Now You See It
**A Batman Beyond Fanfic**
**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any rights to the Batman Beyond animated series, or to the characters introduced on the show. However, the new characters that appear in this story are my creative property; please respect them as such. Thank you.**
**************************************************************************** **
**If only Batman were here.**
It was all she could think about, and it was going to do her in. These goons weren't in very good shape--the one swinging the chain weighed at least two tons--and she could have outrun them easily. That is, if she hadn't wasted precious seconds on that one thought.
It was ridiculous, really. Instead of turning and fleeing for her life, she was waiting for some guy in black to swoop down just in the nick of time. Meanwhile the three hoodlums were closing in, and she'd wasted an opportunity to get away.
One of them spoke, showing off a chipped lower incisor tooth. "I ain't gonna ask again, lady. Your purse."
Maureen clutched her handbag a bit tighter and took a step back as they advanced. A thousand what-ifs ran through her head. What if she hadn't had to close up the shop? What if she hadn't used the alley exit? What if she had worn her running shoes to work this morning? What if Batman showed up right now and kicked ass?
**Stop thinking that, it's not going to happen and you've wasted enough time as it is…**
"Okay," she said. Oh, she hated the way her voice sounded. Small and squeaky and frightened, like a little mouse. "Fine. You can have the purse. Just take it easy, okay, guys?" She slipped the purse from her shoulder and slid it hurriedly across the concrete, causing a business card and a crumpled Kleenex to spill out.
The skinniest goon, who reminded Maureen of a string bean, cackled and reached for the purse, pawing through its contents until he found her wallet. He opened it, rifled through the cash, and inspected the credit cards. Then he started to stuff it into his back pocket. "Not a bad night's work, right, boys?"
Two-Ton remained silent. Chip gave a high-pitched laugh. "That's right. Thanks for being so cooperative, lady."
Beanpole cackled again. "Yeah. Pleasure doing business with y--"
Maureen wasn't sure what happened next. There was a kind of shimmering in the air near Beanpole, the kind you might expect on a hot August day…but it wasn't the daytime, and it wasn't August, and it wasn't even hot. In any case, Beanpole was suddenly doubled over on the concrete, holding his stomach and moaning.
Chip squeaked, "What the hell--"
He never got to finish his sentence, because in the next second his head snapped back, as if he'd been kicked in the chin. He lost his balance and toppled to the ground and lay very still.
**But how…?** Maureen thought.
Two-Ton was obviously wondering the same thing. He'd gone into defensive mode, widening his stance and raising his arms in a way that proved he knew nothing about martial arts. And he, like Maureen, was looking around wildly, trying to see who—or what—had knocked his buddies down.
The attack, once again, came out of nowhere. First Two-Ton doubled over, as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He staggered a bit, then regained his balance, only to lose it again as his head snapped quickly to the side. He put a hand up to his jaw and had just enough time to look bewildered before his head snapped quickly in the opposite direction. Reeling, he lost his balance and hit the ground like two tons of bricks.
For the next few seconds, nothing in the alley moved. The only sound was the buzzing of insects as they congregated around the lonely streetlamp. Maureen suddenly remembered to breathe. She let out a shaky exhalation.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
Maureen blinked, and blinked again. The girl standing in front of her was young, sixteen or seventeen at most. She had blond hair that fell just past her shoulder blades. A black scarf was tied around the lower half of her face, but her eyes were in full view. They were…Maureen squinted. The girl's eyes seemed to contain a speck of every color in the spectrum--violet, blue, amber, green.
Even stranger, the colors kept shifting.
"Ma'am?" the girl repeated gently. "Are you hurt?"
Maureen found her voice, finally. "No. No, I'm not hurt." She stared at her savior again, this time noticing how the girl's shape was indistinct, how she looked…well, blurry.
"That's good." The girl glanced at the three men sprawled on the concrete. "You'd better hurry along, though. And might I suggest taking a cab the rest of the way? It's a little late to be walking anywhere." She picked up the purse and held it out.
Dazed, Maureen took the bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Y-yes. I'll do that. I'm so grateful to you for--"
The girl waved a hand, dismissing her attempt at thanks. "No problem. Now hurry before these guys wake up." She knelt over Chip and began to tie his wrists together with some rope that she produced out of nowhere.
Maureen hurried the short distance to the curb and hailed a taxi, throwing occasional glances over her shoulder. A cab pulled smoothly over to the curb. She opened the door of the car, then turned back to thank her rescuer one last time.
But when she looked back over her shoulder, the girl was gone. Only a strange shimmer remained in the air where she had been.
Maureen shook her head to clear her vision and made a mental note to get her eyes checked.
Soon.
* * *
Once again, Terry was late. Once again, Dana was mad.
And once again, Max was caught in the middle.
"Where is he?" Dana fumed, as she scanned the living room. It was full of eating, drinking, dancing teenagers. Terry, however, was nowhere to be seen. "I told him the party was starting at nine o'clock. He **promised** to be here." Then she gave a little snort. "Of course, with him, promises don't mean much."
Max sighed inaudibly. At times like this, she almost wished she'd never discovered Terry's secret identity. It was so hard to take sides in these arguments. Dana was a nice girl and a good friend, and it was awful that Terry wasn't spending more free time with her. On the other hand, if Dana knew the real details of Terry's "part-time job," she would probably agree that he didn't have a lot of free time, period.
Of course, Dana could never know, and that made Max's situation more difficult. The only thing to do was to sympathize with the girl, and try to distract her until Terry showed up. "By the way, Dana, I was meaning to ask you…what did you put in this dip? It's sooooooooooo good." Max licked her fingers to make her point.
Her distraction worked. Dana was rather vain about her cooking skills and happy to share her tips with anyone willing to listen. She chattered happily away about her recipe for clam-and-onion dip and how important it was to saute the onions thoroughly before adding the chopped clams, and how important it was to use a Livingstone casserole dish to bake the finished product, in order to preserve the flavor. She went on so long that Max began to regret starting the conversation. It was a relief when the doorbell rang.
"That better be him, or I'll—" The rest of Dana's sentence was lost as she stomped into the foyer. Max followed at a safe distance, wondering if Terry would be able to charm his way out of this one.
When Dana opened the door, there he was, in the same old black T-shirt and jeans. His black hair was slightly mussed; Max could guess why. He was holding a single long-stemmed red rose and looking sheepish. He started to hold the flower out to Dana, but she ignored it and lit into him immediately. "Where the hell have you been?"
Terry shrugged, a gesture that was suave and helpless at the same time. Max had seen Terry use it on numerous other occasions, and Dana seemed to like it. "I got hung up running errands for Mr. Wayne."
"What kind of errands?" Dana demanded. Apparently the McGinnis Shrug wasn't having its usual effect.
Another shrug. "A little data entry. Driving him to appointments. Walking the dog. That kind of thing."
Dana was skeptical. "Walking the dog?"
"Yes—"
"Chicks dig guys with dogs." It seemed Dana's suspicious streak was surfacing again.
"Dana, do we have to go through this again?"
"I'm not kidding, Terry."
Terry sighed heavily. "Listen closely. I. Was. Not. Meeting anyone else. You can ask the dog if you want."
Max started to laugh, then stifled the laugh hastily as Dana turned around and threw her a dark look.
"Look, Dana, let's not fight tonight, okay?" Terry held the rose out to her as she turned back to him.
She took it, reluctantly. "I just get the feeling I'm not the most important thing in your life anymore."
His face softened into a smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, while he tilted her chin up with one hand. "But you are. You know you are. Don't you?"
Max averted her eyes and waited patiently as they kissed. It was the classic ending to a Dana-Terry argument. Kiss and make up, and everything was better. That is, until the next time Terry was late.
Dana was the first to draw away. "I'd better go put this in some water," she said in a subdued tone, and headed for the kitchen.
As soon as she had left the foyer, Terry's formerly square shoulders slumped in relief. "Whew."
Max chuckled. "Boy. You got off easy this time."
Terry yawned in reply. "Uh-huh."
She glanced around furtively before going on. "Rough night?" she asked. Her voice was low.
"Tell me about it." He sounded exhausted.
"Sounds like you could really use some help out there." Her voice was light, but her words were pointed.
Terry gave her a drop-dead look. Max had never stopped hinting, alluding, or suggesting outright that she take a more--well, active role in their investigations. "We've been through this before, Max. The answer is still no."
She stayed silent. It was no use arguing with him, of course. It didn't matter that she was his only confidante, or that she'd lied to Dana a million times on his behalf. It didn't matter that she had helped Wayne track him down when Shriek had trapped him in the subways. It didn't even matter that she'd saved his butt that time in Spellbinder's lab. No, his answer—and Wayne's--was always the same: Too dangerous. "Is there answer **ever** going to be yes?"
He gave her another look and she had her answer. "Not in this lifetime. I'm going to watch some TV."
He moved toward the living room. Max followed him and watched as he wove around the other partying teenagers. He plopped himself down on the couch, picked up the remote and turned on the monitor. Max sat down next to him. The ten o'clock news was playing and the camera was focused on the TV anchor's face.
"…and in local news tonight…the Cage District in South Gotham is a little safer after the capture and arrest of three would-be purse-snatchers. Police are baffled by the bizarre circumstances surrounding the case…their only lead came from an anonymous caller via satphone. According to sources within the department, the caller informed police that they would find the three men in a specific alley in the Cage District. Upon arriving at the specified location minutes later, the police found the would-be criminals, all tied up and ready for a one-way trip to the GCPD. Gotham police are grateful for the help of the caller, whose identity remains a mystery at this time. And now, for sports…"
Max nudged him almost imperceptibly in the ribs. "Nice job," she whispered.
"It wasn't me," he whispered back.
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I wasn't the one who did it. I wasn't even near the Cage District tonight."
"Really?"
"Really."
Max pondered this. "So if it wasn't you…who was it?"
Terry shrugged, frowning slightly. "I have no idea."
1 More to come…
**A Batman Beyond Fanfic**
**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any rights to the Batman Beyond animated series, or to the characters introduced on the show. However, the new characters that appear in this story are my creative property; please respect them as such. Thank you.**
**************************************************************************** **
**If only Batman were here.**
It was all she could think about, and it was going to do her in. These goons weren't in very good shape--the one swinging the chain weighed at least two tons--and she could have outrun them easily. That is, if she hadn't wasted precious seconds on that one thought.
It was ridiculous, really. Instead of turning and fleeing for her life, she was waiting for some guy in black to swoop down just in the nick of time. Meanwhile the three hoodlums were closing in, and she'd wasted an opportunity to get away.
One of them spoke, showing off a chipped lower incisor tooth. "I ain't gonna ask again, lady. Your purse."
Maureen clutched her handbag a bit tighter and took a step back as they advanced. A thousand what-ifs ran through her head. What if she hadn't had to close up the shop? What if she hadn't used the alley exit? What if she had worn her running shoes to work this morning? What if Batman showed up right now and kicked ass?
**Stop thinking that, it's not going to happen and you've wasted enough time as it is…**
"Okay," she said. Oh, she hated the way her voice sounded. Small and squeaky and frightened, like a little mouse. "Fine. You can have the purse. Just take it easy, okay, guys?" She slipped the purse from her shoulder and slid it hurriedly across the concrete, causing a business card and a crumpled Kleenex to spill out.
The skinniest goon, who reminded Maureen of a string bean, cackled and reached for the purse, pawing through its contents until he found her wallet. He opened it, rifled through the cash, and inspected the credit cards. Then he started to stuff it into his back pocket. "Not a bad night's work, right, boys?"
Two-Ton remained silent. Chip gave a high-pitched laugh. "That's right. Thanks for being so cooperative, lady."
Beanpole cackled again. "Yeah. Pleasure doing business with y--"
Maureen wasn't sure what happened next. There was a kind of shimmering in the air near Beanpole, the kind you might expect on a hot August day…but it wasn't the daytime, and it wasn't August, and it wasn't even hot. In any case, Beanpole was suddenly doubled over on the concrete, holding his stomach and moaning.
Chip squeaked, "What the hell--"
He never got to finish his sentence, because in the next second his head snapped back, as if he'd been kicked in the chin. He lost his balance and toppled to the ground and lay very still.
**But how…?** Maureen thought.
Two-Ton was obviously wondering the same thing. He'd gone into defensive mode, widening his stance and raising his arms in a way that proved he knew nothing about martial arts. And he, like Maureen, was looking around wildly, trying to see who—or what—had knocked his buddies down.
The attack, once again, came out of nowhere. First Two-Ton doubled over, as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He staggered a bit, then regained his balance, only to lose it again as his head snapped quickly to the side. He put a hand up to his jaw and had just enough time to look bewildered before his head snapped quickly in the opposite direction. Reeling, he lost his balance and hit the ground like two tons of bricks.
For the next few seconds, nothing in the alley moved. The only sound was the buzzing of insects as they congregated around the lonely streetlamp. Maureen suddenly remembered to breathe. She let out a shaky exhalation.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
Maureen blinked, and blinked again. The girl standing in front of her was young, sixteen or seventeen at most. She had blond hair that fell just past her shoulder blades. A black scarf was tied around the lower half of her face, but her eyes were in full view. They were…Maureen squinted. The girl's eyes seemed to contain a speck of every color in the spectrum--violet, blue, amber, green.
Even stranger, the colors kept shifting.
"Ma'am?" the girl repeated gently. "Are you hurt?"
Maureen found her voice, finally. "No. No, I'm not hurt." She stared at her savior again, this time noticing how the girl's shape was indistinct, how she looked…well, blurry.
"That's good." The girl glanced at the three men sprawled on the concrete. "You'd better hurry along, though. And might I suggest taking a cab the rest of the way? It's a little late to be walking anywhere." She picked up the purse and held it out.
Dazed, Maureen took the bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Y-yes. I'll do that. I'm so grateful to you for--"
The girl waved a hand, dismissing her attempt at thanks. "No problem. Now hurry before these guys wake up." She knelt over Chip and began to tie his wrists together with some rope that she produced out of nowhere.
Maureen hurried the short distance to the curb and hailed a taxi, throwing occasional glances over her shoulder. A cab pulled smoothly over to the curb. She opened the door of the car, then turned back to thank her rescuer one last time.
But when she looked back over her shoulder, the girl was gone. Only a strange shimmer remained in the air where she had been.
Maureen shook her head to clear her vision and made a mental note to get her eyes checked.
Soon.
* * *
Once again, Terry was late. Once again, Dana was mad.
And once again, Max was caught in the middle.
"Where is he?" Dana fumed, as she scanned the living room. It was full of eating, drinking, dancing teenagers. Terry, however, was nowhere to be seen. "I told him the party was starting at nine o'clock. He **promised** to be here." Then she gave a little snort. "Of course, with him, promises don't mean much."
Max sighed inaudibly. At times like this, she almost wished she'd never discovered Terry's secret identity. It was so hard to take sides in these arguments. Dana was a nice girl and a good friend, and it was awful that Terry wasn't spending more free time with her. On the other hand, if Dana knew the real details of Terry's "part-time job," she would probably agree that he didn't have a lot of free time, period.
Of course, Dana could never know, and that made Max's situation more difficult. The only thing to do was to sympathize with the girl, and try to distract her until Terry showed up. "By the way, Dana, I was meaning to ask you…what did you put in this dip? It's sooooooooooo good." Max licked her fingers to make her point.
Her distraction worked. Dana was rather vain about her cooking skills and happy to share her tips with anyone willing to listen. She chattered happily away about her recipe for clam-and-onion dip and how important it was to saute the onions thoroughly before adding the chopped clams, and how important it was to use a Livingstone casserole dish to bake the finished product, in order to preserve the flavor. She went on so long that Max began to regret starting the conversation. It was a relief when the doorbell rang.
"That better be him, or I'll—" The rest of Dana's sentence was lost as she stomped into the foyer. Max followed at a safe distance, wondering if Terry would be able to charm his way out of this one.
When Dana opened the door, there he was, in the same old black T-shirt and jeans. His black hair was slightly mussed; Max could guess why. He was holding a single long-stemmed red rose and looking sheepish. He started to hold the flower out to Dana, but she ignored it and lit into him immediately. "Where the hell have you been?"
Terry shrugged, a gesture that was suave and helpless at the same time. Max had seen Terry use it on numerous other occasions, and Dana seemed to like it. "I got hung up running errands for Mr. Wayne."
"What kind of errands?" Dana demanded. Apparently the McGinnis Shrug wasn't having its usual effect.
Another shrug. "A little data entry. Driving him to appointments. Walking the dog. That kind of thing."
Dana was skeptical. "Walking the dog?"
"Yes—"
"Chicks dig guys with dogs." It seemed Dana's suspicious streak was surfacing again.
"Dana, do we have to go through this again?"
"I'm not kidding, Terry."
Terry sighed heavily. "Listen closely. I. Was. Not. Meeting anyone else. You can ask the dog if you want."
Max started to laugh, then stifled the laugh hastily as Dana turned around and threw her a dark look.
"Look, Dana, let's not fight tonight, okay?" Terry held the rose out to her as she turned back to him.
She took it, reluctantly. "I just get the feeling I'm not the most important thing in your life anymore."
His face softened into a smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, while he tilted her chin up with one hand. "But you are. You know you are. Don't you?"
Max averted her eyes and waited patiently as they kissed. It was the classic ending to a Dana-Terry argument. Kiss and make up, and everything was better. That is, until the next time Terry was late.
Dana was the first to draw away. "I'd better go put this in some water," she said in a subdued tone, and headed for the kitchen.
As soon as she had left the foyer, Terry's formerly square shoulders slumped in relief. "Whew."
Max chuckled. "Boy. You got off easy this time."
Terry yawned in reply. "Uh-huh."
She glanced around furtively before going on. "Rough night?" she asked. Her voice was low.
"Tell me about it." He sounded exhausted.
"Sounds like you could really use some help out there." Her voice was light, but her words were pointed.
Terry gave her a drop-dead look. Max had never stopped hinting, alluding, or suggesting outright that she take a more--well, active role in their investigations. "We've been through this before, Max. The answer is still no."
She stayed silent. It was no use arguing with him, of course. It didn't matter that she was his only confidante, or that she'd lied to Dana a million times on his behalf. It didn't matter that she had helped Wayne track him down when Shriek had trapped him in the subways. It didn't even matter that she'd saved his butt that time in Spellbinder's lab. No, his answer—and Wayne's--was always the same: Too dangerous. "Is there answer **ever** going to be yes?"
He gave her another look and she had her answer. "Not in this lifetime. I'm going to watch some TV."
He moved toward the living room. Max followed him and watched as he wove around the other partying teenagers. He plopped himself down on the couch, picked up the remote and turned on the monitor. Max sat down next to him. The ten o'clock news was playing and the camera was focused on the TV anchor's face.
"…and in local news tonight…the Cage District in South Gotham is a little safer after the capture and arrest of three would-be purse-snatchers. Police are baffled by the bizarre circumstances surrounding the case…their only lead came from an anonymous caller via satphone. According to sources within the department, the caller informed police that they would find the three men in a specific alley in the Cage District. Upon arriving at the specified location minutes later, the police found the would-be criminals, all tied up and ready for a one-way trip to the GCPD. Gotham police are grateful for the help of the caller, whose identity remains a mystery at this time. And now, for sports…"
Max nudged him almost imperceptibly in the ribs. "Nice job," she whispered.
"It wasn't me," he whispered back.
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I wasn't the one who did it. I wasn't even near the Cage District tonight."
"Really?"
"Really."
Max pondered this. "So if it wasn't you…who was it?"
Terry shrugged, frowning slightly. "I have no idea."
1 More to come…