Warning: Strong Language . . .

Aiden grew tired of waiting. The bar was loud and filthy, the table at which he sat perpetually sticky with some unknown substance. He had asked the waitress to wipe the table off twice and, if anything, it was even worse than it had been when he sat down. But this is where the person he had talked with on the phone had suggested he be at nine o'clock and it was now midnight. He'd kept his end of the deal and no one had approached him.

He frowned as he looked around. No one had approached him . . . not even the 'ladies'. He looked down at what he wore. Although it wasn't a business suit, it was a far sight better than anyone else in the bar. He wore a hundred-dollar haircut and his nails were manicured. Even if the male clientele were accepting of his distinctly high-end maintenance and chose to leave him alone, surely one of the trollops that catered to the lowlifes here would have tried to pick him up, if nothing else for the drinks he could obviously afford.

But no one did.

It was equally obvious that the person he was to meet had either been watching him for some time or left word that no one was to talk to him. Disgusted at the waste of his time, Aiden collected his jacket and tossed a twenty on the table. He made his way to the door, aware of the eyes that followed him. He considered the idea that one or more of the patrons might decide to accost him on his way to his car but he did more than work out at the gym regularly.

Cedric had chosen to place bodyguards on his precious Bella but he didn't leave Aiden defenseless, either. Aiden had been learning the art of self-defense and combat since he was eight. He still employed bodyguards for his son on occasion but since Aiden had come into his majority, it had been the son's prerogative as to whether or not to continue the service. Aiden kept his men on retainer and called them when necessary. And while many would have considered going to a seedy bar on the wrong side of town necessary, what he was here for didn't need a lot of witnesses.

Perhaps Aiden would see if all those lessons had paid off tonight. He listened for the sounds of footsteps on the pavement. There were some but none consistent. He used the reflections of the darkened windows of the businesses across the street and beside him to check for anyone following him but it appeared to be clear.

Interestingly enough, his rental car he had used for the occasion remained as pristine as when he had driven it off of the lot six hours ago. So, it wasn't merely his person that wasn't to be touched. He shrugged, digging out his keys. He appreciated the effort on his behalf but he'd have appreciated being met far more. A quick glance around and then Aiden was sliding behind the wheel.

He pounded a palm heel into the dash in frustration. The whole evening was a waste of time. Damn it!

"If I'd have known you didn't care about the condition of your rental car, I wouldn't have bothered warning the boys away from it," came a voice from the back seat.

Aiden stiffened. The car had been locked when he had arrived. No annoying car alarm had greeted him when he had exited the bar. He had even glanced into the rear window . . . Or had he? Oh, he had but it was the reflection he had focused on to see if any planned to jump him here. No one had because there had been an assassin sitting in his back seat waiting for him to arrive.

"If you wanted to meet in the parking lot, you should have said something over the phone," Aiden replied with far more calm than he was feeling. The voice behind him had been the same voice he had spoken with over the phone earlier.

"You looked as though you needed a chance to unwind," Deadshot said conversationally. "I'll admit, I thought you would get tired of waiting a lot sooner that you did. You must be serious about this meeting."

"I was," Aiden said, letting the first hints of annoyance creep into his voice. "Now, I'm tempted to say 'Fuck it,' and let you finish what you've already been paid to do."

"If you are expecting me to be surprised by that, you'd be mistaken, Mr. Hamilton. I notice things like the brother of one of my hits attempting to meet with me."

Aiden narrowed his eyes but remained as he was, hands on the steering wheel where the man in the back could see them. His eyes no longer remained staring forward but flipped to the rearview mirror. The man behind him looked normal enough but Aiden wasn't foolish enough to believe what he was seeing resembled the man's regular appearance.

"And do you know why I asked for the meeting?"

"I would assume to beg for your sister's life," Deadshot said easily.

"Half-sister," Aiden clarified out of habit.

An eyebrow rose. "Now, that is interesting. You don't like her."

"No, I don't," he admitted freely.

"And yet you asked for this meeting to attempt to talk me out of killing her and her fiancé." Curiosity edged into the assassin's tone. "I must admit that I assumed that the initial hit must have originated from you, now I'm not so sure. Have you changed your mind or is my employer someone else?"

The leather seat creaked as the man in back stretched out his legs. "Plenty of leg room in the back," he noted. "Nice and comfortable. A bit nicer than most people drive around here but nothing compared to what you are used to, is it, Mr. Hamilton?"

Aiden's mind was moving at the speed of light. So, Deadshot didn't know who his employer's identity was? He had believed I was behind it . . . Aiden considered. Could this be as easy as just canceling the hit?

Didn't mean that the person gunning for Bella wouldn't figure this out and place another hit out on her eventually but that likely wouldn't happen until after she had signed over three of their father's businesses to him. At that point, he would lose any opportunity to retrieve the last four from her but he had already admitted to himself that those were forever out of his reach.

Whoever it was who hated his sister as much as he did was more than welcome to finish the deed so long as Aiden already owned as much of his father's legacy as he could manage to get his hands on.

"It's me," Aiden lied smoothly. "Our father's inheritance was split unequally and I recently learned that should my . . . half-sister die, my chances of obtaining an equal share would die with her. I will pay you for your inconvenience, of course."

Silence greeted him and for a long moment, Aiden considered that the man would refuse him. Possibly something to do with his reputation or whatnot.

"You can pay me for the other half of my retainer, in that case," Deadshot told him finally.

And what would that number be? Aiden waited. If he admitted he didn't know, then the world-class assassin in the backseat might decide to round it up to three hits instead of a mere two.

"Deal," he agreed. "I assume you don't take personal checks."

The assassin snorted in amusement. Nice to know Aiden's charm worked with assassins as well as his business associates.

"Not for a rock," Deadshot replied. At Aiden's look of confusion, he asked. "What? You've never watched the Sopranos?"

"Not recently," he murmured, dryly.

"A mil," the assassin explained, bluntly. "I'll contact you."

Aiden pursed his lips. "A million is a little heavy to carry in small denominations. Unless you want me to leave you the keys to the armored truck."

If there was any hesitance on Deadshot's part, Aiden couldn't detect it.

"I'll contact you with an account number," the assassin told him. "You will transfer the funds in at that time."

Aiden suppressed a grimace. He didn't want there to be any connection between him and the assassin. He wasn't really the person that had put up the hit in the first place. If the police got wind of this, Aiden didn't want them to get the idea that he might be the guy who was actually behind it. Now, wouldn't that be ironic?

"I would prefer that my personal phones not be used," Aiden said.

"Is that so? Are you saying you don't want anyone knowing we have a business relationship because that sounds like what you're saying?" The assassin sounded offended.

"That is what I am saying," Aiden bit out, calling his bluff. The man wanted his money. He wouldn't get it if Aiden was dead because the guy got a little miffed. "I have a couple of burner cells in my pocket. You can use one of them to call me on the other."

The eyebrow rose again. "You are a planner, aren't you, Mr. Hamilton?"

"One doesn't get to my position by resting on the laurels of another," Aiden told him.

"Is that so? I was under the impression that was exactly how one in your position did it. Aren't you doing all of this for your daddy's money?" Deadshot asked.

"I am stepping into my father's shoes," Aiden corrected. "I will be continuing what he had started. If I were one of those wastrels that are only interested in the money, I could sell the businesses I own, and live extremely well off of the proceeds, as would my children and their children and their children's children. It is a lot of money, you understand."

The assassin whistled in appreciation. "It sounds like it."

"I plan to run the businesses and make them successful beyond even my father's expectations. If he left me a fortune, I plan to triple it." Aiden recalled himself too late. His angry bragging might have just cost him more than a cool million. Deadshot could increase the sum that he would take in order to make him lay this contract aside.

"I have been schooled," the man said. He didn't sound offended, however, in the least. "Which pocket?"

It took Aiden a half a second to realize Deadshot was talking about the phones. "Right side. Inside pocket."

The assassin cocked a pistol and pressed it to the backside of Aiden's head as he reached over the back of the seat and fumbled for the pocket.

"I could have handed it to you," Aiden offered.

Deadshot tugged the phone free and glanced at it. "If you have a trace put out on this phone, I will kill you . . . for free."

"There's not. The number for the one I keep is programmed into yours," Aiden told him.

"Right." Deadshot slipped the phone into his own pocket and uncocked his pistol. "I'll be in touch."

"Fine. I can transfer the money to you by tomorrow," Aiden tilted his hand so that he could see the glowing face of his watch. "Tonight, I mean, five pm."

"I was under the impression it took time to arrange for all that money to be freed up in order to transfer."

"I began making the arrangements earlier, in preparation for your agreement," Aiden shrugged.

The man behind him smiled, flashing white teeth in the rearview mirror. "I like a man who thinks ahead."

Bruce knocked on the door to the room that Dick and Elle had designated their office. He had come back this afternoon to a manor nearly deserted. Jason and Damian had given Tim a ride back to his apartment, apparently, after some sort of accident had put Tim on bedrest for a few days. Bruce had been confused until Alfred had mentioned his training session with Elle that morning.

His lips twitched. They had a tendency to do that a lot more these days. The young woman had taken his family by storm and the boat was still rocking from the maelstrom that was Arabella Hamilton. The metaphysical bond that had developed undetected between Elle and his eldest son guaranteed her acceptance into the family. Any choice was taken away when it was explained that to somehow break the bond would result in Elle's death and Dick's life ruined should he survive it but he was coming to understand that no bond was necessary for him to be willing to accept Elle with open arms.

In a matter of months, she had somehow worked miracles, bringing his children back together despite the anger and disagreements that had created walls that separated them all. And to accomplish this gargantuan task, she only had to be herself . . . Her zany, joyful, quirky, klutzy, oddball self. She added a heaping helping of what Bruce suspected was something resembling normality and liberally spiced it with fun.

Bruce, himself, was still reeling from her presence. That Dick had fallen hard for her was no surprise. The devastation of losing her and possibly his son as well should have had Bruce searching high and low for ways around the bond and, while this was an added worry to his list, the payoff at the end of the day was still very sweet indeed.

Dick opened the door with a smile, one that actually reached all the way to his blue eyes. Yes, he thought, this could well be worth it.

"I hear that Elle is becoming quite adept at the bo-staff," Bruce said in lieu of a greeting. He smiled when Elle slumped dramatically and dropped her face into her hands.

"I swear, it was an accident," she lamented, blushing. "I feel so bad for Tim. I feel so bad for anyone who takes on the task of training me in self-defense. I'm like all the plagues of Egypt rolled up into one walking, talking disaster."

"Ah, yes, well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Bruce said as he took a seat, "but I did find a cricket in one of my shoes this morning."

Dick burst out laughing.

At least someone was still enjoying it, he mused. Of course, Bruce found it rather amusing as well whenever he was in the peaceful quiet of his office at work. However, when he squished one in the toe of his favorite shoes, it lost some of its humor. He noted the large stack of papers spread out over the top of Elle's desk.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked politely.

"Elle's attempting to put together a guest list," Dick explained and he plopped down in the chair next to Bruce's. "It's a bit overwhelming at the moment."

"It's a bit impossible," she groused as she shuffled the pile together. "How can I send out invitations to an event when I have no idea where it will be held? How many will it seat? Will I invite too few and the venue feel too open and empty? Too many and we're turning people away at the door . . ."

"I come bearing glad tidings, then," Bruce smiled at them both. "I received a phone call just a little while ago from the pastor of that last church we visited, Dick."

Dick eyebrows raised in surprise. "I thought they were booked up for that weekend."

"Apparently both parties have decided to cancel," he told them.

Dick immediately narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Both wedding parties cancelled? This close to the wedding date?"

Bruce continued to smile serenely. "A lucky coincidence, isn't it? Fate must be smiling upon you both. I do believe that was the church that you had called 'perfect'," he said smoothly.

"How . . . lucky," Dick agreed but his eyes were questioning the sudden rain of lucky happenstance. Bruce kept his face a pleasant, neutral expression.

"Really?" Elle squealed in delight. "Dick sent me pictures of the inside of the sanctuary and it's everything I could have hoped for! This could be a dream wedding after all!"

She hopped up and ran around the desk to hug her soon-to-be father-in-law. "Oh my gosh! Bruce, you are amazing!"

If Bruce was still a bit awkward returning her hug, he found it grew easier with practice. He remained careful in maintaining his innocence. "All I did was leave my number with the bishop in case something opened up."

Dick snorted but didn't launch into accusations for which Bruce was thankful. He wanted this day to be happy and as close to perfect as it could be for the couple. If he had to open his wallet and do his part to ensure that, so be it. It wasn't every day he could get Dick to accept his generosity without an argument.

"Well, thank goodness you did. Otherwise some other lucky couple would have gotten to it first," Elle declared. "Come on, Dick! I want to see it in person."

Bruce's smile slipped off of his face. "Just the two of you? Alone?"

Dick shook his head. "I can keep her safe."

"And who keeps you safe?" he asked. "If the same person paying Deadshot is the same as whoever paid Nameless, he would know that you are as much a target as Elle."

Elle moved back to the desk and picked up the phone. "I can fix this," she said as she dialed.

Bruce stood up, glancing between the young woman and his son. "What do you have in mind?" Much to his consternation, Elle turned her back to him and leaned against the edge of her desk. He looked at Dick. "Does she do this often?"

Dick shrugged, not sharing his concern. "More and more as of late. She doesn't care for feeling out of control. It's okay, though," he tried reassuring him. "I know who she is calling."

Bruce eyebrows rose as it occurred to him as well. "Her bodyguards? Hugh and Edward."

"Thanks. We'll be waiting," she murmured and hung up the phone. "They'll be here in twenty minutes." She smiled at Bruce. "They'll be flattered that you remembered their names."

"How could I not? They were ready to frisk us when I showed up at your home in Chicago with the boys," Bruce told her.

She blushed. "Did they? But they know you . . ."

Dick snorted. "They were just angry because you were upset. But they didn't go through with it. After that fiasco with Jason, that's probably a good thing. I'd hate to have seen their faces had they gotten so far as to frisk Damian."

Elle frowned at him. "Damian carries weapons on him when not Robin?"

Dick choked on his laughter. "It's probably best if you don't know everything that boy keeps on his person at any given time."

"I should have another talk with him about that," Bruce grumbled.

But Elle wasn't so easily put off, nor was she oblivious to what Dick had just said. "Will you at least tell me what fiasco you are talking about?"

"Fiasco?" Striving for an innocent tone, Dick gave it a shot. One look, however, said it wasn't working.

"Yes, the one with Jason. Spill it, buster," she demanded. Dick's brief hesitation had her continuing. "You either tell me or I ask Hugh and Edward when they arrive."

"They didn't stay in Chicago?" Bruce asked. He had heard about the fiasco when he had arrived later.

"No, I told them to get a place here in Gotham until the hit's been called off," Elle told him. "Now, one of you had better fess up. What fiasco happened with Jason?"

Dick slid his arms around her and tugged her close, smiling down at her. "Just a little misunderstanding. Quickly taken care of . . ." At her look, he added, "No one got hurt!"

Elle's mouth dropped open and Dick swooped in to kiss her. Bruce took that as his cue to leave. He was almost to the door when they came up for air.

"I know what you're trying to do and it won't wor-mmmph!" Elle attempted to speak only to be cut off in mid-word.

Bruce stepped into the hall.

"Stop that!" Elle yelped.

"You don't really want me to stop, do you?" Dick replied in a low tone.

The only sound was his future daughter-in-law's hum of delight.

No, Bruce thought, amused. She really didn't sound as though she did.

The argument had been put on hold as Bruce closed the door behind him with a smirk. Dick was only delaying the inevitable. He would be smarter to give her his watered-down version than to leave it up to her bodyguards to tell the story. It was bound to sound worse even than the version Bruce had been treated to when he had been told.

REACTIONS?

Could brokering a deal with a hitman be as easy as all that? (Well, if you have a cool mil laying around with nothing to do and nowhere to go, that is.)