers, right? Ever since that hostile take-over, Wayne's been preaching the anti-Powers doctrine to anyone who will sit still for him, and you've just been soaking it in, haven't you?"

"No, everyone hates Powers" said Terry, speeding up as the light finally changed. They were almost to Ryuuji's apartment and the high probability that Ryuuji would storm of out the car and never see him again. Before then, Terry had to make his point. "They hated Wayne Corp, too. All they like is the money, and they hate the corporations for having all the money. That's how it's always been here. Only the Batman's done a thing about it, and lots of people hate him, too. You can't win in Gotham."

"No. You can't win whilst maintaining your integrity. There's a difference. But you can always find a way win any time losing is the alternative option."

Terry didn't want to ask why their argument had transformed from a kiss on the cheek to Gotham City. He didn't care. Anything he could argue, he would, if only he was arguing it with Ryuuji. He wanted to prove the guy wrong, to best him at some trifling point that didn't matter except for right now.

"Well of course, if you call that winning. And clearly you are about to tell me you lack integrity or something else that would otherwise make you a decent human being," said Terry, not leaving room for Ryuuji to defend himself from the accusation. "Then, that means you broke up with Powers because you're both so slagging perfect for each other it's like looking in the mirror."

Ryuuji sneered at this, not letting it slow him down. "And what do you have out for Paxton Powers, huh? You told me everyone hates Wayne, Powers, me, and anyone else who owns something financially substantial in Gotham City. But, you seem to hate Powers more than anyone."

"Powers is different. He deserves it. The guy's a terrible person. I can't imagine what you saw in him."

"Don't tell me you're jealous. You don't even like me."

"I'm not jealous." He paused. "And I do sort of like you."

He said it in the same hostile, defensive manner in which he'd said everything else, but the words still didn't come out the same way. Most days Terry refused to admit that he could even stand Ryuuji, and Ryuuji had taken it on face value. They both simply agreed Terry was a horny teenager who would make out with anyone who sat still and puckered their lips long enough. Terry had been happy thinking that, even if it was a little insulting to whatever stood for his willpower over his hormones.

"Excuse me?" asked Ryuuji, looking at Terry not through the mirror, but directly at him, evaluating.

Terry swallowed nervously and wished he could take it back. He couldn't decided if he was lying, being polite, or halfway sincere. Apparently neither could Ryuuji, who remained silent the last few minutes until the parking garage. Terry remembered last time they were both here this late, and he was thankful Ryuuji had not started falling asleep in the car all over again.

"Before you freak out, I'm not coming on to you," said Ryuuji, once again placing a hand on Terry's shoulder and making him think that Ryuuji was indeed coming on to him. "But maybe you want to come up and dry your clothes. Because seriously, you're soaking."

Terry expected some sort of innuendo here, some joke that only Ryuuji would ever find funny. He looked over to see it there, the smirk and the mirthfully squinted eyes, but there was nothing. Ryuuji still looked a little angry, but otherwise was quietly serious, perhaps even sincere. Terry didn't know what to make of it, but found himself agreeing and entirely confident that Ryuuji wasn't coming on to him at all.

"Sure," said Terry. "It'll only be a few minutes."

The elevator seemed to take forever climbing up to Ryuuji's floor. At the very top the walls fell away, and Terry noticed Ryuuji close his eyes. He faintly remembered hearing Ryuuji telling him something about how he hated trendy Gotham tube elevators that became open on their first and last stops. The whole sensation of losing the walls made him nervous and somewhat disoriented, so he closed his eyes. It had never occurred to Terry before then to consider someone having such a problem, but he supposed it made sense if you came from a place were the elevator walls typically kept their places.

Because the apartment was the penthouse, no-one else lived on Ryuuji's floor. The elevator opened directly into his main room, where Terry instantly felt as if he'd just walked outside. The people of Gotham did not skimp on windows, especially for the very wealthy. For some reason, windows where Gotham's single oversized contribution to the architecture world, as if the city was really anything to look at.

"Nice place. All swanked out and everything," said Terry, looking around at the minimalist expensive furniture scattered about the room like islands in a sea of carpet. Midway through the room there was a half moon depression with steps and a long couch running along it's curve. The half moon opened out into the giant three storey window and the glass double doors that lead to the balcony.

"Bathroom's over here," said Ryuuji, leading him to the door to a large bedroom that was covered all over in long rolls of plan papers spread out and weighted down with pillows and books and piles of more papers. Terry didn't believe he'd seen so much paper or so many pens in his entire life.

"Sorry, this is kind of my at-home office," said Ryuuji, kicking a path through to the bathroom door. "I'd let you use my bathroom, but I'm going to get ready for bed. The other bathrooms don't have hairdryers in them. You can leave when you're done."

Terry nodded, thanked Ryuuji, and set about removing and drying clothes in the refuge of the gigantic, empty bathroom. Everything about the apartment was oversized in the wide, spacious Gotham style. Ryuuji had made an effort to keep it all that way since he was working on integrating himself to the city. After his father died, he was planning to stay.

And no matter how much he tried, Terry still couldn't see Ryuuji as a man after his father's life. Even when Ryuuji had been mad at Terry, Terry hadn't felt like he was much danger. That was the thing about Ryuuji. He could threaten and yell all day long, but he never made anyone fear for their life. Maybe that's what made him dangerous, that no-one expected it in the end. Terry was probably just falling into a trap.

Traps, however, were something of Terry's specialty. He was always landing in them at the most inconvenient times during his investigations. If Batman skill accounted for anything, then it was saving Terry from his own impulsive self.

"Heads up. I'm bailing," said Terry, stepping up to the half-moon stair and couch depression. Ryuuji was sprawled on the floor to the left, his back against the couch front, watching television. He didn't acknowledge Terry any further than a quick shrug between changing channels.

"Well, see ya," said Terry, not sure what to say or even if he wanted a reason to stay longer. He took a few steps towards the elevator, but stopped when Ryuuji called him back.

"Hey, Terry."

"Yeah?"

"I have a question."

Oh great, this was it. Maybe Ryuuji expected some long, heartfelt profession of liking and appreciation from Terry that Terry wasn't confident he could offer. Terry was sure that even if he hadn't been lying and could stand Ryuuji, it was better to assume he didn't. If Terry got caught up in his emotions, everything went poorly. Melanie had been an exampled enough of that. Criminals didn't need compassion or care, they needed to be caught and punished appropriately.

Or maybe Ryuuji was psyching him out again. That was possible. As long as he'd known Ryuuji, Ryuuji had never given him a serious question. He'd always been trying to get Terry riled up over something stupid or the other. Why would now be any different?

"If you mother's a natural redhead and your father was a brunet, why do you have black hair?"

Terry had been right to assume it was something stupid.

"I dunno, but my brother's got black hair, too."

"But your parents where separated, right? Do you know why? Are you sure that your father was really your father?"

"Why the hell does it matter?" asked Terry, clearly sensitive on the subject of his dead father. Ryuuji might not care about his own father alive or dead, but Terry wasn't Ryuuji. To Terry a father was something important he'd lost, not some burden he'd had to keep up with. Why Ryuuji asked such questions frustrated Terry because it came off as so unyielding to the fact that other people might have had genuine father/son relationships of their own.

"It's just a question."

"You're implying my mother slept around."

"So? She's not a bad person, and your father stilled cared for you. He probably wasn't even related to you, and he still cared for you."

"I can't believe you're telling me this," said Terry angrily. "I can't believe you think I want to hear that."

"I'm saying he must've been an exemplary person."

"Because your father wasn't, and you want to make some point to me about it?"

"Not entirely," said Ryuuji, still changing stations as he spoke. The conversation just didn't matter to him did it? Probably he had found the TV boring and had to entertain himself with irritating Terry instead. Terry didn't appreciate it. "See, it's like the Jokerz. Most of the people I know don't know about them, so I save my more complicated problems for you."

"You mean the people you hang out with are all fatherless?"

"No. Paxton wasn't. Dana isn't. I'm just asking you because you seemed to mostly get along with yours. You lived with him over your mother."

"You're crazy."

"I say curious."

"You're still weird."

Ryuuji shrugged, actually agreeing to that for once. "Well, would you like to meet my father?"

"I already have."

"Don't kid yourself. You don't know the first thing about him."

"And why should I see him?"

"I dunno. Maybe it will make me look a whole lot better or something."

"And why does it matter to you what I think of you?"

"It doesn't. I just want to reach an understanding."

"You want me to agree your father's insane."

"I want you to see for yourself. Then all my annoying questions will suddenly have a reason. Like magic."

Terry scowled. He took a few steps in the direction of the elevator, but ended up making a circle. With a resigning shrug, he turned back to Ryuuji. Ryuuji wasn't looking back, but was still watching the TV as channels flitted by.

"Sure. I'll see him. When? Are you bringing him here or something?"

"We'll talk about it later. Right now I need to sleep."

"You're sitting in front of the TV."

"I can't sleep when it's quiet. I'm looking for a midnight marathon or something because this apartment is too far from traffic."

Terry grunted with feigned interest. "Sounds like you'd be great for a snorer."

"One of Paxton's downfalls was how noiselessly he slept. Didn't even move," said Ryuuji. He smiled to himself and finally looked up. Terry quickly looked away. "Although I'm sure you would've been happy not knowing that."

"Thrilled, actually."

"Why's it such a problem? And don't go on again about how you special-hate Paxton more than anyone."

Terry struggled to explain himself in a way where he didn't sound like a baby. Not very much came to mind.

"I…I just don't like the idea. I'm not gay, you know."

"Yes. I know. You just like to kiss men. It's your little hobby."

"Shut up. No, it's not."

"Sorry. You like to kiss me. That's your hobby."

"No, it's not."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No."

"Then you're masochistic, aren't you?"

Terry glared. "And what does that mean?"

"Masochistic; it means you like pain and misery."

"I know what masochistic literally means. Why do you have such little faith in my vocabulary, huh? English isn't even your first language."

"You'd be surprised how many people don't know what masochistic means," said Ryuuji. He'd found a crime drama in Japanese and settled there for the time being. As he spoke, he was preparing to stand, hopefully finally getting to bed after all of this time. "It's odd, sort of, because they all seem to know what sadistic means, and sadomasochism."

"Because those sound kinkier," said Terry indifferently. Ryuuji grinned.

"I was going to say that. You were supposed to look uncomfortable and grumble at me."

"Oops. Sorry."

Ryuuji laughed, but was distracted by the TV before he could speak. He frowned at the two cops on the crime drama silently for a few minutes while Terry was mortified with himself for only understanding the word no in the entire dialogue exchange. Nothing else was really happening in the drama except conversation right now. The plot seemed to have reached a standstill.

"What's going on?" asked Terry after a several more boring minutes of watching the men talk, get into their car, and then go somewhere to talk to a few more people who looked like suspects. Terry was getting tired of standing and wondering if he should just leave.

"Not much," Ryuuji admitted. "They're just saying pseudo-serious things to each other and being inquisitive a whole lot. The tall, skinny one was going on about how he wanted to see the cherry blossoms bloom this year, so he's probably not going to make it. He's got cancer killing him. It's really far-fetched how lively and about he is considering the type of cancer he says it is."

"Have you seen this before?"

"No. I watch better things."

"Like what?"

"I dunno," said Ryuuji thoughtfully, sitting down on the couch this time instead of the floor. He leaned forward and put his chin in one hand, taking up the remote in the other. "What do you like?"

"I don't watch much TV. Too busy," said Terry. He was telling the truth. It was the reason he seemed so out of touch sometimes, and also why Max was so indispensable for information.

"Same. Although for some reason, while I'm not all that into mystery or crime shows, I do like mystery or crime movies. What does that say?"

"I dunno," said Terry. He gave in to the dull aching of his legs and sat a few feet down the length of the couch from where Ryuuji was seated. Ryuuji looked over mildly interested for a moment, then turned back to the TV. "Maybe you don't like your plots contrived and rushed to fit all the action into a half hour?"

"Movies aren't exactly reality," said Ryuuji.

"But there's more exposition. And yet things resolve faster with less time wasted in pointless dialogue."

"Sometimes too fast, but I can't abandon a movie I'm already involved in."

"And real life crime would take ages to watch, even for a movie. Imagine now long you'd be trapped then."

Ryuuji shrugged, pausing at what looked suspiciously like a Japanese dubbed Sherlock Holmes television series. Terry, who'd never read much Sherlock Holmes, still didn't know what was going on.

"It doesn't seem to take very long to solve a case," said Ryuuji. "The Batman wraps up his crimes fairly quickly, sometimes in a single night."

"I'm pretty sure he's got longer cases," said Terry, who was actually extremely sure. He was looking at the longest case to date right now.

"But he doesn't seem the type for long cases, just saving people from burning buildings to reap all the glory. You know, like Superman only without all the trips to outer space."

"He gets some pretty phenomenal cases, though. It's not that he seeks out all of the glory. The glory just happens because of the newspapers," said Terry, a little more defensively than he wanted. How dare Ryuuji accuse him of being a superhero for a self-esteem boost.

"Yes, but…I think if there were a show about him, I would find it both contrived and rushed."

"No."

"Yes. He fights freaks and monsters, and how many are there of those around?"

"A surprising lot, when you think about it," said Terry. Just thinking about it himself made Terry feel beat. There were so, so many. But at least they weren't everyday. Ryuuji didn't know that. "Mostly he does boring stuff, though, only the news doesn't care because it's less interesting. Did you hear about the harbour security been upgraded to stop illegal goods trafficking? Batman investigated that and tipped them off."

"That's still a glory shot," said Ryuuji. "It was in the paper. He enjoys making the Gotham police look incompetent. I mean, he's a guy running around in a costume solving all their crimes for them."

"He does a good job. And Gotham is famous for it's corruption, especially in the police department."

"But he's insane."

"But crime rates have lowered whole percentage points."

"Of course. You can't commit a crime without the Batman being on to you. Paxton said the Batman kept tabs on him."

"Well duh. Paxton's a bad person. So was his father."

"Which was worse?"

"I'd say his father."

Ryuuji raised an eyebrow curiously. "That's interesting. Why?"

"I just do," said Terry. The subject made him uneasy, so he shielded himself by looking around and changing the subject. There was no way he could tell Ryuuji the truth about his own father's death at the bidding of Derek Powers. It would never come out right. "Anyway. Why aren't you in bed yet?"

"Pfft. You keep distracting me," said Ryuuji lazily, going back to adjusting the television's brightness and volume. He explained how annoyingly bright it was, and that it had to be loud enough to hear from his room. Terry listened, but watched the clock. He checked his cell phone for any missed call, but apparently Gotham was having a quiet night.

"I'm going to break curfew if I don't go," said Terry. It was the only excuse he had left to leave by now. He'd been hoping for a phone call or something instead, but now all he was left with was the curfew card. Ryuuji looked over and smiled a little. Terry being worried about his curfew came off as somewhat endearing. Terry didn't know why.

"I don't think anyone's going to notice," said Ryuuji.

"My mom will notice."

"Well you've already lost that battle. Might as well not worry about it."

Terry shook his head. "I can't stay here, though."

"Why not?" asked Ryuuji, leaning over and placing a hand on Terry's wrist. Terry brushed him off and scooted the other way. The last thing Terry needed was a bored Ryuuji messing with him.

"I don't want to," said Terry firmly, insisting Ryuuji stop advancing further. Ryuuji laughed when Terry moved twice as far away as Ryuuji approached him.

"You can keep scooting away, Terry, but eventually you'll run out of couch," Ryuuji pointed out. Terry looked over and noticed that Ryuuji was right. There was a good two feet left, and then it was steps.

"I've gotta bail," said Terry, moving to stand. He was stopped by Ryuuji who sprang forward and straddled his lap, pushing him back into his seat. He kissed Terry down, but not so violently or intensely as Terry had expected after such an attack. When Ryuuji was done, Terry gave him a rather romance-crushing annoyed look.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Yes, but I drank too much coffee today, so I won't sleep anyway. I'll feel better if I'm distracted."

"I'm not staying up all night for you," said Terry, trying to push Ryuuji off of him. Ryuuji grabbed on tighter, leaning in closer against Terry until his lips brushed Terry's ear lightly.

"Aw. Aren't you at least a little interested in what Paxton and I were doing?"

Every inch of Terry froze at the thought. Slagging hell. Taking advantage of the effect of his words, Ryuuji moved Terry's arms aside and began sneaking his hands underneath Terry's jacket, almost removing it before Terry remembered to start shoving him away again. Terry struggled to slip his arms free of the final few inches of sleeves as Ryuuji started to kiss him again several times in a row, each one growing rapidly more forceful than the one before it.

It would be easy to throw Ryuuji off, to storm to the elevator, to leave and hand the case over to Max immediately upon arrival to the sane outside world. In an ideal scenario Terry would do exactly that. Hell, in an ideal scenario, he already would have. But, as it were, he was kissing Ryuuji, touching Ryuuji, doing every slagging thing he knew he probably shouldn't but secretly suspected was ultimately expected of him by everyone.

A large, rational, and mainly just plain sleepy part of Terry wanted to stop. Why wasn't he in control of that? He even helped-actually helped-Ryuuji undo his tie. Mr. Wayne had insisted Terry wear a suit when working for Ryuuji, something about it being more professional. Ryuuji did not seem to approve and made an irritated face at the buttons he was faced with. Terry was a little hopeful that buttons were enough to keep them at this stage and away from anything Paxton and Ryuuji had experienced together.

Terry was tremendously wrong, though. Ryuuji simply resigned and started with the cuffs. There was no holding him back. If Terry had give him the okay, he probably would've just ripped the shirt apart, cheap, sweaty porno style, leaving Terry to lament the lost of buttons later at a less pressing time.

"I thought you said you totally hate me," said Terry distractedly.

"I thought you said you sorta liked me," Ryuuji snapped back, not all that interested in talking for once in the entire time Terry had known him. He'd already begun unbuttoning the first few buttons of Terry's shirt and was ushering him to lie down on the couch to make things, as he put it, "easier in a few minutes."

Terry tried desperately not to think about what that meant.

He kissed Ryuuji harder when Ryuuji brought himself up to Terry's face again, only halfway through the shirt and swearing at it in a mix of languages that made Terry laugh. What could he say? It was a brand new shirt. He pressed Ryuuji to him closely, so much that Ryuuji had to pause on the buttons for a moment and bring his hands up to Terry's face. Fingers traced his cheekbones idly, waiting until Terry deepened the kiss and tasted Ryuuji's mouth for the second, more sincere time. He'd been too apprehensive to before, too repulse by the idea of his tongue in another man's mouth. Now, it really didn't seem so important.

Ryuuji had finally come out victorious in his war against the buttons of Terry's shirt and began pushing it off of Terry's shoulders. He broke the kiss to make a victory cheer, then sat back to survey what his hard work had revealed. Suddenly he was laughing, which both embarrassed and annoyed Terry who wasn't sure what the hell was so funny.

"Wow, you're in shaaaape," said Ryuuji, running a hand up Terry's torso and making Terry shudder. "And here I am, a skinny Asian kid who doesn't work out. You've got me so self-conscious now."

Terry grinned, but a part of him wasn't so amused. It was the part that knew where this was heading, that swore to him he didn't want it. Sure, kissing was fun. Sure, shirtless was fun. But what came after all of that, and was he prepared to go so far all at once with a guy?

Another part of him begged the question, why the hell not?

That part maybe terrified him.

"Get off me, Ryuuji," said Terry, finally gaining control of himself once he'd adequately scared himself shitless. Terry always believed he operated best under a feeling of terror. Ryuuji frowned at him.

"What, cold feet, Terry?"

"I don't want this."

"That's hard to tell."

"I'm serious," said Terry darkly. "I've got to go."

"What is this? You tease like a vain little girl and then run on back home early? I can't believe you're a senior boy in high school, Terry," said Ryuuji with an exaggerated pout. Terry was trying to sit up, but Ryuuji held him most of the way down. "Or do you follow the third date rule?"

"Third date?"

"Sex only after the third date. Do you need to get to know me first?"

"Well, to be fair, I did admit to wanting to know you earlier."

Ryuuji rolled his eyes at this, his right hand still tracing spirals into Terry's torso, waiting for this moment to pass as he assumed it should. "Well then, here's a crash course: I like Chinese food, my men tall and dark haired, and at this very moment I want very much to do very dirty things with you. I dislike my father, most women, and not being able at this very moment to very much do very dirty things with you. Happy now? Can we proceed?"

"No," said Terry, trying again to sit up.

"Dammit, Terry! Why do you have to be so sentimental about this? It's because of your angry, pompous little I'm not gay thing, right?"

"That might have something to do with it."

"Get over it," said Ryuuji harshly, leaning down into Terry to jab him in the chest with his finger on every other word. "You made out with me, embarrassed yourself by asking me on a date, and then ruined your whole bubble world to be around me. Don't pretend I don't notice, you idiot. For all intents and purposes, you're just as gay as Paxton, who, like you, apparently isn't gay."

"What?"

"Yep, he's just an incredibly horny rich guy. Lucky for him, I'll take that."

"Then take yourself and let me go home."

"Oh f-k you."

"F-k yourself and get off me."

It wasn't exactly crushing wit, but it angered Ryuuji more. Ryuuji glared at Terry for a moment, but Terry wasn't bothering to look back. By now Terry was laying patiently with his hands crossed over his stomach, waiting for Ryuuji to move or say something else.

"You're an idiot, you know that? We could've had a great time," said Ryuuji. He wore a look of frustration, not sure what he was going to do about Terry like this. Terry, on the other hand, felt immensely powerful. Ryuuji was almost pinning for him, and for Terry it was selfishness embodied that he savored it.

"Do I need to be dating you? Is that it?" asked Ryuuji, his tone mocking Terry for again being sentimental. To Terry's surprise, he found himself nodding.

"Yes," said Terry, although he wasn't sure he meant it. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to talk to Ryuuji again. "I come off pretty easy, but I'm not that easy."

"I think Dana infiltrated your consciousness and strangled your desire for sex," Ryuuji growled. Terry laughed, but he didn't like the comment at all. Instead he sat there, looking up at Ryuuji with a smile he didn't feel. In his head, Terry felt everything had jumbled together. A part of him remained highly aware that Ryuuji was on top of him, and that part wanted to proceed without all this conversation. But, a saner and more persuasive side held Terry back.

It was hard to hold back when Ryuuji assaulted him with another kiss, trying to pull Terry once more into the mood of moments before. Terry returned the kiss only enough, causing Ryuuji to pull back and give up, frowning at him.

"Is it really that important to you that we're dating? I thought it'd just embarrass you, honestly. You don't seem the type," said Ryuuji tiredly, proving he still knew a lot more about Terry than Terry liked to give him credit for.

"In this case," said Terry, ignoring the double meaning, "it does matter."

Ryuuji sighed and thought for a moment. Eventually, he surrendered and slid down to the floor, letting Terry rise at last.

"Fine, you win. Where and when, Saint Terence?"