He had slept in. Not surprising since he had lain awake for a long time after Bruce had left his room. Dick had found his mind wandering back over his conversations with Elle they had had over the past month. What he had latched onto, inexplicably, was the story she had told him on their first real date.

Her family legend . . .

It was crazy, but he couldn't let it go. At the time Dick had thought she had been teasing him. Perhaps the story really had passed down in her family, but he had been positive that Elle had believed the same thing he had; that the story was nothing more than that: a story; a fiction; a fairy-tale. Something to enthrall future generations of children. Perhaps it had been a bedtime story that had somehow became something more in the retelling . . . He didn't know.

But it wouldn't go away.

And it explained a lot of the questions that Bruce had brought up.

Of course, so did his own postulations about Elle's swim team successes . . .

Dick climbed out of bed slowly. His headache returned upon sitting up, and he stood up with care. Last thing he needed was to bash his head a second time because he stood up too fast and fainted like some Victorian damsel in distress.

He got dressed, and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. He glanced at Elle's door as he passed, but it was already ten o'clock. Surely she was up and waiting for him along with everyone else. He was always eager to see her, but suddenly he wanted to coax that story about her family legend out of her again. And maybe quiz her more about her time on the swim team.

He pushed his way into the kitchen, led there by the aroma of fresh coffee. Only Alfred was there to greet him.

"Good morning, Master Richard," Alfred smiled at him. "How are you feeling today? Much more the thing after a good night's sleep, I hope?"

Dick kept his sleep, or lack of it, under wraps. It wouldn't do to have Alfred shoo him back upstairs.

"I have a bit of a headache, but nothing a cup of that ambrosia I smell wouldn't fix," he admitted, sheepishly.

"Ah, one cup of ambrosia coming up," Alfred said. "And perhaps one or two aspirin, as well?"

"You always know how best to take care of me," Dick praised, taking the coffee and the pills from the butler's hands. Dick washed the aspirin down, nearly scalding his mouth in the process. "Hot," he exclaimed.

Alfred raised his eyebrow. "It is a fresh pot."

"Heh, yeah, I get that . . . now," he said, rubbing his neck, ruefully.

Alfred pressed his lips together to contain his amusement. It always made him want to smile whenever he spotted the young sir copying mannerisms of Master Bruce. When the young man had been a boy, and new to the manor, his imitations of his guardian had been intentional. In the many years since, however, those imitations had become ingrained and as natural to Richard as they were to the master.

"Would you care for breakfast, or would you prefer to wait until your guest has arisen as well?"

Dick glanced up at him, cup paused mid-way to his mouth. "Elle's not up yet?"

"Not that I am aware," Alfred answered. "I have refrained from starting breakfast as Master Bruce wanted to wait on the two of you."

"Tim?"

"Master Timothy went home last night, and has yet to arrive today."

"Damian?"

"Master Damian has eaten already, but will likely join you when the meal is served," Alfred commented. "I do believe the lad is in the midst of another growth spurt. Food seems to be ever on his mind."

"Where's Bruce," Dick asked.

"I do believe he's in his study, going over various reports," Alfred informed him.

Dick grinned. Working from home . . . Damian's appetite was probably putting a dent into the Wayne bank account, much as his, Jason's, and Tim's had. At least, that was the excuse Bruce had always given them whenever he had needed to bring the office home with him.

They had kept carefully away from the topic of conversation that had ruled the night. After a few words in greeting, Dick chose to curl up with a book on Bruce's couch while the latter continued to go over reports. Thus, it was a surprise when Alfred interrupted them some time later with questions about lunch.

"Will you both be skipping lunch as well," he inquired. "Or may I prepare something to get you through until supper?"

Both glanced up at the clock, startled by the time. It was already past noon. Two stomachs rumbled loudly at the same time.

"I'll take that as a yes," Alfred replied.

Dick closed his book and sat up. "Has Elle been down yet, Alfred?"

"Indeed, not, I'm afraid," the butler looked upset. "Perhaps you might knock upon her door and see if she has taken ill during the night."

"When she said she could sleep for a week, I didn't think she had meant it literally," Bruce commented.

Dick leaped from the couch as if propelled at the thought that she might be suffering upstairs all alone. His thoughts all upon the woman, he was unaware of Bruce and Alfred following him, albeit at a much more restrained pace.

He knocked on the door, his heart pounding. As he waited for a response, he found his mind wandering to thoughts of what Elle would look like freshly aroused from sleep. He imagined her adorable, with tousled hair, and rumpled pajamas, and the flush of sleep across her cheeks. The image then morphed into the same tousled hair, and rosy blush, but the pajamas had been replaced by a sexy, black negligee. The image was shifting to a picture of Elle stumbling nude to the door when he tried knocking a third time.

Bruce and Alfred had caught up with him by this time, and Dick cleared his throat; embarrassed by his imaginings, he was grateful that neither man was gifted with telepathy. Dick's curiosity, however, was swiftly becoming replaced with concern. He hadn't heard a sound in the time he had been standing here. No rustling of linen, impatient mutterings, or even snoring . . .

What if her concussion had been worse than the doctor believed it was, and she had fallen inexplicably into a coma during the night? What if she had taken water into her lungs during her plunge into the river, and she had developed pneumonia? She might even now be in a fever-induced unconscious state! Guilt washed over him. What if he had slept through her cries for help, or pain-wracked coughing? His lewd imaginings from a few minutes ago, inspired by curiosity and attraction, now shamed him.

"No answer?" Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head, noting Alfred's look of concern. He didn't wait for permission. Reaching out, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Light flooded the room from the opened draperies, leaving no doubt as to the absence of the room's sole occupant. The door to the bathroom was closed, so Dick headed over to it.

Maybe she didn't hear his knocking from in there?

He tapped on the door lightly; then after no response, more firmly. When silence was all that greeted him, he opened the bathroom door and cautiously peeked in. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was also vacant.

He turned to where Bruce and Alfred stood in the doorway. "She's not here," he announced unnecessarily. It was obvious to all that the woman was missing.

Her suitcases were still here, however. Her costume of the previous evening was draped over the shower rod, still drying. Her toiletries were spread over the generous bathroom countertop. Wherever she had gone, it wasn't far, he determined. Maybe she somehow got turned around and was lost, wandering the manor corridors in search of sustenance.

"Do you think she got lost?" The idea was entirely possible, if a little improbable. But then, Dick thought, he had experienced quite a bit of the improbable since meeting Elle.

"We'll split up," Bruce announced.

He and Alfred already had a search grid mapped out after years of having to search the premises for missing or hiding wards. They moved off without a word.

They had searched the third level as well as the various second floor hallways with its myriad of bedrooms, and were heading down to the main level when the door bell chimed. Dick vaulted over the railing halfway down the stairs, and rushed over.

She had gone outside and had been locked out! Dick grinned with relief as he yanked open the door. Tim stood before him, his helmet tucked under his arm.

"Hey, bro," he smiled.

Dick frowned. Instead of stepping back to allow Tim to enter, he pushed the youth back and craned his neck; peering outside for a stray feminine figure. He was disappointed, but unsurprised to discover that his brother was the only one present.

"Uh, struggling to not feel unwanted here," Tim muttered.

Dick ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Is that her," Bruce spoke from the doorway. Alfred hovered behind his shoulder.

"Her?" Tim glanced from Dick's distraught features, to Bruce's frown, to Alfred's concerned expression. A light went on. "Ah, dude, don't tell me you lost her already!"

Dick sent a rare glare in Tim's direction. "Not helping," he accused. "Did you happen to see Elle out here when you drove up?"

Tim stepped into the foyer as the men gave him room to finally enter. "Nope. Sorry." He glanced around the expansive entry curiously. "Where's Damian? Did you lose him, too," he asked a little hopefully.

The three men exchanged an uncomfortable glance. No one had seen hide nor hair of the youngest member of the family in hours. Elle's disappearance took a new semi-sinister aspect upon the discovery that Damian was missing as well.

Although Dick would swear that Damian wouldn't do anything to hurt Elle, and Bruce had believed he had finally broken Damian of the extremely bad habit of attempting to kill anyone he deemed a threat to his health and happiness, all four men remembered that it was less than a year ago that the boy had attempted to do just that to Tim. Tim had been laid up for a week after the encounter.

"You don't think . . .," Alfred began. "Surely not!"

Tim raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He totally believed the demon-child was still entirely capable of dealing death to those he didn't like. He had spent the majority of the past year fending off numerous unprovoked attacks instigated by the brat. Of course, none of those had been executed with the same lethal force that had been present during that first initial encounter.

"Damian wouldn't . . .," Dick stammered. "I mean, he knows that I . . . th-that Elle and I . . ."

He trailed off. The very fact that Dick was falling hard for the woman might indeed be the integral factor that would set off the child. His eyes widened, and he sent a panicked look toward Bruce.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I think it would be prudent to step up the search and locate Elle as quickly as possible."

"Just in case," Alfred agreed, worriedly.

Dick gulped. "Yeah, sure. Just in case."