Misery Loves Company

Dick opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. The early afternoon sun felt more like a knife piercing his forehead and stabbing at his brain unmercifully. He had started feeling less than great last night before he went out on patrol, and had practically crawled home less than four hours later with a low-grade fever and the worst sore throat he thought he had ever had. He hadn't managed to accomplish more than stopping one would-be-mugger. He had taken the last of last season's cold medicine which had put him out like a light, but he could tell upon awakening that his fever was back with a vengeance.

Poor Elle was likely just as miserable as he was at this moment. October probably wasn't the best time to go for a swim, however unintentional it was. After his panic that he had let his date drown the first time they had gone out, he had actually forgotten the cold water and chilly breeze enough to truly enjoy himself. She had certainly surprised him, by taking her dunking so well. Sure she had pretended to be annoyed with him initially, but they had both climbed out of the lake dripping and laughing uproariously. She had merely squeezed the excess water out of her hair and shirt, and squished her way back to the car with amazing fortitude and a bevy of teasing comments. He couldn't think of one other woman of his acquaintance that would have not been furious with him for dropping her into the freezing October lake, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she had.

Dick rolled out of bed, and immediately weakness drove him to the floor on his knees. His stomach roiled ominously. Saliva flooded his mouth. Desperate, Dick dove toward the trash can, barely reaching it before what little contents his stomach hit the receptacle, taking what felt was left of the lining of his throat with it.

It must have taken a year to get back to his bed after a necessary trip to the bathroom. It felt like it had taken a month just to gain the strength necessary to roll off of his stomach and into a fetal pose. He stared hopelessly across the ten mile expanse between him and the phone on his nightstand. He wondered how long it would take for someone to discover his dead, decomposing body . . . What he wouldn't give to have Alfred here. Alfred always knew what to do to help him feel better.

Jagged pain lanced through his head a few minutes later when his cell phone rang. It was somewhere in the living room, he thought. It might as well have been on Mars. He pulled his pillow over his head and ignored it. Five minutes later his landline jangled. He looked across the bed to where it mocked him from its position of safety in its cradle. He squinted at the number that lit up its little screen. 555-7277 . . . It looked familiar. Whose number was it?

Suddenly, he remembered. Elle! Elle was calling him!

He didn't believe anyone else in the world could have convinced him to attempt the distance. He lunged, and nearly cried when he fell inches short. How many times had it rang? He gathered his remaining strength to cross the last few inches. His hands shook hard enough that it took him three tries to hit the talk button.

"Elle?" He croaked. Was that his voice?

"Hello?"

Elle had gone against her grandmother's advice to call Dick, but she hadn't a choice now. They had planned to go to dinner tonight. Unfortunately, Brian had just called to ask her to sub for Randi this evening. Randi sang rhythm and blues on Sunday and Wednesday nights at the club. While she didn't mind filling in, usually because she had nothing else better to do; tonight Elle had had plans. But she felt bad, leaving Brian in the lurch. So, she was trying to reschedule her and Dick's date for another night.

Now, she was frowning at the phone in her hand. Dick hadn't answered his cell, so Elle had looked up his home phone. But she didn't recognize the voice (if it could even be called that) that had muttered something unintelligible when it answered.

"Um, is Dick Grayson there?" Maybe she had dialed the wrong number.

"Elle?"

Oh, that was definitely her name.

"Yes, this is Elle," she replied, hesitantly. "I-is – Is this Dick?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Elle cringed in sympathy at the pain-filled voice. He sounded like someone had sandpapered his throat raw.

"Oh, you sound terrible! What happened?"

"Sick," he croaked. "Must have been from the lake Saturday."

"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Guilt swamped her. The poor guy . . .

"Are you feeling okay," he asked with a voice that sounded like he was gargling ground glass. "Did you get sick, too?"

"Ah, no. I'm fine," she said. "But I guess dinner's off, hmm? You sound terrible."

"Oh, damn," he groaned. "I'd forgotten about dinner. I've been a little preoccupied."

"No," she reassured him quickly. "I would have had to cancel it anyway. My boss called me in to replace another singer for tonight. That was the actual reason I called."

"Another time, then," he whispered.

Elle paused. He sounded disappointed. Was it wrong of her to feel happy about that when he was so sick? And he really did sound bad. She wondered . . . "Do you have everything you need? Do you have someone you can call for help?"

He didn't answer for so long that Elle had thought they had been disconnected. She began to worry about that when she heard him cough. It sounded like it had ripped its way out of him.

Oh God, she thought. Poor, poor baby . . .

"It's okay," he croaked. "Just need to sleep it off."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

The groan floated through the phone.

Elle bit her lip. Being sick was miserable enough without having to suffer through it all alone. Decision made, she began to make plans.

"Dick, give me your address. I'm going to drop off some things that I think might help."

"That's so sweet," he moaned. "Don't have to, though. Don't go out of your way . . . I'll be fine." A cough tore its way out of his throat belying his words.

Elle caught her breath. "What? What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"

"M'sorry. I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I just don't want you to catch this if you've managed to avoid it so far."

She smiled. "Give me your address, Dick Grayson. Don't make me have to hunt you down."

Two hours later, Elle knocked on Dick's door. Silence answered her. Uncertain, she tried the knob. Locked! Why would he leave it locked when he knew she was going to come over? . . . Unless he couldn't. Worry began to gnaw at her. He really had sounded terrible on the phone . . .

Elle set the box she carried on the floor, and kneeled down. Pulling a bobby pin from her hair, she bent it into the shape she needed. She hadn't had to use this particular skill since her brother had moved out of their father's penthouse. Who knew that anything good would come out of those difficult and trying times? She wouldn't have guessed that the ability to pick a lock would ever come in handy once her fraternal nemesis had discovered his own rock to crawl under. Still, her mouth quirked as she began her task, she always made certain she was never without a few hairpins at any given time. Less than a minute later, Elle was officially guilty of breaking and entering. Tucking the evidence into her jeans pocket, she opened the door.

The shades were still drawn, and only a few slivers of afternoon sun reached the interior of the space. Her eyes were well adjusted after traversing the dim and somewhat dismal hallway. The first time in Dick's apartment, she took time to note the sparse furniture, strewn liberally with clothes, books, and various take-out boxes. Locating the kitchen on the right, she got down to business unpacking her box. Turning on a burner, she set the small stock pot she had brought with her to warming. Grabbing the pharmacy bag that contained her recent purchases, she turned toward the door that she thought must lead to the bedroom.

"Dick?" She called out his name as she swung open the door. "GAH!"

Suddenly the world spun, and the bag of medicine went flying! The breath left her lungs violently as she was slammed onto her back with a muffled thump. It took several moments for the black spots in front of her eyes to clear. The ringing in her ears, however, took considerably longer to diminish.

"Oh, my God, Elle," she finally could hear a grizzled voice exclaim. Dick's pale, concerned face slowly came into view, hovering somewhat frantically over her. "Did I kill you?"

"No," she wheezed. "It only feels that way."

Dick helped her into a sitting position. "I heard a noise moving around in the apartment. I thought someone had broken in . . . Um, I'm guessing that was you?"

A blush crept up her cheeks. "Um, yeah."

"Man, I must have been out of it when I came home last night to have left the door unlocked." Dick rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah, about that . . .," Elle muttered. "I . . . um, well . . . I did knock first."

"I must have fallen asleep. I didn't hear you knocking." He stood up, swaying slightly. He offered her his hand.

Elle was shocked by the heat coming off of him when she let him pull her to her feet. "Good Lord! You are burning up!"

She immediately took his arm and led him back to the bed. The covers were in a mess, a testament to his restless efforts to find a comfortable position. Frowning, she laid the back of her hand against his forehead.

"Do you have a thermometer?"

Dick started coughing, but managed to point in the direction of a door Elle surmised to be his bathroom. She noted the slight tremor in the limb. Adrenaline must be crashing, she thought, watching as the tremor became more of a quake. Remembering her purpose for coming, she moved quickly and located the old-fashioned, mercury thermometer on a shelf in his medicine cabinet. She was closing the door when she paused, considering what she nearly missed. There was an inordinate amount of first aid supplies in there. Rolls of tape, piles of sterilized gauze, rolls of bandages, antibiotic ointment, prescription painkillers . . . Everything, she thought, but a fever reducer and a cough syrup.

She grabbed the thermometer and moved back to her patient, thoughtful. Dick opened his mouth obediently, and she tucked the thermometer under his tongue before moving to retrieve her bag of medicines.

Why would he have so many first aid supplies, she wondered. It was obvious he was athletic. Saturday was a testament to his strength and agility, despite their both landing in the lake. Certainly someone with such an amazing physique wouldn't be riddled with injuries. She was turning around when she noted the gun in its holster on the bedside table. She nearly tripped over her feet!

A second later her eyes landed on the glittering gold badge lying next to it. Oh, shoot, she thought, understanding at last. That's right. He's a cop!

It was curious was that he would choose to care for his own work-related injuries rather than go to the emergency room. Workman's comp aside, it just made more sense to get patched up by a professional. But, then again, here he sat pathetically attempting to nurse his own illness.

Pulling the thermometer out of his mouth, she read the mercury line. 103 degrees was no minor temperature! No wonder he was so miserable! Poor baby . . . She hurried to pull out the extra-strength acetaminophen as she headed back to the kitchen to search for a clean glass.

At least one of the three glasses Dick owned was clean, Elle noted, taking it down from the cabinet. She filled it with water, since the orange juice she had bought would likely burn all the way down right now. She did discover a teapot, however, and filled it up, setting on the burner next to the simmering pot. Hot tea with honey and cinnamon would go a long way to making his throat feel better.

After watching him struggle to get the pills down, Elle made him lay back down to sleep. She puttered around for a half an hour, picking up his clothes, starting a load of laundry, washing his six dirty dishes, cleaning out his refrigerator. The man needed a maid, she thought, then laughing, she added, or a girlfriend.

She went to check on him, tea in hand. He looked better, she thought. Fever was down. She ran her hand through his hair, and called his name softly.

"Babs," he moaned in his sleep. "I'm sorry."

Babs? Who is Babs? Maybe he said Bob, she determined. It was kind of cute that he talked in his sleep. She could have all kinds of fun with that, she snickered to herself. Not that she would take advantage of him while he was sick . . .

"Dick, wake up. I need you to drink some tea," she said. "It will make you feel better."

Blinking, Dick looked around him warily. Seeing Elle's beautiful smile, he relaxed, remembering she had come over. He sat up carefully, pleasantly surprised when he could manage it without collapsing or his muscles protesting.

"Feeling better?"

He smiled. "Yeah, actually, I am."

Elle took his temperature again, pleased to find it had dropped to a much more manageable 100 degrees. Still up, but she could work with that. She wrapped his hands around the warm mug. Steam still rose from the fragrant tea, but it had cooled enough he could drink it immediately without risk of burning his mouth. The honey sweetened tea slid down his throat, soothing the rawness that could still be felt despite the pain medication he had taken. Mm, and cinnamon!

"Mm, that's good stuff," he said, his voice almost normal.

'My grandmother swore by it," Elle smiled. "Have you eaten today at all?"

Remembering the mess in his trashcan, Dick cringed. "No," he admitted. "I wasn't sure I could keep anything down." He nodded sheepishly in the direction of metal bucket in the corner.

"Oh, well, that was likely because of how high your fever was," she explained. "Are you feeling nauseous right now?"

Dick did a perimeter check of his body, relieved when his stomach reported a negative on the nausea topic. "No. Just a few aches and pains, a mild headache, and the sore throat, although the tea helped a lot with that."

Elle stood up. "The headache is likely from low blood sugar. The tea will help with that, but it probably won't go away until you eat something first."

A couple of minute later, Elle returned with a mug of hot minestrone soup and a fresh, warm breadstick. "It's my great-grandmother's recipe. I whipped this up this morning after I talked with you."

The hot tea had helped clear up his sinuses enough that the delicious aroma of the soup wasn't lost on him. He boggled over the fact that she had not only cooked for him, but hadn't taken her soup and tea and left in a huff after he had flipped her onto her back earlier.

She had so easily forgiven him for that! What woman smiled at a man who had just slammed her bodily into the floor just twenty-four hours after nearly drowning . . . She was still here; still taking care of him despite all of that! It defied logic! He gazed up at her, his angel, and saw her watching him expectantly. He figured that where she might forgive him for his earlier, if unintentional abuse, she likely wouldn't if he didn't hurry up and try her soup.

"Mm, delicious," he murmured, appreciatively; thrilled he hadn't had to lie.

He ate tentatively, until he was certain his stomach wouldn't suddenly rebel, then with gusto, relishing the flavors of the soup and the soft bread. Pleased, Elle sat on the edge of his bed to watch him.

Headache receding and stomach burbling happily, Dick was becoming more cognizant of the fact that his current obsession was perched next to him . . . in his bedroom . . . on his bed. Brian Donovan's words abruptly slid through his brain . . . Innocence. She didn't look innocent at that particular moment; although her silver-gray sweater and black slacks weren't exactly the sort of wardrobe a femme fatale generally wore when on the prowl. But Dick was beginning to think she could wear burlap and make it sexy.

She took the dishes away, and returned with more medicine. If she wanted to poison him, Dick figured he was doomed, as he obediently swallowed whatever pills she gave him without even a glance. Elle instructed him to take a warm shower, handing him clean clothes out of the drawers she had started rummaging through. Actions that would have been the death knell of any relationship he might have had with any other woman.

He hated people pawing through his stuff . . . Probably because he worried they might find something stashed somewhere that gave away his Nightwing identity. However, Dick was fairly certain that all his Nightwing accouterments were hidden away where a casual search wouldn't find them. No matter how sick he had been last night, he wouldn't have slacked in that regard unless he had died before accomplishing the task or dropped into unconsciousness first.

Again, however, he took no offense to Elle's actions. He frowned at the thought as he rinsed the lather from his body. Could she be a supervillian whose super powers included a mesmerizing voice and gorgeous, hypnotic eyes? Turning off the shower, he toweled off wondering if Bruce's paranoia had finally rubbed off on him. He could hear the sweet sound her humming in his room.

Nervous, and curious, Dick peeked out to find her busy changing out his sheets and making his bed! Although he still felt the effects of his illness, his body had suddenly made the leap that his head had made earlier when Elle was sitting beside him.

Damn it! She was an innocent, here out of the goodness of her heart to nurse him back to health! And maybe if he continued to repeat that mantra in his head, his body would listen to him enough that he could walk out of the bathroom without embarrassing the both of them.

"Hey," Elle called out. "Are you still alive in there? I have a surprise for you."

Dick rested his forehead against the bathroom door in a mild panic. A surprise? He wished she hadn't said that. Now his brain was cruising through a list of possible surprises, none of which he was sure she currently considering – he sighed - unfortunately. He lightly pounded his head against the wood.

"Did you hear that," Elle asked, her voice floating in from the other room. "Was that you knocking, or . . .?"

"Uh, no," he croaked. "Probably the neighbors. The walls are kind of thin." He cringed. It wasn't a total lie . . . These apartments did have thin walls.

He moved back to the mirror, using a towel to wipe away the condensation. He stared in horror at the image of him standing in just a towel. Okay, that wasn't going to be an option . . . He needed more layers, he decided, turning to the clothes Elle had given him. He gaped in dismay when he held up a clean t-shirt and a pair of black boxer-briefs.

Worse than the towel, he wanted to wail. Why was this happening? It was like fate had handed him the perfect woman, and now was bringing about every possible event guaranteed to make her run from him screaming!

He turned the water back on in the shower. Just the cold water, that is. He needed to quit acting like he was fourteen instead of twenty-four. Whipping off the useless towel, he stepped back in under the freezing spray.

Elle set the basket on the bed of freshly laundered clothes. She was surprised that his apartment had the luxury of a small, stackable washer/dryer set, but nevertheless taken advantage of it. It was easier to rest and recuperate when one wasn't surrounded by all the little chores that were begging to be done. As she folded t-shirts and jeans, her eyes kept straying to the bathroom door. He had looked so good in just a wrinkly, old t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, even though he was still obviously pale and weak from being sick. How messed up was that? What was wrong with her?

Images of him in the shower, kept flitting through her mind, forcing her to constantly battle to shove them back out. The poor guy was miserable! He needed her help, not her lust . . . Okay, at least not her lust, yet! She had just met the guy! She suddenly thought that her father's decision to send her away to a private girls' school during her teen years had been a wise and fortuitous decision, if she was reacting like this now.

She moaned, disgusted with herself . . .

"Um, are you okay," came Dick's voice from behind her. He stood in the bathroom doorway, adorable worry lines creasing his forehead. "You aren't getting sick, are you? . . . because if you are, then I am the absolute worst boyfriend on the entire face of the planet."

Her heart skipped a beat. He called himself my "boyfriend"? It was such a high school thing to do, and she felt a little silly for getting all excited over an adolescent title, but . . . he called himself my "boyfriend"! She felt her face getting hot in a combination of embarrassment and excitement.

"Your face is flushed," he accused. "Damn it! God, Elle, I'm sorry. How are you still here? You must be thinking I'm some kind of walking plague or bad luck charm! I've only wanted spend time with you and get to know you, and all I have managed to do is hurt you . . . All in the space of four days! At this rate, you'll be lucky to survive the week!"

Elle, realizing his train of thought, suddenly burst out laughing. If he had any idea what all was really going through her mind . . . Well, she didn't want to go back in that direction.

He frowned at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she assured him. "It was nothing. I am not scared of you, you know," Elle insisted. "Everything that has happened has been an accident or my own fault. In fact, you may have been getting the worse end of the deal, all considering."

Dick mouth pursed as he mused that idea over. He didn't agree that his slamming her into the floor was her fault, but he had been feeling rather like death just a couple of hours ago, and now, well, not so much. "So," he wondered aloud. "How did you manage to avoid getting sick after the lake?"

A slow grin made its way across her face; her eyes twinkling with some private jest. "Since when have you ever heard of Aquaman catching a cold?"

Dick gaped at her a moment, then frowned, and then . . . grinned. "Point taken."

In her head, Elle giggled silently. He was going to be running her family legend through his mind over and over again, wondering if any of it was truth, and whether or not he was dating a mermaid three times removed. She hadn't meant to bring up that old story again, but now that he knew it, Elle decided to have as much fun with it as she could.

Dick had a wonderful sense of humor, but it was probably not nearly as warped as hers. He had been walking around, looking like someone had smacked him in the forehead with a two-by-four for the past four days. He wasn't used to her yet. It made her wonder about the relationships he had had in the past; what those women had been like, and why did she feel a little sad for him because of it. Her mother and grandmother had both insisted that it was a woman's job to bring peace, romance, and fun into her man's life. Perhaps they had been old-fashioned, as that reporter had claimed, but her father still pined for his lost love, and her grandparents have been happily married for nearly fifty years.

Elle shook herself. It didn't matter about those faceless women, she decided. They obviously weren't here now, and that was their loss. She knew that they hadn't been capable of giving Dick what he needed, or else he wouldn't have been coming week after week to listen to her sing. She didn't know him well enough yet, but she would . . . She enjoyed her time with him. He was turning out to be worth all the headache of having to be indebted to her father again. She would do her best to make sure that Dick would never regret sending her that card requesting her company for coffee after her show. He would never regret her!

"Um, so," Dick brought her out of her thoughts. "What's that surprise you were talking about earlier?"

Elle grinned. Time for some peace, and perhaps a little bit of fun . . .

"Do you want me to stop by after I get off work tonight?"

Dick watched Elle gathering her things. He nodded, unable to speak with the thermometer still in his mouth. She moved back to the bed and pulled it out to read it.

"Very good," she said. "99 degrees is much better that the 103 degrees that you had when I first arrived. I'm leaving the medicines right here by the bed. You're due for another dose in about an hour, so don't forget or you'll be regretting it. Now, do you need anything else before I go?"

He was feeling so much better now, he almost could forget he was still ill. "No, nothing else," he sighed. "I kind of wish you didn't have to go, though."

Elle smiled gently; her hand pushing the hair off of his forehead. "I wish I didn't either, but I promised."

"That's okay," he murmured, enjoying the feeling of her cool hand on him. "Mustn't break promises."

"You never answered my question."

"About what? Oh," he remembered. "I'll be okay tonight. You worked all day, and now tonight as well. You should go home tonight and get some sleep."

"I'll call you in the morning when I wake up, to see how you are doing then," she told him. "I can swing by tomorrow if you get worse or need something else."

"Elle?"

"Hmm?" She stood up to leave, but turned back to the figure on the bed. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," he reassured her. "I just . . . I just wanted to thank you. For everything. Especially for my surprise. Now, that was remarkable," he grinned.

He'd never suspected that Elle knew how to give a deep-tissue massage. His aching muscles had turned to liquid under her talented hands. She had played a CD of her own music during the massage, and between listening to her singing and the relief from his aches and pains, Dick had fallen into a deep sleep that had lasted most of the afternoon, only to awake feeling marvelous for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.

She had still been here, although he wasn't sure what she had done with herself in the meantime. She had finished straightening and dusting his bedroom, he could tell, but Dick hoped she hadn't spent all her time cleaning up for him. Her first time here, and he knew the place was a wreck. It was embarrassing. Never the best housekeeper, thanks in part to Alfred always picking up his messes behind him while living at the manor, it was the first time it had actually bothered him when a guest saw it.

"I'm just glad you're feeling so much better," she said as she gathered up her jacket and bag. "I left you the rest of the soup in the fridge. You can heat it up if you get hungry. There is tea and honey in your cupboard now if your sore throat returns. Try to drink some orange juice in the meantime."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. "Promise you'll be careful leaving the club tonight. Make Donovan walk you to your car."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "I'll be taking a cab home, anyway. Later, 'gator!" She waved, and slipped out of the door.

Dick listened to her leaving. He still felt great, but a small hollow place opened up at the sound of his apartment door closing. He missed her. She hadn't even made it to the stairs yet, and he missed her. But she had promised to call him tomorrow, didn't she? He smiled and relaxed, the hollow place filling up with warmth at the simple remembrance of her promise.

He looked over at the medicine she had left for him to take. She's like a drug, he mused. Just two days with her, and already I'm addicted.