Sorry it has taken me so long. I hope to have this and another out this weekend. This chapter and the next are important for character/relationship building, but I promise to make them as interesting as possible. Now Elle has a history of getting herself and those around her into the most odd/improbable situations, much to everyone's consternation! I promise that excitement and angst is brewing on the horizon.

Damian carried his satchel with him as he headed for the rec room. It was filled with drawing paper and colored pencils. Normally, he worked on his drawings in his room, but decided that a change in venue might inspire him. Besides, there was a table in there that faced the topiary garden which boasted scads of interesting shapes.

He had taken the back stairs because he hadn't wanted to be interrupted by nosy inquiries into his business. So he was passing by several unused rooms that sat opposite the ballroom when he heard it. He stopped, cocking his head to the side to listen. Except for the few times during the year when Father hosted an event, or when Grayson came over for a movie madness marathon and they turned the television volume sky high to better enjoy the movie explosions, this area was always silent.

Music.

Someone was listening to music.

Curious, Damian followed the softly lilting melody. It appeared to be coming from a door to a room Damian didn't remember ever entering. Bruce had kept the door closed ever since he had come to live here, and Damian had just assumed that the door was locked and the room off-limits. He wondered why he had never bothered picking the lock and peeking inside . . . If it had been part of the Batcave, it would have been investigated within the first hour of his arrival nearly a year ago.

Carefully, he touched the handle. It opened silently, the hardware kept in perfect repair despite the fact that the room was never used. The music swelled; much louder now with the door open. He tipped his head past the door frame.

Huh, it made sense, considering the sounds that had been floating into the hallway, Damian was still surprised by what he saw. A music room! He had had no idea that the manor had boasted a dedicated music room.

The room was filled with numerous musical instruments. On the wall and shelves were mounted guitars, saxophones, trumpets, violins, clarinets . . . The list was too many to count, although Damian thought he might come back and count them later, when the room was deserted. It was the large instrument in one corner that stole his attention, however.

Dick's girlfriend sat at the baby grand piano, her fingers moving in complex patterns over the black and white keys. The sounds coming from the piano were sort of impressive, he decided reluctantly. Interested in spite of himself, Damian glanced down the hallway in both directions. Finding no one, he took a step into the room.

The Hamilton woman's back was to the door, so he knew she wouldn't know he was there unless she turned around. He saw a couch across from where he stood. It was also directly behind her. Ever since that night that Bruce had gone to dinner with Dick and came back with glowing (well, glowing for the Batman) praise for the woman and her voice, Damian had been (sort of) wondering what the fuss was all about.

He had managed to put it out of his head after a day or so until Dick had shown up with Hamilton in tow. Again there was a big to-do over her getting the chance to sing for some record producers – So much so that Father allowed Dick to do something Damian would never have expected Father to allow: wear one of his Bat suits out in public! But not for patrol, or as a favor to Father, but as a civilian! As Dick! All for this woman's sake . . .

Why was she so special, he wondered? What was so great about her voice that people (Father and Dick) acted out of character in order to hear her sing? His curiosity had ramped up to a new level since then.

He silently made his way to the couch. He could draw here as easily as he could in the rec room. She was making so much noise he didn't believe she would hear him. He would stay only long enough to hear her sing, and then he would leave, continue on his way to the rec room that was in the family wing.

Elle had noticed him immediately. The acoustics in the music room were marvelous, so when the door to the room opened, she could hear the change in the quality of the sound. It didn't take her long at all to deduce the identity of her audience, even without turning around.

If the intruder had been Dick or Bruce, either one of the men would have announced themselves, and likely commented on her playing. Alfred would have peered in only long enough to verify the music was coming from Elle, and would likely leave quietly so as not to disturb her. Tim might have acted in either fashion, though she suspected that he would have interrupted her practice for conversation.

Her intruder, by process of elimination, was in all probability, Damian.

That he didn't say anything, but stood in the doorway for several minutes, told her that he was interested in what she was doing, but didn't want to admit to it. The feel of the room had changed dramatically, once the door had been quietly shut, leading her to surmise that her visitor had remained in the room. It no longer felt as though she were alone.

But she didn't feel holes being drilled into the back of her head, which she might have suspected with Damian. He was entertaining himself as he listened. All this Elle determined without hesitation; without missing a single note. Her lips curved up into a secret smile.

Damian thought he was the only one with knowledge, but he didn't realize that Elle knew he was present. That made Elle the one with the knowledge. If Damian was being sneaky, then Elle was being sneakier. And for now, she kept her knowledge to herself.

Knowing she had an audience changed the nature of her practice. When she had first stumbled onto the music room, she had been saddened by its obvious neglect. Oh, the room hadn't been dusty; in fact, it had been spotless, and that had given it away. Alfred, she knew, was a stickler for the details, making him a wonderful housekeeper, but if a music room was well-loved, no matter how great of a housekeeper he was, there still would have been fingerprints and strewn sheet music around. The instruments were kept like trophies, and not like treasures.

She had begun idly playing the piano, feeling a little sorry for herself, that she had missed the chance to reach the level of success that would have forced her father to continue allowing her to live her life on her own; unmolested by events, escorts, and well-meaning suggestions with how to live her own life.

Cedric Hamilton loved his daughter, of that Elle had no doubt, but he didn't really know her. As usual, her father thought he could run her life better than she. He felt she should take an interest in the family business, and an active role in running the company. Elle had wanted to travel and sing and make her own decisions, particularly when it came to her love life; something that had been pretty much non-existent up until now.

So, Elle had played slow songs; sad songs that reflected her mood. Oh, she was happy and proud that she had saved the child, and thrilled to have met the actual Batman and a couple of his sidekicks, but all that was tempered by the eventual conversation she would have with her father once he heard about her involvement with that police shootout. It might be enough to convince him to override her feelings and force her home, despite Dick's insistence of that event's illegality.

Now, though, she had an audience. Not just any audience, but a hostile audience of one. Elle acknowledged that Damian, based upon his reaction to her arrival, had a special relationship with Dick; one he determined that she intruded upon. He didn't like her. While that might not normally have her bent out of shape, Damian was important to Dick, and Dick was important to Elle; thus Damian was important to Elle. She now had an opportunity, small though it was, to influence his opinion of her. She dropped the slow, sad songs and changed to songs that were more upbeat, happier!

After a while with no comments being made from the peanut gallery behind her, Elle decided that quiet reticence must run in the family. Damian was no different than Dick in that he just listened without involving himself. She sighed, preparing herself for an intervention.

"Do you have a request," she asked, without turning around.

There was a shuffle of paper and a rattle of something else that Elle couldn't place without turning around. It didn't matter. She had heard that small, sharp intake of breath that told her she had startled him. She pressed her lips together hard in order to not laugh.

Finally, after a moment of silence, she heard a grunt. "How did you know I was in here? I took extra care to be quiet."

Elle allowed herself a grin. "I heard the door open."

"The door didn't make any sound," Damian exclaimed.

"The door itself didn't," she explained. "But I could hear the change in the acoustics of the room when it did."

Silence, as he processed that bit of information. "How did you know I didn't just shut the door and leave?"

She shrugged, still not looking at the boy behind her. "I could . . . sense your presence. I guess that is the best word for it."

There were sounds of more shuffling and rattling; the slide of a jeans-covered bottom on upholstery furniture material. He was coming to join her. He stopped just behind her, off to the right of her shoulder. At last, she looked back at him, meeting his eyes.

He was frowning at her. Elle decided to not take it personally. She had a feeling that it was something that he just did whenever he was curious.

"So, is there something in particular that you'd like to hear," she repeated her earlier question.

"Um."

He was considering it, she thought, trying to decide if making a request was a sign of weakness. Elle smiled. Little boys could be so easy to read sometimes. She wished the grown versions were all this simple.

Damian decided that it couldn't hurt to just ask her for what he wanted. She had asked him to, after all. "Would you sing something for me?"

She had already played for him for over an hour. He had, at first, become impatient while waiting for her to start singing. But soon the lilting melodies soothed him enough that he felt comfortable to bring out his art supplies. He didn't think she could hear him over the sounds of her playing, and he had strived to remain quiet, just in case discovering his presence would make her stop.

Now, he found that she had known he was there from the beginning. While he probably should be irritated by that, instead it intrigued him. And although she hadn't used his name, somehow he was sure she knew exactly whom she was addressing when she first spoke to him.

"What would you like to hear," she asked.

Damian took a step over to stand beside the bench; the better to watch her fingers stroke the keys. "I don't know," he reluctantly admitted. "I don't know any songs."

This startled her, and she looked at him. "None?"

He dipped his head, hating that his lack of musical knowledge made him feel inferior. He shrugged. He watched her reaction out of his periphery.

She didn't look smug, he thought, relieved. But she was frowning at him. He didn't know why, but the expression didn't look comfortable on her face, like she didn't do it a lot.

"Didn't your mother ever sing to you as a child," she asked softly.

"Tt," he snorted at the thought. "Not hardly."

"What about Bruce . . . um, your father? Didn't he ever sing to you or listen to music in the car?"

"I've only lived with my father for the past eleven months or so," he told her. It wasn't like she couldn't find out by asking Grayson, so he didn't really feel like he was giving up the information.

"My God," she breathed. "I couldn't imagine having to live my life without music. No wonder your brother came to listen as often as he did."

"I haven't lived my life without music," Damian corrected. "Only that no importance was placed upon it, and my mother never felt compelled to sing."

"What music have you listened to," she asked, looking at him seriously.

He pursed his lips as he pondered the question. "Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven . . ."

"Ah," she smiled, "the classical composers. I love them, too. But there is a broad range of music out there to explore," she told him.

She scooted over, and patted the bench beside her. He wondered if there was a trick involved. After a moment, Damian relaxed; the knowledge that he could still kill her just as swiftly and effectively from the piano bench as from anywhere reassuring him. He sat down beside her.

Her fingers tickled the keys of the piano, and she played a little portion of a song for him.

"Ragtime," she informed him.

She caressed a different song, this one with a different tempo. "Swing," she said.

She played another tune; a different rhythm. "One of my personal favorites," she admitted. "It's called Jazz."

She stopped and turned toward him. "I have a feeling that you might appreciate rock and roll, but it loses something without the guitar and the percussion. I can play guitar," her eyes flitted up to where said instrument was displayed, "but having the entire band would be better for appreciating it the first time out."

"I have a USB upstairs in my bag. It has an assortment of music on it, some of which is rock. I had planned to use it at the Halloween party last night when my turn came up, but that didn't work out so well," her shoulders drooped a little. "I'd need something to play it, but I could sing some of those songs for you, and give you a little taste of different styles." Her eyes scanned the room for an appropriate device.

Damian nodded. "The rec room has surround sound," he volunteered.

She grinned. "Okay. My bag is on the nightstand beside the bed. Can you find the memory stick, and bring it to me?"

He hesitated. "You'd trust me to go through your things?"

"You're on a mission," she explained. "I don't think you would be the kind of spy to let distractions come between him and his goal." She smiled. "Besides, Dick trusts you, and I trust Dick."

Damian's eyes widened. How did she do that? How could she know him so well? How did she make him feel so . . . comfortable?

"You can do it," she assured him. "Better yet, make sure no one sees you," she instructed. "This will be a private concert, just for you."

He liked that. Something he didn't have to share with others; something for him alone. "Did you sing these songs for Grayson?"

She startled a moment. "You call your brother by his last name?"

Damian shrugged. "I call everyone by their last name . . . Except Father."

She seemed to accept that. "Hm, that sounds reasonable," she said. "As for Dick, he might have heard me sing one or two of these at the club, but most of them he's never heard me sing before."

Damian's mouth twitched up a little at the thought that he would hear her sing these songs before his brother. "Okay," he agreed. "Do you know where the rec room is?"

She shook her head. "Not a clue."

"Wait here, then. When I get back, I'll take you."

Elle watched him open the door and peek out, making sure that no one would see him. It made her grin. He slipped out silently. He might make a pretty decent spy one day, she thought.

While she waited for him to return, she wandered over to the sofa he'd been sitting on. There was the source of the paper rustling, and colored pencils the source of the odd rattle that she had heard.

Curious, she picked up a paper. That was a rather splendid rendition of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, she thought. She picked up another one, then another. An excellent speedboat; a pretty ferocious grizzly bear; an odd-looking plane . . . That one looked familiar, but not. She tilted the paper at a different angle. It was black and its wings sharp like a . . . a bat! That was it! He drew a picture of the Batplane!

Elle remembered seeing it once on the news during the past year. The story had been about some big battle fought by the Justice League, and there had been footage that had included Batman flying over the threat in the Batplane! She thought that Damian must have seen the same news footage. It would be just the sort of thing that would spark a young boy's imagination.

She studied the drawing anew. It was incredibly detailed. What Elle had seen on television had been little more than a shape; its details obscured by distance and smoke, only enough to know it resembled a bat. This picture bespoke a mind with amazing capabilities or else personal knowledge. She had gotten the impression that Damian was more intelligent than the average eleven year old, but . . . .

Ah, wait! Damian lived in Gotham City! Of course, he would have far more opportunities to glimpse the Batplane than someone living in Chicago, or even Bludhaven, Gotham's sister city. Satisfied with that reasoning, Elle carefully set the drawing back with the others.

She picked up the last drawing. Her mouth dropped open. It was of her! Damian had drawn a picture of Elle in the music room playing the piano. You couldn't see her face because her back had been towards the artist, except for a glimpse of cheek as she had tilted her head to one side as she had played. But it was her nonetheless.

She smiled, and felt a little misty.

Damian had pictured her as a threat, and yet he hadn't taken his vengeance upon her in his drawing. He could have easily made her grossly fat or given her horns, but instead he had taken care to make the drawing realistic. It was even a bit flattering, given its somewhat dreamlike quality of fuzzy edges. Either way, the boy was truly a budding artist!

Such potential, she thought. All of the drawings still had a childlike quality about them, but there was so much more to them than anything she might have seen from another child of similar age. Not that she had seen that much, but she had visited Chicago's Children's Museum a couple of times when they had art displayed by local children. Damian's would have fit in perfectly, she thought. His would have even had the potential for a showcase!

Elle set her drawing back in the pile reluctantly. She wanted it. Unfortunately, he hadn't invited her to look at any of it. She had been rude looking without his invitation. But knowing it was there made Elle begin to scheme of a way to get him to show them to her. It might be as simple as just asking, but somehow Elle knew there wasn't much about Damian Wayne that was simple.

She moved back to the shelves lining one of the walls. Opening some of the cupboards beneath, Elle located just what she had been looking for; a CD/network playing console with a USB port. A quick glance proved it was hooked up and ready to go. Looking up at the ceiling, Elle now spotted the cleverly hidden speakers. She could visit the rec room another time. This would be perfect! Much better acoustically for Damian's enjoyment and it cut back their risk of discovery that much longer.

She moved back to the piano bench to wait her little spy.