Title: The Suit (part 13)

Genre: fanfic (Batman Beyond)

Setting: sometime early on in the series

Rating: some mild language

Notes: BB and etc. still not mine. Kindly do not sue.

Terry wonders what you're supposed to say to a guy who just took a bullet for you and at whose door you've been eavesdropping. Somehow, "Gee, thanks for saving my life and sorry about invading your privacy," doesn't quite cut it. Particularly when the guy doing the saving is a pain in the ass who is currently looking at you like he wants to laugh in your face, but the sutures are keeping him from getting on with it.

Getting to his feet and rubbing his head sheepishly, Terry walks over to the side of the bed, sits in the visitor's chair, and feels like a complete idiot for about thirty seconds which feel an awful lot more like thirty thousand years. He's actually about to resort to mentioning the weather when Grayson gets it into his head to say something.

"I wore the suit for awhile," he says in about the same tone you'd use to talk about how much rain there's been lately.

It takes Terry a moment to realize what he's saying. "You mean --?"

Grayson smirks. "Yeah. Bruce was injured, and we weren't sure he'd ever…well. There has to be a Batman, right? So I did it."

"Makes sense," says Terry. "You being his son and all."

Grayson's eyes get hard for a moment before he's able to stifle it. "I wasn't the first one he asked," he says.

Terry frowns. "Who else --?"

Grayson shakes his head slightly. "It's a long story. Anyway, that suit…it's not the same one you've got now, of course, but there was something about it. The way it makes you feel. It's not like being Robin or Nightwing or any other costumed vigilante. When you put that thing on, you become him."

Terry isn't sure who Grayson means by "him" – Bruce? Batman? That creepy thing in the dark that sends a shiver down the spine of any evildoer who sees it? It's hooey, banking on the superstition of a flying rodent and a few well-placed shadows; but Terry's seen how it works, and, though he doesn't want to admit it, he knows exactly what Grayson is talking about. The suit is power, the sort most sixteen-year-old kids never even get close to having.

"But it's not really becoming him, is it?" Terry says, not quite realizing he's thinking out loud. "I mean, sure, there's the urban legend and all that, but you're basically just a guy in a dopey suit. It's what you do with it that matters." He looks Grayson full on in the face. "Yeah, okay, so you wore the suit; but you weren't him – you were just you, getting the job done the way you knew how to do it." The dangerous, reckless way that gets you shot and nearly killed while trying to save a punk kid you don't even like.

But, Terry reflects, it's what he would've done. What Batman would've done. In the end, they're all just doing what they think needs doing. The suit's just an excuse.

Grayson smiles at him – a real smile, not loaded or anything, just straight-forward, no strings attached. "You're all right, kid," he says.

Terry makes a face. "Worth getting shot for?" he asks, immediately wishing he hadn't.

Grayson laughs, wincing slightly at the pain but doing it anyway. "Sure. I don't let myself get shot just for anybody, you know."

"You get shot a lot?" Terry asks, raising an eyebrow.

Grayson shrugs. "Yeah, well, it comes with the job."

"How about learning to duck? That come with the job, too?"

Grayson raises an eyebrow back. "Don't push it; I don't like you that much."

"It's mutual," says Terry, but he's grinning, and Grayson is, too.