~*~

"Anything else?" Terry asked, stretching. Bruce stacked his papers neatly and filed them in his briefcase.

"No, that's it, both for Wayne Enterprises and Batman," Wayne said softly. "What are you planning on doing tomorrow?"

"Sleeping. Did I mention how much I love summer vacation?" Terry murmured, reaching up to caress Bruce's hair. Bruce leaned into the touch.

"You go through twelve years of jumping through hoops and get a fancy certificate just so you can sleep in?" Bruce asked wryly, setting the briefcase by the door. Terry smirked.

"Sleep is important. Especially when I've spent the past year and a half getting about three hours of it a night, four if I'm lucky."

"What are you going to do after you're done sleeping? If you plan to go to college, the application deadlines start next month," Bruce asked.

"Well, I was thinking," Terry scratched the back of his head, "it's kinda hard to go to college and be Batman at the same time, with out-of-class work and classes and stuff. So I was wondering if, maybe, I couldn't just keep working with you. Be your aide in more than just name. I mean, I've been going to the office with you know for a month, and I haven't screwed up too badly."

"If you're as quick a study with business as you are with fighting crime, you can actually earn that money I pay you," Wayne purred in a deadpan. Terry smirked, then draped his arms around Wayne's neck.

"I think I earn my pay pretty well."

"I don't pay you for that," Bruce whispered in Terry's ear. *I'm never going to get used to it when he flirts with me,* Terry thought, tilting his head to give Bruce's velvet mouth room to play on his neck.

"You're right, I'm too damn good to work on commission," Terry murmured into the older man's shoulder. Bruce's lips curled in a half-smile.

"Is that it? And here I thought you just couldn't convince anyone you were good enough to pay." Terry gasped in mock outrage, and began pushing the old man gently backwards across the room. Bruce retreated until his legs pressed against the edge of the couch. A playful shove put Bruce on his back.

"I'll make you eat those words," Terry growled, climbing atop Bruce.

"Will you really?" Bruce purred. He stared up at Terry, his blue-gray eyes unblinking. Terry brushed the lids with his fingertips, then leaned down for a kiss.

"Count on it."

Later, much later, Terry left Wayne Manor. He dressed silently and padded out Bruce's bedroom door, down the stairs and out to his car. It was a black little bomb that went far too fast for Mary's peace of mind. As Terry headed down the long twisting road, he flicked on the radio. The song playing was his favorite, with a fast, pumping rhythm. Dancing to that song was pure bliss for Terry, it was freedom in it's purest form.

Terry went to his apartment, but only long enough to change. Then he headed to his other favorite place to be - Babylon. Babylon was an underground nightclub for men, and only men. The erotic rhythm was so loud it could almost be heard on the street.

Terry got in line, then got in with a fake ID. He had made sure to look his best. His hair was slicked back to add a few years to his features. Dark lipstick and eye makeup added a dramatic look, as did his black vinyl vest and pants that were sufficient to draw any eye. The outfit was complete with a rose-and-thorn tattoo on his right shoulder that wouldn't be there the next morning. He enjoyed the admiring looks of the other men when he went inside.

Terry didn't pause but went straight on to the dance floor. Soon Terry was surrounded by interested males. Their dancing was anything but chaste, with hands wandering over any part of the body that could be reached. Blue eyes glittering with joy, Terry let loose all inhibitions and danced like everyone was watching.

At the Manor, meanwhile, Bruce had woken up and noticed Terry's absence. *Off again. I wonder why he doesn't sleep here more often,* Bruce mused. *Sleep - the Dormicon!* The older man suddenly sat up, remembering one more thing that had to be taken care of before morning. Bruce pulled on a robe and walked downstairs. Ace went with him, whining softly.

"I'll get back to sleep once I sign those papers, Ace. You worry too much." Bruce went to his desk and opened a drawer. The file he was looking for wasn't there. Bruce frowned. He prided himself on knowing where everything was in and on his desk. For a file to be missing was highly unusual. Wayne searched his desk and briefcase before concluding the file couldn't be in his den. Bruce closed his eyes and retraced his steps mentally. *Ah, yes. I gave it to Terry, instead of the Markham file I have here.* Wayne picked up the phone and dialed Terry's home phone. There was no reply.

"It's night, he said he was going to be sleeping. Where could he be?" Bruce asked Ace rhetorically. Ace looked up at Bruce and flicked his ears back. Bruce nodded, and checked the Batcave. Terry wasn't in the suit. Curious and more than a little concerned, Bruce had the Batcomputer trace Terry's cell-phone.

"423 N. Elm Street?" Bruce asked in surprise. Bruce checked the reverse directory. "Babylon," he read. Bruce sat down hard, his heart plummeting into his stomach like lead. Babylon. There was only one business in Gotham with that name, and almost every bi- or homosexual in Gotham knew what it was, a combination of a nightclub and a cheap hotel. There was only one real reason for Terry, for anyone who didn't work there, to go to Babylon. Sex.

*Surprised?* Bruce thought caustically, *You're eighty-five years old, there's no way you could keep up with a seventeen-year-old. You didn't honestly think he'd slow down for you? Foolish, Bats.* A bitter smile curved Bruce's mouth. *Dense, stupid, foolish old man/ you've confused sex and love once more/ Just because they sleep with you doesn't mean/ you're anything to them but a whore.* The ditty had be written by the Joker decades ago to taunt a different victim, but it seemed to suit the current situation.

*Damn it, I trusted him! I thought he- thought- thought he lo-* Bruce clenched his fist so hard the short nails dug into his palms. *Stupid, gullible, senile old man! How could you think anyone would be faithful to you? No one sticks around, you know that from Dick and Barbara. Why did you think Terry would be any different? Besides, it's not like you gave him any reason to stay with you.* Bruce, simmering with a blend of anger and pain, walked slowly up the stairs, berating himself with each step. When Wayne reached his bedroom, he sat on the bed and closed his eyes.

*I wanted it so much to be different. I should have learned - optimism is a fool's creed.* Ace leaned against Bruce's leg and whined softly. Bruce stroked the black head and sat silent for a long time, his silver-blue eyes glittering in the waning moon. Terry didn't see Bruce again until the following night. Terry knew something was wrong, but he passed it off as crankiness. The company had had a frantic week, and Bruce had gotten very little sleep.

Terry didn't go to Babylon until the next Friday, and when he did Bruce noticed. Silently, Bruce got up and drove himself to the club. Getting in was easy, a fake ID kept his name from drawing attention, and a hooded cloak disguised both age and cane. Bruce wasn't sure why he was going in, some obscure form of self-torture he supposed.

Once inside, Bruce sat on a stool in one of the shadowy areas where people rested between dances. It was easy to spot Terry, he was surrounded by admirers, magnificent in the swirling lights. His body moved as if it was sexuality personified. Bruce watched every move, every caress from Terry to another, watched the other men fondle Terry's lovely body and Terry's joyous smile. Wayne wanted nothing more than to be angry, but anger was far too weak an emotion to supersede the pain. Each touch was a stab in the chest and a slap in the face.

It hurt more than even Bruce had thought it would. Bruce was so upset he didn't alter his gaze at odd intervals to keep from being noticed. Terry saw the hooded stranger staring at him, refusing offers of dance and drink to continue watching. Terry frowned slightly, then made his way across the floor. He left the dance floor opposite the cloaked figure and circled around the writhing bodies. *The Stalker?* Terry wondered, *No, he would've just tried to kill me, to hell with the crowd. Curare? No, she doesn't care about crowds either. Barbara, or one of her goons? No, she'd of just busted me. Then who? Okay, Terry, just play it cool.*

"You've been watching me for an hour and a half," Terry said smoothly, coming up unnoticed behind the man. *Nice shoulders.* Terry thought in passing, then focused on the potential danger. *Big man, muscular. Obviously no kid. Excellent posture, possibly a dancer, fighter, or athlete, not anal-retentive - no one anal-retentive comes here.* All things considered, Terry opted not to go straight for the fistfight. The man jumped slightly, but didn't respond.

*Damn!* Bruce swore. *Loosing your edge, Batman. You didn't even look away so he wouldn't feel the stare. Stupid, stupid. You'd of fried Terry if he'd made the same mistake.* Bruce decided not to answer, he merely stood and began to leave.

"Hey, I asked you a question," Terry protested, getting in front of the man. "You could at least tell me who you are." Bruce pushed past Terry as if he didn't exist and continued toward the door. Terry felt the glare from under the hood, and recognized the shove-ignore combination. He'd seen Bruce do it a hundred times.

"Bruce?" Terry asked. Bruce heard him over the music and stopped briefly in acknowledgment. Terry stared in shock, then anger. "What, were you spying on me? Come to see what I did when I wasn't underneath your thumb?" *Damn it, this is mine! My spot for freedom, for getting away from being Batman and Mr. Wayne's aide!* Terry thought angrily, grabbing Bruce's shoulder.

"Terry, don't make a scene. I was merely curious. My curiosity is satisfied. I did not mean to intrude upon your... privacy," the rich voice said from beneath the hood. It was all true, but at the same time it was all a lie. Terry froze, staring in shock as Bruce left. A year ago, Terry would have dismissed the incident as Bruce being a control-freak. But after a year and a half with Bruce, Terry knew something about Bruce voice pitch and modulation. Even over the music, Terry had been able to tell something was eating the old man alive.

"So Shoulders got away," a warm voice said near Terry's ear as a hand slid along his rump, "that doesn't mean you can't explore other... options." Terry scowled at the other man so fiercely the man backed off immediately, squeaking apologies. Terry's eyes widened suddenly.

*Slag it. Oh, slag. Slagitslagitslagit.* Terry looked down at his black tee and jeans, both clung so tight they looked painted on, then at the dance floor. *He must have thought- I mean what else-* Terry turned and sped for the exit, weaving in between hot bodies. He burst out of the door, glancing down the street. Nothing. He grabbed the nearest patron.

"Did you see a man, this tall, in a cloak? Which way?" The man pointed to the left, and Terry ran down the street. He turned the corner so fast he almost fell.

"Bruce!" Terry called. The cloaked figure at the end of the block stopped. Terry grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him around, pulling down the black hood. "Who do you think you are?" Terry demanded, the words out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

"I think I'm your employer. I thought I was your lover," Bruce said, jerking his arms free. Terry flinched like he'd been slapped.

"What do you mean thought?"

"Thought," Bruce repeated, gesturing to the brick building that housed Babylon. "Lovers don't have random liaisons in a back room."

"Like you've never slept around," Terry scoffed.

"Never with more than one person. Ever," Wayne stated. Terry couldn't meet Bruce's eyes, he looked at his shoes.

"Oh. I... I didn't have sex in... that place, Bruce. Not while we... I've learned to hate... casual sex. Hotel rooms, back rooms." There was a long pause. "You know, people used to throw creds on my chest after sex. That's a really cheap feeling. You throw roses." Terry shifted. *This isn't fair; I just wanted to have a bit of fun. No one was supposed to hurt. No consequences.* "You've got more class than anyone I've ever slept with, I... why only one at a time?"

"No gentleman favors two lovers at the same time," Bruce said. Another silence. "Alfred taught me." Terry nodded.

"I thought so." He peeked up at Bruce through his dark bangs. "Forgiven?" Bruce dipped his head. Terry flashed him a brilliant smile. "Hey, maybe next time you could come with me?"

"No. If I tried to dance that way I know I'd hurt myself." Bruce paused. "I don't really want there to be a next time. Couldn't you dance somewhere less... tactile?"

"Why?" Terry asked.

"I can't demand it, but I don't enjoy the idea of multiple people fondling you once a week or so."

"Awww, you're jealous."

"No shit, I'm jealous. You're mine, damn it," Bruce growled, putting an arm around Terry's shoulders. "Compromise, fine art of diplomatic negotiation. I'll go somewhere less tactile every other week if you come with me to Babylon. Otherwise, no deal."

"Terrence, no one wants to see an octogenarian have semi-controlled seizures dressed in cellophane."

"It's not cellophane, it's cotton, and don't pull the full-name thing. It only works for my Mom. What am I, chopped liver? I want to see you on that floor. And I can guarantee I wouldn't be the only one dancing with you."

"Ah, yes, I forgot the men snickering "gramps" behind their hands. Besides, I'd break a hip, or worse," Bruce murmured.

"You would not," Terry scoffed, climbing in the driver's side of his car, "if you're sturdy enough for sex, you can dance. How'd you get here?"

"Taxi, dropped me off five blocks from here. I might not break anything, true, except my pride. I'd look ridiculous, a lone old man in a room full of young men."

"Ah, the truth comes out. You just don't want to look stupid. Did anyone tell you pride was your tragic flaw?"

"Not many," Bruce said, changing the subject neatly, "Just Joker, Superman, Barda, Hawkgirl, Scarecrow, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern - both of them - the Flash, the Martian Manhunter, all the Robins, Batgirl, Jason Blood, Al-"

"I get the idea!" Terry barked. "Yeesh. So, you coming or do I keep going to Babylon every week?"

"Fine, go," Bruce growled in defeat, "But if I get an STD because you boffed some asshole, no pun intended, in one of those back rooms, your ass is grass and I'm a lawnmower."

"Wouldn't that be "stake?"" Terry asked.
"McGinnis!" p> "I hear you. Don't worry," Terry laughed, reaching over to take Bruce's hand, "I'm not going anywhere, Boss." Bruce gave the hand in his a gentle squeeze. "And if it really bothers you, I'll go somewhere else."

"It does. Dance all you like, but please don't jerk people off on your leg."

"What?!" Terry demanded, running a red light in surprise.

"That blonde man, tall, with the gold hoop? The one that rubbed against your thigh? He got off."

"I thought he was just miming for effect!" Terry gasped, staring at Bruce.

"Eyes on the road!" Bruce ordered. Terry's gaze snapped back to the windshield just soon enough for him to avoid hitting a poodle. "No, he wasn't simulating."

"That's it, I'm taking a bath with a wire brush. That's disgusting, he just masturbated on my leg. Oh, that's so gross."

"You know how I felt when the Joker did that to me. So you won't go back to the club?" Bruce asked almost shyly.

"No. Now, the Joker? Doesn't seem the type."

"He wasn't, not normally. But then Harley spiked his Kool-Aide with 90-proof Everclear. I think Harley intended to get him nice and cuddly for the night. Well, remember what happened when I gave you some wine...?"