Title: The Suit (pt 9)

Genre: fanfic (Batman Beyond)

Setting: sometime early on in the series

Rating: oh the G

Notes: Yes, that's Tad Ryerstad I brought in. Last I'd read, he was still alive and plotting to escape from jail with Soames. If he's died in comic continuity since then...er...I guess this fic just became an AU. Sorry to mess up the theoretical canon aspect, but let's face it: there's just too much plot in the Batverse for everything to fit nicely together. Hope you're willing to cut me some slack. Please don't trip over the plot loose ends -- they'll be tied up shortly. Still not my characters, etc.

IX.

"You have got to be kidding," says Terry, looking at the computer monitor.

"What, you think Gotham's got a monopoly on psychos?" says Grayson. "I'm telling you, we've got Ryerstad linked to Stan six ways from Sunday. Subtlety's not exactly his forte. He's constantly escaping out of jail down in Blüdhaven -- we can't seem to keep him away from his one-man war against crime. Remind you of anyone we know?"

Terry snorts. "Yeah. And I suppose he and Mad Stan make up the Dynamic Duo."

Terry can see Grayson's grimace reflected on the screen. "Something like that. Anyway, lately I've been getting the impression that Ryterstad's one-man army got a new recruit. The stunts he's been pulling, particularly the explosives he's been using --"

"So you're saying this guy who thinks he's a vigilante has been running around blowing stuff up and kidnapping Blüdhaven socialites, and now he's hooked up with Stan and started doing the same thing in Gotham?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Why?"

Grayson hesitates, tapping his fingers annoyingly on the back of Terry's chair. "Justice."

"I think they're calling it certifiable craziness these days."

Grayson shakes his head. "Ryerstad thinks he has a score to settle. He wants to clean up the Haven, and he wants to do it his way. Stan just happens to be the sort of guy who's easily called in on that sort of activism."

"You mean he puts together a fast, cheap load of dynamite for the right cause."

"Like getting rid of the corrupt upper crust."

"Which explains why Wayne's name was on the list." Terry frowns. He really doesn't like how Grayson seems to know everything about everything, but Terry reflects that punching Grayson in the face is not going to help bring Wayne back, or help any of the other kidnapping victims. And getting everyone back sooner rather than later sounds like a good plan if the brains behind the operation are Stan and this Blüdhaven psycho. Still, he gets the sneaking suspicion that Grayson still knows more than he's letting on. "And how do we know this Ryerstad guy's not the real Nightwing gone totally bonkers?" Terry asks suddenly.

Grayson's reflection scratches his chin. "Well, the costume's got shoddy execution, and the color scheme is all wrong. And I seem to recall Nightwing having a sort of, I dunno, godlike grace that Ryerstad doesn't quite manage…."

Terry swivels the chair around to face him. Not surprisingly, Grayson is looking awfully amused with himself. Terry eyes him, looks over at the case of costumes by the wall, and then back at Grayson. "Huh," he says. "And here I'd pegged you for a Robin."

The grin gets a bit wider. "Who says I wasn't?"

Terry narrows his eyes. "Is there any costume over there you didn't wear?"

Grayson pretends to consider. "Well, Babs was always a little particular about letting anyone else play dress up with the Batgirl threads, but there was this one time --"

Terry hops out of the chair and heads for his backpack. "Forget it, I don't want to know," he says.

He's nearly changed when he hears Grayson's voice from across the room. "So you know where to find them, I suppose?"

Terry pulls the cowl over his face, adjusts his gloves, and just barely suppresses the urge to throw a well-placed Batarang. "No," he says grimly. "But I'll figure it out."

"Really." Grayson is now throwing some sort of transmitter up and down and catching it casually in his right hand, like he thinks he's cool or something.

Terry begins to think he knows where this is going. "No way."

Grayson shrugs. "It'd be a lot faster if you used the tracking device I planted on Stan to find them."

"And you'd just hand that transmitter over and run along, I bet."

"Even the real Batman needed back up now and then."

Terry glares furiously at him. "I am Batman," he says in a low, dangerous voice.

Grayson snatches the transmitter out of the air and meets Terry's gaze without flinching. They stand there for a good thirty seconds, the only movement or noise the bats shuffling quietly above them.

"I don't know if Bruce told you…" Grayson starts at last.

"That you're his son," says Terry.

Grayson's eyes shift away from Terry's for a moment. "Then you know why I have to go with you."

Terry frowns. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"I'm not asking you to like it, I'm asking you to do it," says Grayson shortly.

Like father, like son. Terry has to stop himself from smirking too broadly. "All right," he says finally. He looks over at the costume case. "You, uh, want to take one for old time's sake?"

Grayson half-smiles and pockets the transmitter. "It'd take too long to figure out which one to wear. Your car or mine?"

Terry raises an eyebrow. "Obviously," he says, "you haven't seen my car."