This chapter includes another favorite song of mine. I do NOT own this song. I just like it a LOT, and thought it would enhance the story. It is called "Hold On" written by Michael Buble', Alan Chang, and Amy Foster-Gillies, and performed by Michael Buble'. You can find it on his album entitled "Crazy Love". Look it up and have a listen. It is a beautifully romantic song, as Dick can attest to.

Dick stood on the sidewalk outside of Chez Donovan's feeling a little nervous. It was still an hour before Elle was scheduled to perform, and already the line of people stretched halfway down the block. The restaurant had recently become reservation only to prevent people from doing what he had done several weeks ago, taking a table and just waiting for ten o'clock.

If Elle hadn't called him, and told him the situation, Dick would have probably been standing at the end of the line until his "turn" to enter came somewhere around eleven. Instead, she had promised him his table would always be held for him for as long as he still planned to be there. He had, of course, and had called the restaurant earlier in the evening with a special request.

"Wow! This place looks packed," came a familiar voice behind him. "Are you sure we can get in?"

Dick turned and smiled at his "dinner date". "I was wondering if you'd make it."

Bruce stopped beside his son, and shook his hand. "Parking was a bit of a problem."

Dick frowned. "Didn't Alfred bring you? I wanted him to come, as well."

"He would have, but he knew you would have dragged him protesting from the car. You had to know Alfred would balk at having dinner with the two of us out when we can't even get him to join us in the dining room at home."

"I thought he would make the exception," Dick shrugged, disappointed.

Bruce slapped him on the back. "Well, I'm here," he said, eyeing the crowd. "Um, you did say we were going to have dinner, correct? By the time we make it to the door, the restaurant will be closed, unless you made a reservation."

Dick grinned. "I didn't think of it. But who knows," he teased. "Maybe a table will magically open up when the owner hears that billionaire-philanthropist, Bruce Wayne, has come to grace their restaurant with his presence. You could, perhaps, grease a few palms."

Bruce frowned, hesitating. "Uh, Dick, you know I don't like to use my wealth like that." He was rather insulted, in fact.

"I have seen you do it before," he tugged on the man's arm to get him moving. "But usually you have had two or three women on your arm at the time. So, don't I rate a bribe?"

Bruce felt the stirrings of anger begin. "That was done to project a certain image for the paparazzi. I don't see any cameras here."

Dick laughed, and pushed the billionaire-philanthropist between the two new bouncers. One of the new employees, moved to block his path. "Do you have a reservation," the hulking behemoth asked.

"Dick Grayson," he announced to the brute in the tuxedo.

"Oh, Mister Grayson, sir! My apologies. Do come in. I believe your usual table is waiting for you." The hard expression of the man turned swiftly into one of fawning as he quickly pulled the door open for the gentlemen.

Dick had difficulty not laughing outright at Bruce's face. He knew Elle had to be behind "Igor's" attitude reversal. She probably did it as a joke on him, since she didn't know he was bringing a guest with him this evening; although, she likely would have done it anyway even if she had. Either way, it couldn't have worked out more perfectly if he had planned this himself!

He looked at the man's name tag as he passed. He would be seeing him on a regular basis if he and Elle were to continue dating. Dick's eyes widened in surprise, and he stumbled to a halt.

"Your name is really Igor?" He hadn't meant to say "really", but it had slipped out in his shock.

The giant grinned, and leaned down to whisper in a conspiratorial manner. "Actually, it's Dennis. One of the entertainers thought that this would be more intimidating to the rowdy club crowd."

Now Dick did laugh. He knew exactly who made that suggestion. "Carry on, Igor," he waved a royal hand. Igor/Dennis smiled, and bowed his head as Dick and a gaping Bruce continued past.

Shannon, one of the hostesses, recognized him immediately, and was apparently in on the joke. "Mr. Grayson," she called him, instead of her normal "Hey, Dick".

"It's a pleasure to see you again. Your usual table is waiting, sir. Right this way." Shannon grabbed two menus, waving at Robert, the head waiter.

Robert, wearing a stoic expression of which even Alfred would approve, made his way quickly to Dick's table, waving for assistance. Two more waiters appeared immediately, pouring chilled water into the crystal goblets, and holding out the chairs for Dick and a rather stunned Bruce.

"So good of you to join us this evening, sir," Robert nodded to both gentlemen. "Will you be staying after dinner for the show?"

Dick nodded, afraid that he would laugh out loud should he attempt to speak. Actually, Robert had been the one he had spoken to when he had called earlier, explaining that he was bringing family to watch Elle's show. Dick had sworn the man to secrecy, stating he had wanted Elle to be able to impress his father without making her nervous. He had thought that introductions would be easier in this setting than dragging the poor girl up to Wayne Manor. She likely wouldn't be overwhelmed by old money, but meeting family members tended to be fraught with tension. Now, the thought was occurring to him that perhaps this whole royal charade had been Robert's idea. He didn't know the man had it in him.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Robert winked at him. "Very good, sir. Daniel will be your waiter this evening."

Dick glanced over and saw Daniel placing himself a discreet distance away. His eyebrows rose up to meet his hairline. The waiter usually covered three other tables besides his own. Tonight, apparently, Daniel was to dedicate himself to Dick's table alone.

After Bruce perused the menu, and the two placed their orders, he leaned over to speak. "I'm impressed. Even I don't generally get this kind of royal treatment when I go out."

Sheepish, Dick admitted, "It is a bit of a surprise to me, as well."

Dinner was wonderful, as usual. A complimentary bottle of vintage port was sent to their table from the owner. Dick hoped the bottle was truly complimentary since he knew from Alfred that this particular bottle went for $300. He glanced at Bruce, and was gratified to see him relaxed as he sipped the after dinner wine with appreciation.

"I have to admit, Dick, that I'm impressed," Bruce commented. "I didn't think that Bludhaven had a good section of town, let alone a restaurant of this caliber. Dinner was easily one of the best I have had the opportunity to enjoy. So, are you going to tell me how you managed all this?"

No, because I'm not certain how I did manage all this. Of course, he wouldn't say that out loud. All he had managed to do was to call up the restaurant and tell the head waiter he was bringing his father to see Elle perform, and they would probably have dinner while they were there. So, he did the only thing left for him to do . . . He changed the subject.

"We have to stay, and see the show while we're here," he said. "That's what that line was for out front. People who want to listen to live music, and dance. I hear that the music is fantastic. Tonight is supposed to be one of their jazz nights, and I know you like jazz."

Bruce looked at his son suspiciously. The kid was up to something. When he initially called him up and invited him to a late dinner, Bruce hadn't thought much of it at the time. He figured that after so long of not talking, and then months of Dick's disinterest in everything that wasn't his job or his mask, that the younger man simply wanted to make up for lost time; to get back into living. Then it occurred to him that this might be Dick's way of introducing him to this new girl he was seeing. Eager to see Dick happy for the first time in what felt like forever, Bruce had accepted with alacrity. When no young woman had presented herself, however, Bruce had to reassess his theory. Perhaps, his initial reaction was the correct one, but . . .

While Bruce admitted that Chez Donovan's was indeed top notch in food and service, the kind of service that had been showered upon the two of them was unusual. No other table had had a waiter exclusively dedicated to it, and the bowing and scraping the staff had demonstrated to Dick had been excessive for a poor beat cop. Even with his reputation and wealth, Bruce had seldom seen this kind of attention bestowed upon him. Although, he didn't know the specifics as yet, Bruce was certain that he was being set up in some way.

"Yes," Bruce agreed, carefully. "I do like jazz."

The owner, Brian Donovan, chose this moment to swoop in and greet his two diners. "Mr. Grayson," Brian smiled. "I hope you and your guest are enjoying yourselves this evening."

"Mr. Donovan, you have exceeded my expectations. The food was exceptional, and the service wonderful." Dick lavished praise upon the restaurant. "I think even Bruce's exacting standards were more than met."

"Is that so, Mr. Wayne?" Donovan asked.

"Incredible, Mr. Donovan," Bruce spoke sincerely. "It was marvelous dining experience."

Brian was pleased. "You are both staying, I assume? I would hate for you to miss the entertainment we have for you, Mr. Wayne. Your son always stays when he joins us for dinner."

Bruce tilted his head at this invitation. Of course, it was perfectly normal for the business owner to wish his paying guests to continue enjoying their experience. But something was up, and he was beginning to get a glimmer of light.

"I wouldn't miss it," he assured both the owner and Dick. Bruce noticed when his son grinned and settled back in his chair with his glass of port, ready to enjoy the rest of the evening. Yes, he thought, the clouds were parting . . .

Donovan departed, stopping by to speak a few words at a couple of other tables before stepping up to the stage. By this time, the dinner crowd had thinned considerably, the tables cleared, and the people here for the music alone now entered. Within a few minutes, the atmosphere had changed from relaxing to anticipatory.

Elle was running behind. The whole day had been bad, but to make matters worse, she had already been running late when she had been forced to wait an inordinate amount of time for a cab. It only followed that they would then have to make a detour several blocks out of the way on top of it all. By the time she had finally arrived, she had less than fifteen minutes to change, and no time to confer with Morris. Usually, she had time to warm up, go through possible changes in the song line-up, and get ready to take the stage.

Walking into her dressing room, she found several bouquets waiting for her with a platter bearing a half a dozen notes and cards. Although she had only a limited amount of time to find an outfit and change, she couldn't resist. She went to the dozen red roses blocking her view of her mirror. She plucked the card out. Looking for the now familiar script, she tried not to feel disappointment when the hand that wrote this card didn't match Dick's. She read it anyway. After all, someone went to some trouble and no little expense to send the flowers.

"A classic rose for a classic beauty."

Her lips puckered with a vague sense of annoyance. She wasn't blind, nor was she unrealistically modest; Elle knew she was attractive enough. She had even received a couple of invitations to take up modeling at one time or another. But she had never been comfortable with compliments. Being who she was meant no compliment could be taken at face value. Besides, looks were fleeting; easily lost through fate or time. Would this person still want her should her beauty be suddenly stripped from her? Somehow she doubted it. If they wanted to compliment her, why not her voice?

She didn't have time to look through the rest, so she moved to the rack that held her outfits. There was another that held outfits and accessories of the other female singers and band members. She chose an olive green, wraparound blouse that hugged her curves down to her hips, and ended with a loosely-tied bow on the front of one hip with a long, black, velvet skirt with sheer, black, chiffon panels placed throughout the lower portion. She slipped on a pair of black, slingback, open-toed heels. The look was elegant, but comfortable.

"Ten minutes, Elle." Donovan's voice came through the door.

As Elle put her hair up into a loose bun, she eyed some of the other flowers and notes. Maybe he sent her one of those? She moved to a bouquet of daylilies, plucking the card out with slightly nervous hands. The disappointment was harder to conceal this time.

"Your voice speaks to my soul . . ."

That, at least, started out well. If only the sender had stopped right there . . .

"If only your body would also."

Oh, yuck! Disgusted, Elle threw the card and the flowers in the trash. Were they all like this? She went to the platter and started tearing through the notes on the platter. Of all of them, only one was a song request with a pretty compliment on her voice. The rest were requests for private introductions, heavy with innuendo. All but the song request followed the lilies. The irony, that she had practically begged for Dick to ask her out, and now she was being inundated with requests for dates (if one could call them that), was not lost on her.

She touched up her makeup, and grabbed her water bottle as she went out. Donovan met her in the hall.

"You look ravishing, Elle. You are going to knock their socks off," Brian grinned, giving her a little peck on the top of her head. "Did you see all of the flowers and cards?"

She sighed. "Yes," she said, with a pout. "They're from everyone but Dick."

"He's here, at least," Brian smirked.

"Is he?"

The relief she felt at that knowledge was startling. She knew she had been tense, but she hadn't realized up to that point that she had been feeling a little afraid. She wondered if this was what her father had warned her about. She had always thought her mother and grandmother had gotten out of the business because they had met and married their husbands, and wanted to concentrate on starting their families, but when she had told her father that she had gotten a job singing, he had told her they had dropped out of the limelight for different reasons.

He had told her that neither woman had been able to handle their growing fame; that their fans became overzealous and some even a bit rabid in their attempts to gain access to each of the singers, respectively. Elle could barely remember what her mother looked like without a photograph, but she could remember the woman's voice. It remained her strongest memory; the voice of her mother in her head perfect even sixteen years later. Her grandmother, however, Elle had never heard sing before. She knew that the woman had once been a famous opera singer in her day because she had seen the advertisements hanging in one of the rooms in her grandparents' home in Italy. Elle had attempted many times to get the woman to sing to her, but was only ever met with firm refusals. Now, she wondered a little if what her father said had been the truth rather than yet another attempt to prevent her from leaving home.

Thinking back at some of the suggestions she had read in some of the notes, Elle thought it might be a good idea to send a message to the men in the audience that she was off the market. The idea that there were seven or eight men out there that felt it was appropriate to proposition a woman they didn't know, one they had only seen from afar, was incredibly intimidating. Elle had never had to deal with men chasing her in this fashion. Even if her escorts had been less than perfect dates, they had respected her as a person. Of course, they knew what repercussions might happen should they be anything less that perfect gentlemen in her company, too. Anyway, she sincerely hoped Dick didn't mind a repeat performance so soon after the first one. If it went over like it did before, Brian, at least would appreciate it. Business had really begun picking up after that night.

She wrote a note with the song title, and where it would appear on the playlist. She knew that the band had the music with them, but they had been practicing it together for a while now. She knew it was ready. As she finished, Brian was announcing her to a very receptive audience. Taking a deep breath, Elle pasted on a big grin, and walked out on stage with a wave as the intro to her first song started. She paused only to hand of the note to Morris, before stepping up to the mike.

Dick had to tear his eyes from Elle to check on Bruce's reaction. It was everything he had hoped. Bruce, never demonstrative even at the best of times, was watching her with narrowed eyes and the tiniest upturn to the corners of his mouth. He glanced down, and sure enough, Bruce's foot was tapping; keeping time to the music.

"So, what do you think of the show so far," Dick leaned over to ask.

"She makes me wish that Wayne Enterprises had a record producing department. What was her name again?" Bruce told him, indicating the singer with a nod of his head.

"El-Ella . . . Arabella Hamilton," Dick stammered.

Bruce looked away from the singer to glance at the younger man. "You forgot her name?"

Dick laughed. "Well, actually, she tends to make me forget my own name when I'm listening to her."

Bruce looked back up at the sultry performer, and agreed. "She is definitely an up and comer. I can't imagine it will take too long at this rate for a record producer to snatch her up."

Dick nodded, but frowned at the thought. There was a local record producing company in Gotham, but if Elle was as successful as she deserved to be, she might be required to move to L.A. or maybe New York City. He didn't know if he could follow her, or if she would even want him to.

The fifth song ended, and a new song began. Dick knew because he was counting. Elle tended to take a break after every ten songs or so. He was hoping she would come to the table as she did the previous week so that he could introduce her to Bruce. He blinked as she set the mike down and switched on the wireless mike that fit over her ear. The only time she had ever done that was . . . He sat up straight, and set his glass down. Elle was moving to the steps as she began singing.

Taking a deep breath, Elle poured her heart into the song she had chosen as she moved down the steps; her eyes unerringly locating their target. If she noticed Dick's dining partner, it didn't show.

"Didn't they always say we were the lucky ones.

I guess that we were once, babe, we were once.

But luck will leave you cause it is a faithless friend,

And in the end, when life has got you down,

You've got someone here that you can wrap your arms around."

Dick slid his seat back, but didn't get up immediately to meet her this time. Instead he let her come to him, curious to what she would do. His eyes were riveted onto her face; searching her eyes and finding . . . that something . . . That something special he saw every time she looked at him. Whatever it was, it was his. Of that, he was certain.

Elle smiled as she sang. When she reached him, she slid her hand from one shoulder to the other as she moved behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, singing into his ear, the mike doing its job to ensure that the entire audience could listen in to the song she was dedicating to this one man. After a moment, she moved in between him and the table; leaning against it as she faced him, and held onto his hand.

"So hold on to me tight.

Hold on to me tonight.

We are stronger here together

Than we could ever be alone.

So hold on to me.

Don't you ever let me go."

If there were still people in the building, to Dick and Elle, they ceased to exist. As had happened before when she focused upon him, the world melted away, leaving the couple alone with each other and the music. The words of the song touched him in ways never felt before, and when he smiled at her, his heart was there in his eyes. And he saw in hers that her adoration was reflected back at him.

"There's a thousand ways for things to fall apart.

But it's no one's fault. No, it's not my fault.

Maybe all the plans we made might not work out,

But I have no doubt, even though it's hard to see.

I've got faith in us, and I believe in you and me."

As she picked up the chorus a second time, Dick stood up. Unable to resist for another moment, he swept her up into his arms, and began to dance; holding her close. Elle looked up at him, not caring where he took her as long as he continued to hold her close.

"So hold on to me tight.

Hold on, I promise it'll be all right.

Cause it's you and me together,

And baby, all we've got is time.

So hold on to me.

Hold on to me tonight."

Bruce grinned as the lovely, young woman walked straight up to their table. For a moment, color flooded Dick's face. He moved his chair out, but didn't move as Ms. Hamilton serenaded him. His grin faltered, however, when he caught the look in the singer's eyes. Bruce sat up in his chair, and stared, unable to believe what he was seeing right there before God and everyone . . . Either the woman was an Oscar-worthy actress, or she was in love with his son. When Dick suddenly whisked her into a dance, and Bruce could see more than a glimpse of his face, he sucked in his breath. The feeling was returned! It didn't take a detective to deduce that in the space of a few weeks, Dick had fallen head over heels for the woman in his arms!

"There's so many dreams that we have given up.

Take a look at all we've got, and with this kind of love,

What we've got here is enough."

At the end of the bridge, the music swelled to a crescendo. Elle's voice soared, and as their hearts took flight, Dick lifted her off of her feet; twirling her around in circles. Elle tilted her face up to the ceiling, her arms lifted as wide as she could, trusting the one who held her to keep her safe. She grinned down at him as he slowly lowered her back onto her feet, and back into the dance.

"So hold on to me tonight.

Hold on, I promise it'll be all right.

Cause we are stronger here together

Than we could ever be alone.

So hold on to me,

Don't you ever let me go.

Hold on to me . . .

It's gonna be all right.

Hold on to me . . . tonight.

They always say we were the lucky ones . . ."

Dick lowered her into a dip as they stared into one another's eyes. The last note ended to a pregnant pause; silence that continued for several long seconds . . . The roar of applause, when it came, made them jump. Still holding her, Dick grinned in delight. Remembering the regret he felt at not kissing her at the end of their dance the first time, Dick kissed her now; quickly and impulsively, before setting her back onto her feet.

The crowd went wild. They were on their feet laughing and applauding the couple, happy they had gotten to witness what could only be described as magic.

Elle was laughing along with them. Her arm went up to signal the band, and the next song began; this one faster and far more upbeat. She winked at Dick, and swirled back into the crowd, singing and dancing through the tables and dancing couples to eventually make her way to the stage. Whatever fear and discomfort she might have felt at the beginning of the evening had been washed away in the arms of the man who had claimed her heart in one magical instant.

Happiness coursed through her, and as if somehow connected to her through some sort of electrical charge, the audience, too, was swept up and away in the emotion. It was a party like none before it.

Dick turned back to his table, and paused at the look on Bruce's face. The older man was also standing and clapping with the rest of the audience, but he looked totally blown away. Dick grinned. It wasn't often he could surprise Batman, after all. He slapped Bruce on the back, laughing.

"So, what do you think of her now?"

"So, that's her!" The girl who brought his son back to life; the woman who chased the depression from his boy, and replaced it with joy . . . Bruce smiled. Of course, he liked her! How could he do anything but?