Warnings: Some Language . . .

"C'mon, Elle! You've got to let yourself loosen up," Tim told her as he brought his bo-staff down towards her. He was being careful; using slow, exaggerated movements so she had time to counter his strikes.

Despite this, she barely got her staff up in time to meet his. The sound of the two, solid hardwood crashing together made her flinch. She hated this, hated it! Learning how to get out of all of Dick's holds, Bruce's strengthening and stamina exercises, and Damian's lethal blows, learning how to fight with weapons was the worst. She wasn't made for this kind of thing, for fighting. Elle hated violent confrontations, a knowledge Aiden had used to his advantage for years. It wasn't that she wouldn't fight; it was more that she preferred to avoid it. If she had a reason for it . . . but, right now, she was only here because being a member of this family, it was expected of her.

Tim's staff veered off at the last second before connecting with her face. Elle yelped in surprise and stumbled back only to fall on her ass.

"Elle! You're not concentrating," the eighteen-year-old snapped at her. He threw the staff down and moved to help her up.

She ignored his hands and laid down on her back. Yeah, laying here on the nice, comfy mat was something she could be good at. "Go away," Elle grumbled in irritation. "I suck at this."

Tim leaned over her, his hands on his knees and smiled encouragingly. "You're new to it. There's a learning curve. Don't worry, though, you'll get it."

"Ah, but what if I don't want to get it?" She glared up at him in frustration. "I don't like hitting people. I especially don't like hitting people with sticks! I'm a singer, Tim," she complained. "I make people feel better. That's what I do!"

"And that is why we love you," he said as he sat down on the mat beside her.

"Hmph, now, that didn't sound patronizing at all," she huffed, rolling her eyes. She laid her arm over her face as she forced a break. Her sweat and the chill of the cave made laying still uncomfortable. Why couldn't they practice this in the gym upstairs again?

Tim snorted, amused. "It's not patronizing if it's true."

Elle peeked at him from under her arm. "Aww, you sounded as if you really meant that," she teased. She had to stifle a laugh as a blush stole up his neck and face, and turned his ears red.

Tim rolled to his feet easily, as if they hadn't been at this for an hour already.

"Look, Elle. We know you don't like this," Tim started. He was going to repeat the arguments given to her by Dick and every other member of the household. "But your father had a reason to hire bodyguards for you. Being a member of this family will only make it more tempting for lowlifes to try to make some easy money by using you. If you don't want to be surrounded by guards and want have a shot at a normal life, you need to know how to defend yourself properly."

"That was very tactful, Tim," Elle said as she sat up. "Not one mention of the contract out on my head."

Tim sighed. He had been over that video twenty times already and it never got any easier. Normally he didn't have any trouble distancing himself from the victims and using cold logic to analyze the criminal's attacks or his words for clues. It changes things, he discovered, when you know the victim in the video you're watching . . . when you like her.

"You're small, Elle . . ."

"I'm average height for a female," she interrupted, mildly annoyed. Seemed like everyone was taller than her anymore . . . Except Shannon. Elle missed her, even if her friend liked to be snippy at Dick. Shannon only did it out of concern for her, after all, so Elle tried to be patient.

"Smaller than whoever might come after you," he clarified. "It makes sense for you to use a weapon. It will extend your reach and even the playing field, giving you a better chance to defeat him or escape if you know how to use one effectively."

Elle climbed to her feet. She did not look graceful doing it. She was sweaty and tired, and it was making her cranky.

"I don't know how it is that you guys haven't given up on me," she huffed. "You do know I am never going to be one of you, right?"

Tim looked at her quizzically. "You already are one of us, Elle. The wedding, which is coming up fast, will only make it official."

That teased a smile out of her. "Sweet . . . But not what I meant."

"Okay, so what did you mean?"

She watched Tim flip his bo-staff from the floor with his foot and catch it in his hand. She tried to do the same only to have it bonk her in the forehead. Fumbling, Elle made a grab for it again. She caught one end as the free side swung around to smack into her ankle.

"Ow!" Elle yelped and she hopped up and down on her good foot.

Tim gaped at her for a startled moment, then rushed forward to help her. Before he could reach her, however, Elle lost her balance near the edge of the mat, falling onto the hard, stone floor with a feminine oomph. The staff, still in her hand, swung around wildly and cracked Tim across his own ankle. The sound it made echoed in the cavern. The teen yelped before he, too, fell over.

Tim glanced at her as he rubbed his ankle. "Well, although not the technique I was going for, it's effective all the same." He smiled ruefully. "You okay?"

Elle shot him a dirty look. "Ow," she remarked dryly. "And this is what I meant earlier. I'll never be a Batgirl."

Tim sighed. "We are currently missing one of those, but no one's rushing to fill the position. Elle, that wasn't the reason behind our wanting to teach you. We want you to be safe. And now we have the added incentive of wanting Dick to remain safe as well. We don't expect you to fight crime with us; we just don't want you to be helpless. We don't want you to be hurt."

Elle pouted for a little longer. "Well . . . since you put it that way."

She could do this for Dick. She really didn't want to be the weak link in their Batchain. If protecting herself meant she could protect Dick . . . and their children. The sob came out more like a hiccup and took her by surprise.

Tim looked at her curiously. She turned her head away.

Sometimes the grief for the child lost returned to hit her all at once. It was just a few weeks ago; she supposed she should expect it to happen from time to time, especially since her hormones were still kind of crazy from being . . . pregnant.

The second sob sounded like a sob was supposed to sound. Elle drew her knees up and buried her face in them. This was so embarrassing but she couldn't help it.

"Elle? What's wrong?" Tim rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled the few feet that separated them. "Did I say something wrong? Are you really hurt?"

She shook her head, but refused to look up. The sobs tore at her soul. Her baby . . . If only she had been stronger. This was why she was here. Her baby . . . Dick assured her there would be other children. She knew that they would have another child eventually but she had wanted this one so badly . . . and she hadn't been able to protect it or herself.

Tim wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He was a little awkward at it but he only wanted to help.

"Elle, please," he said a little helplessly. He looked around the cave for someone to appear and take his place but there was no one down here but them. "Tell me how to help you."

She took a shuddering breath and then another. When she looked up at him finally, it was to find Tim crying with her. Tears fell down his face and he looked so alarmed and a little scared. She realized that he thought he had broken her and of course, she knew the sound of her crying would enhance and strengthen any empathy he had in him.

Poor Tim . . .

She had made him cry . . . But no more, she decided. No more crying and complaining. She could do this! Determination filled her.

"I'm ready," she said suddenly.

He blinked and wiped at his eyes. "You are?"

She nodded firmly. "Teach me."

He helped her back up and handed her the bo-staff. "Alright, then. Head back to the center of the mat and take up a defensive position."

It was supposed to happen like it did in the movies. She had hit her low spot and then found her motivation . . . She was supposed to have gotten up and absorbed everything up like a sponge and been kicking Tim's ass before the hour was up.

Elle sighed as she stood in the shower and let the hot water roll over her sore shoulders. She was black and blue from all the times she hadn't been fast enough. Tim had been pulling his strikes and averting hitting her on multiple occasions but even Red Robin hadn't been good enough to make up for how bad she was.

Only once had she managed to get past his defense and actually hit him. It hadn't been on purpose, however, but she had clobbered him on the back of the head hard enough to stagger him. But all those other times he had easily deflected her blows. Too bad she had been so slow in her own reaction time.

If she hadn't sucked as badly as she did, she thought, then she might not currently look as if she were half-zebra instead of being half-fish.

"Do I have to go kill my little brother now?"

Dick's voice made her jump and he got soaked reaching in to save her from slipping in the shower.

"Sorry," he said with a smile. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you might have felt me come in."

Elle sighed. "No. I was kind of caught up in my own thoughts. It's okay. What's one more bruise? No one would be able to tell the difference."

Dick checked her over as he handed her the towel. "Ouch! Tim was supposed to go easy on you. I think maybe I will have to have a go round with him down on the sparring mats for this."

Elle climbed out on the bath mat. Safe from potential falls now, she leaned in to kiss him. He was already wet anyway.

"No," she said. "Don't do that. He too busy at the moment nursing his concussion."

His eyebrows rose as he waited for the story behind that.

"I kind of hit him in the head with the bo-staff today," she said, regretfully. It had staggered him alright, enough to bring their training session to an end. She had left him in the medical bay with Alfred checking his pupils for equal reactions to light. "Alfred said he should be fine in a couple of days, though," she added quickly.

Dick snorted. "You managed to clock him with the staff? Tim's the resident expert with the staff, you realize. It's almost impossible to get past his guard when he has a staff in his hand."

"Uh huh," she muttered wrapping the towel around her and grabbing another for her hair. "He'll be off the crutches by the weekend."

"You're kidding . . ."

Elle looked up at Dick and winced. "I swear they were accidents!" She bit her lip. "Do you want to go round on the mats with me, now, too?"

Dick snorted with laughter. Elle smacked his shoulder.

"Stop that," she groused. "It's not funny."

"Oh, yes, it is . . ." Dick gasped after a minute. He noticed Elle limping as he followed her out to the bedroom. "Are you okay? Do you want me to run downstairs and get you a crutch, too?"

Elle tossed a wet towel at his head. "Oh, shut up." She stuck her tongue out at him.

She pulled out the clothes she wanted to wear starting with a green sweater with a large V-neck and three-quarter length sleeves. It hung loose and reached the tops of her thighs. She had to lie down on the bed to fit the white, skinny jeans on.

Dick leaned back and grinned, enjoying the show. She glared at him as she fastened and zipped the pants.

"You won't say what you're thinking if you want to live," she warned.

He smirked. "What? I didn't say anything!"

"You wanted to," Elle pointed out.

"I am a smart man. Bruce didn't raise no fool," he told her as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up against him. "Please say you'll need help taking those jeans off later."

She smirked. "Depends . . ."

He looked interested now. "Really," he nibbled along her jawline. "On what?"

"On whether or not you can catch me," she blurted and shoved him backward onto the bed.

She darted out the door and down the hall, laughing. Her bruised ankle already healed and forgotten in the joy of the moment. Dick rolled off of the bed and took off after her in hot pursuit.

Master Dick and Miss Arabella burst into the kitchen, laughing. Twas obvious that they had been racing through the house. Alfred, normally frowning on such activity, merely looked on with bemusement. He was learning quickly that neither one of the couple could remember that particular rule of the house for more than a few minutes at a time. Luckily, no one was beside the door as they pushed through but they had been making so much noise that everyone there had been prepared.

"Ah, just in time for lunch, I see," Alfred smiled jovially.

The manor hadn't been this alive in all the entirety of the man's employment and the older man relished the chaos and confusion that the young couple had brought with them. Never had the house rang with so much laughter or beheld such smiles since the days before passing of Dr. and Mrs. Wayne. What a difference only a week had made.

Damian had become far more social since the advent of Dick and Miss Arabella's move, no longer hidden away in either his room or the depths of the cave, and Tim was suddenly home far more often, to the point where one might wonder if the rent on his apartment was going to waste. Even Jason popped in despite there being no emergency to use as an excuse.

This was beginning to feel like a real family and not simply a temporary stop in the boys' lives as they passed through. At the moment, the only person missing from this family affair was the master of the house himself. Master Bruce had left earlier on an errand most secret after been ensconced within his study all morning. Alfred had an inkling it had to do with a certain upcoming wedding and, as such, kept mum to all inquiries as to his current whereabouts.

Miss Arabella was flushed and bright-eyed, greeted everyone, laughing as she leaned against the counter. She looked curiously at what he was cooking while Master Dick ducked his head into the refrigerator in search of something cold to drink.

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble for us, Alfred," Miss Arabella told him. "I'm used to cooking for Dick and I."

"Nonsense," the butler told her. "I was already whipping up something for the boys. It is just as easy to make enough for five as it is for three."

She stole a carrot from the pile he was chopping, something any other inhabitant would have gotten their finger smacked for attempting. Miss Arabella waved the vegetable around as she spoke to him, a small crease appearing between her brows.

"That's hardly fair," she was saying. "You realize, don't you, that I can cook as well. You should have called me. I could have helped."

"Well, lunch is nearly finished now. I'm afraid it will have to wait for another time," Alfred said.

"What to do you have planned for dinner?" she asked, as Dick set a bottle of her company's specially distilled water in front of her.

"Grilled salmon steaks with rosemary baby potatoes," Alfred answered. His words tapered off at the look that flitted across her face. "Is something wrong, Miss?"

Dick grinned and bumped Arabella with his hip playfully as he explained for her.

"Elle doesn't eat fish," he said with some ruefulness. "She despises all things seafood."

"No seafood?" Tim asked, joining them at the counter with his crutches.

Dick looked at the wrapped ankle and winced. "How are you? Heard my fiancée kicked your . . . um, bum."

Tim shrugged. "Lucky to be alive. Your fiancée is wicked."

"I said I was sorry," Elle blushed.

Tim laughed. "Don't worry about it. I've had much worse than this, believe me. And this," he indicated the ankle, "wouldn't have been a problem if I hadn't continued with the training session and just iced it right away. My bad decisions are not your fault."

"I think you're being kind," she grumbled, still feeling guilty.

He shook his head and changed the subject back to what it had been. "Do you think that this dislike of seafood have something to do with your Atlantian roots?"

Arabella blushed. "I don't know. I suppose I'm what you'd call the Atlantian version of a vegan but truthfully, I just never really cared for it."

Tim smiled. "So, how's that work out for you two since we all know that Dick loves his seafood."

Dick answered for her. "I used to eat out at a seafood place for lunch a couple of times during the work week. I can't convince Elle to make it for me at home." He made sad, puppy-dog eyes at her.

Arabella tossed a little of her water in Dick's face.

He sputtered and gasped. "What was that for?"

"Don't try to make me feel guilty for not making you seafood! Ugh," she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She refused to feel guilty for that.

"Oh, dear," Alfred said, distressed. He had no idea that the young woman felt so strongly about her dislike. "If you tell me what you would prefer, I would be happy to make you something else."

Dick shook his head, unwilling to let this go. "No," he interrupted. "You know what? You owe me, Elle."

She gaped at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You owe me a dinner at a local surf and turf. You and I will sit down to a nice meal where you can have your cow and I will have my seafood," Dick announced. "I've done enough uncomfortable things for you, including eating dinner at the club all the while Chef Raymond had it in for me."

Arabella looked at him with an expression akin to horror. "You wouldn't!"

"I ate charcoal for you," he reminded her. "Charcoal!"

Alfred watched this with a twinge of guilt. "I can put the salmon away. We can have it some other night. I can fix something more palatable for the entire company, perhaps."

Arabella jumped on that. "No, Alfred," she decided suddenly. "I will fix dinner tonight for everyone, including you!"

"Oh no, Miss! That simply won't do," he tried to stop her. "You're family now and I . . ."

"You might as well give up that argument right now," Dick laughed as he moved to sit at the table with Damian and Jason. "You'll never win it. And besides," he continued happily, "Elle makes the most amazing Chicken Cacciatori you've ever eaten."

Alfred glanced at her hesitantly. Arabella smiled back confidently.

"I've helped my grandmother with many a dinner party," she assured him. "I can cook for seven easily."

It wasn't that. The kitchen had always been Alfred's domain. Master Bruce, for all his accomplishments, couldn't boil water without the fire department on hand. The boys never had an interest in the kitchen unless Alfred was baking cookies.

"Perhaps, if we were to compromise and you allowed me to assist you?" he offered, hopefully.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment and he was almost afraid she would ban him from his own kitchen. That was preposterous, of course. Alfred would never allow for that, even for Miss Arabella. In the end, she smiled graciously and nodded her head.

"That would be acceptable," she said. "You can make the salad."

Alfred sputtered, and Arabella and the boys laughed at her teasing. He chuckled as well but was unsure if her teasing were actually that. He sighed; he would worry about that outcome later, he decided and began to ladle out a homemade spicy sausage and white bean soup into the bowls. He had warmed up thick slices of French bread to serve with it. Despite his protestations, Arabella helped him carry the food to the table.

Heaven help him, this was the one thing he would have trouble getting used to.

Elle sat down between Dick and Damian, and looked around the table. They had been discussing something while she had been chatting with Alfred. Everyone was making appreciative noises at the butler but as soon as people settled in to eat, she pounced. She wasn't a gossip and seldom contributed to any . . . That way lay trouble, she knew, but this was different. This was family . . . And she missed it.

Normally, she'd be in Italy at this time of year with her grandparents. But she had a new family now, one in which she was determined to make a place for herself.

"So, what were you all talking about?" she asked after her first mouthful of soup.

"Father's birthday is coming up next month," Damian offered. "We were discussing what we would all get him this year."

Elle blinked. "What?" She looked at Dick. "It's Bruce's birthday? When exactly and why didn't anyone think to let me in on this?"

Tim answered for Dick. "Oh, it's still about three weeks away," he said, "on the seventeenth. There's plenty of time yet."

"What do you do around here for birthdays?" she asked curiously.

"It's nothing major when it's just one of us," Dick told her. "Mostly just the family and a couple of close family friends."

Jason snorted. "Not so with 'Brucie'," he laughed.

Elle frowned. "'Brucie'? I don't understand."

Jason grinned as he picked up his glass of beer, no drinking from the bottle when Alfred was around. "Bruce hates his birthdays."

"What? But, why?" She was confused. Everybody loved birthdays she had always assumed.

"It's because the upper-crust of high society expects him to celebrate it with them every year," Tim explained. "It's always a big social bash that takes up at least two pages of the society section of the newspaper. I hear it's supposed to take up two ballrooms at the Gotham Ritz-Carlton this time."

"Bruce actually hates hanging out with socialites," Dick told her.

"Then, why do it?"

"Because it is expected of him," Tim said.

Jason set his beer down. "It's because he can't risk anyone assuming he's more than one of those pompous, self-righteous, bubble-headed elites that play shuttlecock and polo between garden parties." At Elle's startled expression. "No one's allowed to guess he's really the same guy who dresses up like a flying rodent every night and beats the crap out of criminals."

"No one can guess that he is Batman," Dick clarified.

"Those air-headed idiots are beneath him," Damian declared.

Elle pursed her lips. "You guys do realize that 'I'm' one of those pompous, self-righteous, bubble-headed elites, too, right? I grew up as one of them."

Four sets of eyes blinked at her.

"You're not one of them," Damian declared forcefully.

Tim and Jason exchanged a look. "Yeah, but you're not like the rest of them," Jason added.

Tim shrugged. "My parents were, but I seldom had to attend any of the events because they were gone most of the time. I've had to go to more society events since being adopted by Bruce than I ever did before that."

"True but you weren't really old enough to attend most of those events, either," Dick said. He nodded at Jason and snorted. "Jay used to hide every time there was a party he had to go to."

Jason threw his napkin at him. "Only the first couple of times. Bruce would always ground me from patrols if I refused to play dress-up for Daddy and his rich, snobby friends."

Elle smiled at the image of a young Jason in a tux. "And that was worse than wearing a bowtie and a dress jacket for a few hours?"

All four nodded vigorously.

"It doesn't seem fair though, does it?" she asked. "I mean, Bruce hates it as much as all of you do but he doesn't get the option of bowing out even on his birthday. Seems a shame that he can't enjoy his day."

She watched as they all seemed to grasp what she was saying. They all knew that Bruce despised hobnobbing as much as the rest of them but it never really clicked how unfair it was that, for this one day, Bruce couldn't spend it as he pleased. Bruce had never forced a society party on them for any of their birthdays. Those days had always been dedicated to having fun.

As they ate, the chirping of a cricket became more noticeable. Dick snorted into his soup and had to stop and wipe his mouth. Elle was shooting him a dirty look when the cricket in question hopped on the table in front of them. Everyone stared at it for a few seconds before Damian stood up in his chair and used his napkin to scoop the cricket up. He folded it several times and set it next to his bowl.

Jason goggled at him. "You just gonna leave him in there? In your napkin . . . on the table? While we're all eating?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "Of course, I'm not going to just leave him in there," He spoke with that annoying air of superiority that made his brothers teeth grind. "I'll take it up to Mook after lunch. It was better than waiting for you to smash it into the tablecloth with your bare hand like a Neanderthal. I'm certain Pennyworth will thank me for saving the linen from your barbarity."

Jason started to get up. "Why you little . . ."

"So, then," Elle interrupted cheerfully in an obvious effort to avoid a potential argument, "have you all decided what are you getting him for his birthday?"

Dick had been reaching out to calm Jay but Elle's question distracted everyone enough that Jason chose to sit back down and pick up his beer.

Tim shrugged. "We were trying to decide if we were each going to get him a gift separately or go in together for one."

Elle's eyes sparkled. "I can think of a gift, although it isn't anything you would give in the conventional sense."

They stared at her for several seconds, waiting for her to go on with her idea. When she didn't Damian jumped in.

"Well, what is it, Hamilton?" Damian demanded.

"Yeah, Elle," Jason agreed. "Don't keep us in suspense."

Dick elbowed her lightly. "Go on; tell us," he added.

She set down her spoon and leaned forward. "What else can you give a billionaire who has everything?" She paused for effect. "A party, of course!"

They stared at her some more, then almost as one, they all slumped back in their seats.

"And here I thought you were onto something there," Dick complained.

Tim frowned. "We just got finished telling you how much he hated society parties."

Elle grinned. "I wasn't talking about society parties. Who wants to spend your special day with people you don't even like? I was talking about a party with people Bruce actually enjoys hanging out with."

Damian scowled as Jason barked out in laughter.

"That's the thing," Dick told her, "Bruce doesn't actually like hanging out with just anybody."

"That's because Bruce doesn't actually like anybody," Jason smirked.

"That's not true," Elle argued. "He seems to be rather fond of all of you."

Now it was Damian who snorted. "Well, everyone except Todd," he blurted.

Elle flicked him in the ear and the boy yelped. "Be nice. His name ends in Wayne, too, you know."

"Hyphenated," Damian murmured, rubbing his ear.

"Chosen," Elle corrected before anyone else could take umbrage with the youngest for his rudeness.

Damian opened his mouth to refute but hesitated as what she had said penetrated his brain. He closed his mouth because he knew she was right. If none of his older brothers carried the exalted Wayne blood in their veins, they each had still been handpicked by his father to carry his name.

Dick returned to the subject at hand. "Okay, I'll bite. What are you getting at, sweetheart?"

"A surprise party," she announced. "One with masks."

Tim narrowed his eyes as he tried to follow her thought processes . . . Silly boy. She smirked.

"He's a member of the Justice League, is he not?" She asked, meeting each of their gazes.

Jason leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, but I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call them his friends, Elle. He's a part of it only because he doesn't trust the rest of them not to screw up if the earth was invaded again."

"Clark came to Dick's proposal and he came for Christmas," she pointed out.

Dick smiled. "That's because I invited him and Lois last time. And he didn't really come for Christmas. Bruce called him because Superman was the only one who could put the dent back into your car door before I brought you out to see it."

"Let me ask you something," she said. "If we were to look on Bruce's cell phone, would we find personal phone numbers of any member of the League?"

Dick looked at Jason and Tim. Damian really had only knew the identities of a few League members and had met fewer still face-to-face.

Jason held up his hands. "Don't ask me," he said. "I've been mostly dead for the last few years, and I haven't exactly been keeping up with Daddy's social life since I came back."

But Tim was nodding. "She's right. He has the numbers of every single one of them."

Damian sputtered. "He also has Lex Luthor on his rolodex. That doesn't mean anything!"

"But Lex isn't in his cell phone," Tim asserted.

Elle frowned at that. What had Lex Luthor have to do with anything? she wondered. Even her father had Luthor's name and number memorized like he did most of his business contacts.

Dick was smiling, however. "He's been to dinner with Ollie and Dinah several times," he said.

Jason lifted an eyebrow. "I thought he thought Oliver was an imbecile?"

Dick laughed. "He thinks most people are imbeciles."

"Most are compared to him," Damian added.

"Dick! Damian!" Elle shot the boy a look of reproach but even Tim was grinning.

"No! No, Elle, he's right," Tim said, surprisingly coming to his younger brother's defense. "Most people are far less intelligent than Bruce. He chooses to hide it, though, for the sake of the secret."

"But that doesn't mean he doesn't actually like them," Dick explained to her. "Bruce has a certain mystique about Batman he likes to cultivate. And it totally works for him. When there's an emergency, he can bark at a room full of people, all of them capable of squashing him like a bug, and they all jump to follow his orders."

"Father's not a bug, Grayson," Damian jumped to his father's defense. "He could defeat every single one of them in battle."

Dick didn't deny this. "That's just proving my point, Damian. He can do so only because he is smarter but he also believes in being prepared for any eventuality. Although, he confessed to me once that he wasn't entirely certain he could successfully take on Wonder Woman and win. Hopefully we'll never reach a place where that theory is tested."

"But he likes her anyway, though, doesn't he?" Elle asked. "Wonder Woman?"

The brothers all burst out laughing simultaneously at her question.

"What? What did I say?" She looked around, confused.

Jason was the first to answer her. "Oh, Bruce likes her just fine."

Elle recognized his vocal inflection easily but still glanced at Dick for confirmation. Dick grinned at her.

"He wouldn't mind having Wonder Woman at this party," he smirked.

Tim was still snickering.

"So, is there anyone he truly doesn't like?" she asked, then.

"Guy Gardner," Tim and Dick answered together.

Jason looked at the other two. "What about Hal? I thought Bruce couldn't stand him."

Dick shrugged this time. "Hal's alright when Barry's around, but put Hal and Bruce in a room together without a mediator . . ."

"So, just this Guy Gardner fellow?" she asked. "Will that create any kind of work-related issues if he isn't invited?"

"No worries there," Dick assured her. "Guy's not especially fond of Bruce, either. Besides, I think he's off planet anyway."

Elle did a double-take. "O-Off planet? Seriously? You guys do that?"

"Dick and Bruce have been more than the rest of us. Damian hasn't been yet," Tim said. "But Guy? Yeah, well, that's kind of what Green Lanterns do, you know?"

"Guy is a Green Lantern? Which one? There's more than one, right? I think I remember there being more than just one." Elle looked at each of them, wide-eyed.

She never kept up with this kind of stuff in her old life. The only hero that had ever interested her had been Nightwing, and that was only because she had noted how finely he filled out his spandex the first time she had seen him close up . . . Technically, that had been her and Dick's first meeting, although she hadn't known it at the time. Dick hadn't even known she had been a witness to his taking down of an armed robber.

"Guy's the red-headed mouth," Jason volunteered.

Elle bit her lip. "I don't think I've ever seen him before. My experience with heroes has kind of been limited to you guys, Superman, and to the audience of a show I did once at a VA hospital for military veterans."

Damian turned in his seat. "Are you really serious about inviting the League to a surprise party for Father?"

"There's one problem with this plan of yours, Elle," Tim said. "Not everyone in the League knows who Batman really is."

"Bruce doesn't know who his fellow Leaguers are?"

Dick shook his head. "Bruce knows everyone's secret identity but not everyone knows his," he told her. "He might consider it a risk of his identity if those people were to discover the day of his birth."

"The party doesn't have to fall on the actual day itself. We can do it the day after. Trust me, most people won't give it a second thought." She said.

Tim looked skeptical. "You don't know these people."

"This can still work. Everyone invited will be invited to come in their hero identities . . . with their masks in place."

"Just heroes, then?" Tim clarified.

Elle thought a moment. "Why not let them bring their significant others, too? I mean, if I'm arranging the party, I would like to come, too. Would the Justice League members mind if I came?"

Dick kissed her lightly. "You will be there," he assured her.

"But your identity will be compromised if someone should recognize her, Goldie," Jason pointed out. "Remember, Christmas and New Year's, both of your faces were plastered all over the papers and the news from one end of the country to the other."

"Elle can wear her Nightwing outfit," Damian suggested. "From Halloween! Only a few locals saw her. Neither of your names were actually released to the press."

Jason looked intrigued. "And who will you be if she's Nightwing?" he asked Dick.

"I'll be Nightwing, also," he laughed. "I think we look significantly different so you'll be able to tell us apart from one another."

Elle was excited by the suggestion, however. "That's a terrific idea, Damian," she praised him. "The wives and husbands can come but only with masks that correlate to and match that of the hero they arrived with! This will be perfect!"

Dick shook his head. "This is an interesting idea, Elle, but how are you going to arrange a party for Bruce and plan a wedding at the same time. The League isn't just seven members anymore. The roster is big now."

"I have my master's in business," she reminded him. "I know how to delegate authority when necessary."

Dick blinked at her. "Should I be nervous?"

Tim smiled tentatively. "Are we being serious here? Are we really going to do this?"

"Father will kill us," Damian predicted. "He'll hate it."

"Oho, then, you can definitely count me in," Jason laughed.

"Nonsense," Elle smiled. "Everyone loves a good party, Damian."

Jason shook his head. "You realize he'll never agree to come, don't you? You're going to be disappointed."

"No, I won't," she smirked at them, "because it will be a surprise!"

Dick pursed his mouth, doubtfully. "We're going to die," he declared. "Bruce will kill us if we do this." Jason merely grinned at him.

"You mean Father will kill all of you," Damian corrected.

Elle waved away their prophecies of doom and gloom. "It won't be so bad. You guys can claim that you tried to talk me out of it. It wouldn't be a lie."

"Oh, don't worry," Tim assured her. "We will be sure to tell him whose idea it was."

She grinned, looking around the table at the four of them enthusiastically. "Now," She clapped her hands together. "Let me tell you what I have planned for the entertainment. Trust me; you're going to love it!"

REACTIONS?

They are all spent the rest of the day wondering how it is that she is able to talk them into these things . . .