"You know there is a simple way to resolve this matter," Bruce remarked, sitting in a chair beside Dick's bed.

It was four o'clock on a Sunday morning. Dick blinked bleary eyes at him and the clock.

"Did you just get in?"

"Twenty minutes ago," he admitted.

Dick pulled himself up in the bed, and ran both hands through his hair. He barely reacted when one brushed the still tender area of his forehead. His headache had vanished with the excitement of yesterday morning when he couldn't find Elle, and only returned the evening before; a mild, if annoying, ache behind his left eye. He hadn't even bothered taking anything for it.

The reaction didn't go unnoticed by Bruce, however. Nothing ever slid by that man unless it was something he was purposely ignoring. He stood up and leaned over his son, flicking on the bedside light as he gently pushed back Dick's hair to inspect the slight wound. Dick waved him away.

"It's nothing," he assured him. "It's fine. It's just a little tender to the touch still."

Bruce ignored him as he finished the inspection. Once satisfied the injury was indeed healing properly, he returned to his chair.

"In a couple of months, you won't even have a scar," he told him. "But keep in mind that head injuries are no small matter. Several mild concussions, even over the course of years, can lead to serious complications later on."

Dick narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that? Are you having any problems that I should know about?"

"No."

"You've been doing this longer. You've had far more concussions than I have had; more serious ones as well."

"I didn't come in here to compare medical records, you know," Bruce sighed.

"You could have asked me to join you tonight, you know," Dick returned. "Did you at least take Tim or Damian with you?"

"Damian. Tim has a big exam on tomorrow morning." Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "Have you thought any more about the questions I had for you?"

"I've done practically nothing but since you brought them up."

"And . . .?"

It was Dick's turn to sigh. "Short of tossing her off the bridge into the river again and timing her, I don't see what more I can do without making her suspicious. I'd really appreciate not having a lot of suspicions and distrust between me and my girlfriend right now."

"Hm, well, about that," Bruce began. "As I was saying when I first came in, I think I have a simple resolution that might help clear up the matter, and give us a glimpse into what she's capable of."

Dick tilted his head in disbelief. "What she's capable of? What the hell . . .? Elle's a singer, not a super-villain! If she happens to be a good swimmer, too, so what? A lot of normal, every-day people happen to be good swimmers!"

"Don't take what I'm suggesting out of context. I'm not saying she's a bad person, only that she was managed to do something that most people wouldn't have had a prayer of accomplishing. She fought a tough current in pitch black water to locate a sunken vehicle and successfully rescue an infant who, for all intents and purposes, should have died."

"Most people being the operative words here," Dick argued. "And don't tell me you would have preferred the baby to have drowned, Bruce, because I know you better than that."

"No, of course not! I am thrilled the child survived to be reunited with its parents!" Bruce tried to hold onto his temper. Dick was going on the defensive again, although why he felt Bruce's curiosity was a threat, he didn't know.

"Then why, Bruce? Why do you keep questioning this? Can't you just accept it as the miracle it is, be happy with the outcome, and move on?" Dick held out his hands in a supplicating manner. His questions taking on a pleading tone.

Bruce looked at his son for a long moment. "Because," he said quietly. "I don't believe in miracles."

"Why does everything have to have an explanation? I don't understand. She didn't do anything wrong, Bruce! I don't think she's even capable of doing anything wrong." Dick dropped his hand into his lap in frustration.

"I never said she did," Bruce pointed out, becoming defensive himself. "And, for the record, I agree with you. I don't believe Elle is capable of doing something she knows is wrong. At least, certainly not on the scale that you and I are used to dealing with."

"Not on any scale . . ." Dick huffed.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet. It was a pose he often took when contemplating a serious issue. Finally he looked up at his son. "Dick, no one is perfect . . ."

Dick looked toward his window, as if unable to process the idea that Elle was capable of even a small wrong. He knew it was stupid. Of course, Bruce was right. She wasn't perfect . . . But she was perfect for him. And it wasn't as though he hadn't been thinking about much else than the questions that Bruce had poised to him the day before. He too wanted to know how she had managed to do what she did, but part of him was afraid to look too closely. As if the knowledge might have the power to snatch her away from him.

"What is your simple resolution, and will she still be speaking to me at the end of it?"

"I don't see why she would be upset with you. You said she likes to swim, did you not?" Bruce leaned back. Now that Dick was ready to listen, he expected no problems. The plan was simple.

"Yes, but . . ."

"I have put up a high dive since Damian has come to live here. As you use the gym equipment in the cave, you've probably haven't taken the opportunity to see it." Bruce remarked, almost casually.

"No one mentioned it," Dick admitted cautiously. He was beginning to understand Bruce's plan, and it was, as usual, brilliant.

"I would suggest that you spend the afternoon trying it out. We can make a day of it. A family event, as it were," Bruce smiled. "Perhaps you can convince Elle to show you her moves. Have a race; compete on the dive; see how long everyone can hold their breath . . . Play Marco Polo, or volleyball afterwards."

Dick's mouth quirked at the thought. Elle would probably love that; Aquaman's cousin, indeed. "She does seem to love the water . . ."

Elle would probably have a blast, and so would Tim and Damian. She would never know that Bruce would be testing her abilities. It would merely be a day at play. Maybe it would put to rest all of his own questions and the crazy ideas that had been swirling in the back of his mind since Bruce first brought it up.

"You have an indoor swimming pool," Elle asked, at brunch the next morning. Although why she should be surprised, she didn't know. Nearly every wealthy family home boasted not only a pool, but tennis courts, private gymnasiums, saunas and the like.

Dick grinned. "And an outdoor one as well, but if we thought the lake was cold in October, I'd say the pool would be even colder in November."

"It has a high dive, too!" This was added by Damian who was obviously excited by the idea that his father and brother had come up with.

Elle looked around at everyone at the table with her. She sat down her orange juice with care. "You want to make a day of it?"

"Alfred has agreed to prepare a picnic lunch that we can eat around the pool," Bruce told them. He looked at Damian. "There will be no swimming for an hour after eating however."

At the boy's pout, Dick quickly offered another alternative. "There are other games we can play while we wait, Dami. Bruce told me about the new high dive he put in this summer. I'm looking forward to seeing you use it. Can you do tricks off of it yet?"

Perking up, Damian nodded. "I can to a double somersault off of it . . . backwards!"

Elle grinned at the thought. She bet she could show Damian a few tricks off the high dive that would blow the boy's mind. It was times like these that she missed living at the mansion by the Great Lake. Her father had also put in indoor and outdoor pools for her mother, but had totally revamped them especially for their daughter and her interests. Her indoor high dive was rumored to be one of the tallest created for a private home, and the depths of both pools reached a whopping fifty feet!

Of course, Elle used Lake Michigan to increase her strength and stamina as well as affording her the opportunity to dive to even greater depths. Nothing beat diving and swimming in the ocean, but her father and mother seldom vacationed by the coast for some reason she never understood.

As the family looked to Elle for final approval of the day's entertainment, she felt torn. She so loved to swim, but she knew that the chances that the pool at Wayne Manor was suitable for her needs were slender. If she agreed, and then discovered that she needed to back out at the last minute, what would her excuse be? For her own protection, her father insisted that she keep certain information about herself secret to prevent people from using her weaknesses against her. But Dick and his family weren't her enemies nor her father's.

Because her mother had the same affliction, Elle really never realized she had inherited it until the year she turned sixteen. All the precautions her father had taken to protect her mother had extended to her simply because she lived within the same household, and she had never understood what she was up against until subjected to the source of her allergy repeatedly. Even her father had been taken by surprise, as like her, he had thought she had escaped the genetic anomaly.

But it had been seven years since her last exposure and reaction. It had taken repeated exposure to cause her initial reaction to begin with. Sure, the doctors had told her that it wasn't something that she would be able to develop a tolerance for, and had even suggested that her reactions in the future could become more severe, but certainly after seven years, it would be as it had been at the beginning . . . She had managed an entire season of competitive swimming before succumbing to the allergen. Surely it would be a non-issue for a single afternoon. Perhaps she would even keep it short by only staying for an hour.

Everyone's expectant, hopeful faces decided her. The risk was worth it. The worst that could happen would be a minor rash that could be controlled with antihistamine. To be on the safe side, however, she would pack her epi-pen of adrenaline in with her towel. That would only be needed in cases of extreme reaction. She had never needed a shot of adrenaline before, though, so she didn't believe she would need one this time either. Her father was just over-protective in his insistence that she continue to carry it with her. Elle had only packed it out of habit.

Dick knew she had been a champion competitive swimmer. The likelihood that he would understand if she told him she was allergic to chlorine was slim. He would more likely think she was rejecting something important to him and his family. And Damian was looking at her so hopefully . . . Yes, she decided, it was worth the risk. What's a little itching among friends, after all?

"I'd love to," Elle told them.

Damian whooped, earning a look of reprimand from Alfred. He quieted, but grinned, totally unrepentant.

"Oh, um," Elle frowned suddenly. "I'm sorry, but I didn't think to pack a bathing suit."

Bruce smiled gently at her as he lifted a cup of Alfred's coffee. "Not a problem," he assured her. "Dick knows where you can find something suitable for a day frolicking by the pool."

She grinned at Dick, looking forward to the unexpected, afternoon treat.