A/N: This has not been beta'd - sadly no one answered my call - so I admit to all errors. This has been sitting on my computer for probably a month. It has also taken another odd turn *glares at giggling muse* I thought this fic was almost complete... :/

No time for love
No time for hate
No drama
No time for games
Big Girls Cry
- Sia

He didn't remember walking home. Not a moment of it was recorded into his memory. Only that he was cold on many levels.

Numb.

He did notice his surprise to find the light on in the apartment so late.

His key slid easily into the lock and the door opened without a sound.

"Ohhh….." His mother's shocked gasp brought his brain back to reality. God he must look like shit run over by a truck.

"I'm gonna grab a shower." He could barely look his mother in the eye.

"I'll make coffee." Her voice was firm, letting him know she wanted to talk, or at least get some kind of explanation for not only his arrival so near after midnight, but also to his bedraggled, cement dust encrusted entrance.

Terry nodded making his way to his bedroom, hands still firmly tucked into his jacket that was done up to his chin.

Closing the door to his room, he locked the door behind him before unzipping his jacket and gingerly stripping out of the suit. He didn't realise just how sore - how much his muscles ached with any movement.

The 'secret compartment' was under his bed. He had laughed his head off at Bruce when the older man had told him exactly where in the room the suit's hiding place had been placed. Now, bending down, he was thankful it didn't require any of the exertions some of his recommendations would have required. Simple, easy to get to – that was how Bruce described it. Not for the first time, Terry was thankful.

Pulling out a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt, he wrapped his towel around him before making the short walk to the bathroom.

Closing the door behind him he took a look at himself in the mirror for the first time. Christ, no wonder his mother freaked. He looked worse than horrible. There was a major wound on his forehead – it didn't hurt – well not as loudly as many of the other knocks he had taken, but it looked nasty – bruised, bloody marks lined his face – mostly his forehead. He must have scrapped himself rolling with the explosion while trying to protect Genius.

Terry sighed, it wasn't over yet. There was still a lot to deal with – his mother needing an explanation currently at the top of his list. Then there was the rest of the pile of baggage now sitting atop his shoulders.

Turning away from the mirror, Terry flipped the shower on thinking that this would probably be one of the least painful parts of the night.

15 minutes later, cleaned up and somewhat refreshed, Terry returned to the kitchen to find his mother patiently waiting with a mug between her hands on the table and another with the mostly full pot near the centre of the table.

"You know, your dad and I always thought you had a death wish," she started conversationally.

Terry let out a bark of laughter as he gingerly sat down beside her, Bruce had said something similar in the beginning. "No, that was one of the few things I've never had." He glanced at his mother smirking as her startled look turned knowing.

"Something big happened tonight, didn't it?" It wasn't really a question. Terry nodded staring into the steaming cup he had poured himself. Black coffee seemed appropriate at the moment. "Does Barbara know?" Again Terry nodded. He wasn't sure why the coffee had his rapt attention. He was tired, so very tired. "I think your Dad would be very proud of the man you're becoming. I sure am."

Terry's head snapped up, completely caught off guard by his mother's admission. "Wha…?"

"Your Dad also had this… compulsion to do the right thing. Just … promise me that you won't…..," her voice cracked.

"Get myself killed like Dad did." Terry finished for her as she reached out, brushing a lock of black hair away from the wound it was sticking to. He smiled, taking the hand near to his face and locking his fingers with his mother's. God he'd missed this kind of closeness. Yes it had been completely his fault it slipped from his family. "I promise I won't. " Dammit he meant it. There had been too much death recently.

The knock at the door startled his mother and surprised him. His mother stood, bending to plant a kiss on his head before opening the door.

Terry stood as Dana entered the apartment. Shocked, delighted, needy, emotions warred within him as Dana wrapped a hand around his wrist and lead him to the living room. Sitting on the coffee table across from Terry, she took both his hands in hers, knee to knee, forehead to forehead she waited, as he took a deep shuddering breath, for him to start talking.

Mary stood back watching the two, the silence as Terry collected himself. She had loved him for some time now, granted he spent a lot of time at the old man's estate, but she hadn't taken the time to take notice of him. When had he grown up? He was carrying himself more as a man and less as a gawky, cocksure teen. He had filled out and bulked up. His dad had never carried the kind of muscled frame Terry now had. Granted his Warren was a science geek. Mary was pretty sure her husband had never thrown a serious punch at anyone – killing bugs in the house were probably the most violent acts he'd ever committed.

What was more disconcerting were the bruises and wounds on his arms, neck and face. He'd been battling consistently – that was obvious. Barbara had told her about the death of the girl, grizzly as it was. Seeing Terry now, she knew he had fought for her. That brought an unexpected smile to her face. Somehow, in the middle of all this mess – the pain, the suffering, the fights, the disconnect - Terry had grown into a true man. Galant, caring, careful in some cases; brutally honest and violent in others. The balance wasn't there yet in the aspects of his personality – well, not of the personality he allowed her to see. And no, she was not so naïve to believe she knew even a small percentage of his true personality.

But standing back, watching over her son and his lover – if they weren't lovers yet, it was close enough – the way she spoke to him, coaxed him out of whatever funk he was down spiralling into. The way she touched him, brought his chin up to meet her, how they then sat nose to nose quietly talking. How he gently held her, he was at least double her size – in height, bulk and weight – yet even as he dwarfed her, there was an obvious connection. One Mary missed desperately.

The knock at the door brought her attention back from the two teens in the living room.

"Barbara," again, Mary was not surprised at this development.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour," Barbara explained as Mary ushered her in to where the kids were still sitting.

"Terry; Dana," it was a quick greeting before getting down to business. "I assume you know we caught the buyer?" Terry nodded, still sitting on the couch, knees touching, hands clasped between them. "I also assume you know Josh did not make it?"

Terry nodded, his head dropping, he was just getting to that part of the explanation with Dana. Christ the grief was like someone punched him in the chest. "Was he the only one?" His voice didn't sound like his.

"Yes, he was the only one we found. And yes, we looked through the piles of rubble," Barbara interrupted him before he had a chance to voice the question.

"So it's done?" Mary was almost ashamed of the hope in her voice.

"I think so…"

"No," Terry interrupted Barbara's sentence. "It's not over." Terry continued before they could voice their objections. "I have to go back, make sure everyone falls into place." He stood moving towards his mother and the Commissioner, knowing Dana was not going to like what he said next. "I have to make sure Mitch, or Genius take over, not the new kid." He sighed, running a hand through his still damp hair. He directed his next argument to the Commissioner. "Look, we all know these safe houses exist, no, they are not perfect, but Dale had a vision of a place where kids were safe, fed, educated, given a chance to re-enter society – and not as a crook. Josh twisted that, took the stealing creds for need to stealing for profit. That was not what the house was supposed to be." He was pacing now, trying to gather his thoughts, readying himself for the battles to come. "If I can make sure they have the right leadership, and possibly an outlet they trust, I can re-establish the house as it was intended." He stood moving away from Dana, from the look she was giving him.

It was too much, swallowing him – the magnitude of responsibility, the disappointment in himself, the grief. If he was honest with himself, he had buried himself in the needs of the house, in the want to prevent *this* from happening. He hadn't dealt with himself – his emotions, his thoughts and he was drowning.

"McGuiness," Barbara stopped his thoughts. "You know what you need to do. Put yourself together and do it." Bruce couldn't have said it better himself. She knew – probably from experience - where his thoughts were.

He took a look around; Dana's worried yet confident expression, his mother's unreadable expression and Barbara's knowing, understanding, yet ordering look. It's what he needed to sort his head out. One family to another to yet another. He almost laughed at the ludicracy of it. It was so simple if he looked at it in this regard – not letting the aspects of his life merge. Yet they did merge; as simply as his double life as Batman and Terry – if he separated it this way in his head, it made sense, sorted itself in an odd like of consistency.

Whatever, things made sense, he could see far more clearly. He began to truly understand what he had to do and how to go about it.

Assuming Bruce didn't shoot his ideas down….