[AN: In which we begin to see how clumsily Terry and Max walk a very fine line.]
It's Sunday morning and Max and Terry are still in bed. Both lie awake, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"We should get up," Terry says, not really meaning it. He knows he has to make an appearance at home so that his mother doesn't call the police, and he should probably call Bruce to let him know that he didn't hemorrhage and die before making it to Max's but the idea of leaving the warm comfort of the bed just doesn't appeal to him.
Plus he knows that if he waits long enough Max will eventually make breakfast and her pancakes are not to be missed.
"Yeah we should," Max replies, meaning it about as much as Terry does. She has no concrete plans for the day; on Sundays she generally does homework (either her own or Terry's) and talks to Chelsea on the phone for hours about absolutely nothing. But her homework is done, Terry kept her up until six finishing his and Chelsea dropped her phone in the toilet for the third time and apparently, the third time was the charm. Plus she knows that Terry is waiting for her to get up and make breakfast, and she figures that if he's getting a free meal he can wait just a little while longer.
"Hey, what are you doing next weekend?" he asks as he shifts onto his side. "I have to go represent Bruce at this black tie banquet-type thing and if I go alone I might kill myself."
Max turns as well, onto her stomach, before she replies. "My sister wants to take me to lunch, which means she feels guilty about abandoning me and wants to buy my love and forgiveness. But after that I'm free." She lets her eyes slip shut as she continues. "Maybe one day you should invite Chelsea. She loves stuff like this."
"Great idea. And then when some nut job steals or destroys something I'll just say 'Excuse me Chelsea while I don my spandex and run off to save the city. I hope you weren't planning on getting home anytime soon.'"
Max smiles. "Cute. But the truth is that even if you 'donned your spandex' in front of her she wouldn't notice. Not in a banquet room filled with young, rich and attractive bachelors."
"Okay, but what do I do until then? Hell, what do I do if it's another quiet night? Just sit there and watch her flirt?"
"God forbid you make conversation with her."
"Chelsea and I have nothing to talk about."
"You're kidding right? You've known her for five years Terry. Figure something out!"
"Look I've heard some of the conversations you two have carried on and frankly 'which bachelor has the nicest ass' really isn't a topic I'm comfortable debating."
"Actually we debate which waiter has the nicest ass. Rich bachelors already have every woman in the world drooling over them. The waiters need some love too."
"Well excuse me."
"Why not ask D? She is your girlfriend."
"She told me I had one more time to disappear during a date before she strangled me."
"I'm sure she didn't mean it," Max says with a grin.
Terry snorts. "I'm not. Besides, I need someone to be an extra pair of ears and to cover for me if Batman needs to make an appearance."
"Alright. But you owe me."
"Put it on my tab," Terry replies with a grin of his own. "Now, onto more important business. How can I convince you to make us pancakes?"
"Agree to wash the dishes. And give me five more minutes," Max murmurs.
"Fair enough," Terry says as he pushes a stray pink strand off her forehead.
So they lie there, thinking about nothing, telling themselves that they'll get up in just five more minutes, diligently ignoring how well they fit together and refusing to acknowledge that this desperate attempt to hold on to this perfect moment is the real reason why they won't get out of bed.