A couple of hours later, Elle was tucked up in her assigned room. She was feeling both better and miserable. Her blisters were gone now. She remembered Dick's freak out as she shed a layer of skin during the shower. She didn't blame him for it, however. She had been rather freaked out herself. There was still red, irritated skin beneath it; splotchy-looking wherever there had been a blister or welt, but those were fading. Hopefully, by tomorrow she would look more . . . normal.

But she wasn't, was she? . . . Normal, that is.

What she had always thought was just a birth defect, the webbed fingers and toes that happened whenever she got in water, was something more. Her mother and father had both known about it, but never told her. They had wanted to wait until she was older, her father had told her. Well, she was twenty-three! How long was she supposed to wait?

What a horrible day. She sat in the huge bed with her knees bent, her forehead resting on her knees, feeling sorry for herself.

Truthfully, she couldn't believe that she was still at the manor. Her father had one of the guards bring in another couple of cases of bottled water in case she needed it, and left about an hour ago without her. Dick had helped to tuck her in, but he had looked dazed and a little troubled by all he learned about her today. Elle wondered if he would drop her off tomorrow and disappear from her life. She wouldn't blame him if he did. She wanted to disappear as well!

Elle sniffled, feeling alone and confused. She didn't want to face Bruce or Alfred or Tim, but she wanted to know how Damian was. Dick had said he was recovering nicely, but she wanted to see him. And how would she ever get him to give her that drawing he did of her yesterday if no one let her see him because she was . . . whatever she was?

There was a knock on the door, making Elle's heart leap in her chest. She didn't know why she was suddenly so scared, but she found herself trembling. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror again. This was so not happening.

"Go away," she told them.

When the door opened anyway, and Dick entered, Elle squeaked and ducked under her covers; throwing them over her head.

"I said go away," she groused; her voice still rough was muffled by the blankets.

"Are you all right," Dick asked. The bed dipped as he sat on the edge next to her.

"Y-yes. Now, could you please leave?" She rolled onto her side away from him. All she really wanted was to be held, and told that none of it mattered, but Elle didn't believe that was possible. Too much had changed.

Dick sighed deeply enough that she could hear him even through the blankets between them. His hand settled on her shoulder. She thought she could feel his body heat despite the many layers separating them.

"Elle," he tried again. "Are you all right."

"I said yes . . ." she told him, but her voice quivered along with her lip. "Oh, okay . . . No," she sighed this time. "No, I'm not all right."

"Why don't you come out from under the covers so we can talk about it," he asked her.

"I don't want to," she muttered, not caring if she sounded petulant.

"You don't want to talk about it, or you don't want to come out from under the covers?"

"Both!"

"Why not?"

She could hear the exasperation in his voice, but she couldn't do it.

"Because I'm uuuglyyy!" The tears began in earnest now.

Dick tried to pull the covers from her head. Elle clutched them like they were all that stood between her and the afterlife. Dick tugged harder, and Elle squealed. He started laughing, and she gasped in outrage.

Annoyed, she threw the covers back and sat up; glaring. "Why are you laughing at me? Look at me!"

Dick looked at her, and thought her pout was adorable even as her tears broke his heart. She was alive and no longer throwing up the lining of her stomach. He thought she was beautiful.

"Actually, you are looking pretty good compared to before," he admitted.

Her eyes grew larger as she thought about that; horror sliding over her features. She slapped her hands over her face.

"Hey!" Dick reached over to grab her wrists.

"Oh, Dick," she shuddered. "How can you stand me? I'm a freak! An ugly freak!"

He frowned at her words. "How can you say that?"

"It's that damned family legend," she groaned. "I thought it was just a story. All this time, and now I discover it is true!"

"How could you not believe it when every time you get wet you get webbed fingers and toes," he asked.

She hiccuped, and looked up at him miserably. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. It was a birth defect. My mother and grandmother had it, too. Nobody said anything about it. It was treated as normal by the family, and honestly, if we weren't swimming, it was a non-issue."

"I have never seen anyone swim like that outside of Aquaman," Dick said.

Elle blinked at him, her attention suddenly riveted. "You've seen Aquaman swim? Have you met him? What's he like?"

Dick froze. His mouth worked for a moment, but no words came out. "Uh . . . I . . . um, just saw him the one time. I didn't meet him or anything." He was so going to hell over this.

"Oh, well, that's still really cool," she said. "I can't believe I got to meet Batman this weekend . . . And Robin! Oh, and that other Robin-dude, guy, whatever his name is. That was amazing!" She caught him staring at her. "What?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't think you would be all that into vigilantes and superheroes," he smiled, chuckling at her enthusiasm. "It's kind of cute." Inside, Nightwing was yelling at him to change the subject. This was too dangerous, but he was fascinated and a little curious.

She smiled for the first time. "It just seems to me that if you have a special talent that can help people, you're almost obligated to use it. They aren't bad people, after all. They don't take away from others. They just help people, and at some risk to themselves. I think that's admirable, don't you?"

Dick stared at her. "Ah, yeah," he said. "I guess it is. I never really thought about it before."

She leaned over and smirked. "You know, I saw Nightwing once, too."

Dick's mouth dropped open. "Y-you did?"

"It was only a glimpse," she grinned. "I was stopping at an all-night convenience store for some milk . . . You know, milk is so expensive in those places. Anyway, there was a robbery in progress . . ."

Dick paled. 'You walked in on a robbery in progress?"

"Oh, well, they were kind of busy and didn't notice me right away, so I ducked back out of the store and called 911. Then, the two guys came running out. The clerk had picked up a shotgun and shot at them through the door! Glass went everywhere! And then the robbers started shooting back! It was all very exciting," At his look of horror, she decided to try to tone down her animation. "And . . . um, sort of scary? But then Nightwing swung in! He knocked one of the guys down, and then threw one of those boomerang thingies . . ."

"Birdarangs," he muttered offhandedly.

"Birdarangs? Really? How funny," she grinned. "Okay, well, he threw one of those thingies, the birdarang, and it knocked the gun out of the other guy's hand. I saw him do this spinning kick into the guy's head. And then the other man jumped to his feet and tried to shoot him!"

Dick had never heard one of his fights described by a witness before. Elle made it sound rather exciting. "Then what happened?"

An odd look crossed her face. "I'm not really sure."

Dick frowned. "What do you mean, you're not really sure? You were there, right?"

"Oh," She shrugged. "Yes, I was. It's just that one of the guy's bullets hit the wall where I was standing. A shard of brick kind of hit me in the eye."

Dick was stricken by the thought Elle had almost gotten shot before he ever met her. That he had almost allowed her to be shot! He thought he remembered the incident she had been describing; he hadn't even realized that a woman had been present outside of the store. If she had been shot, would he have even known? He might have left her there accidentally to bleed out. He felt sick.

"What," he asked, weakly.

"I was all right," she reassured him, patting him on the knee. "But it hurt so I jumped back out of the way. My eye was watering so much I couldn't have seen anything after that anyway. By the time my eye felt better the fight was over. Nightwing shot this thing in the air . . ."

"A grapple hook," he muttered again, feeling a little dazed. He was discovering that he often felt that way when Elle was around.

"Yeah, a grapple hook, that's it," she smiled. "Wow, it's almost like you were there with me!"

That woke him up! What the hell was he doing? He wasn't supposed to be a Nightwing expert. He needed to shut up and change the subject before she figured this thing out.

"Then he kind of just flew off," Elle finished. She stared off into the space somewhere over his left shoulder. "He was really sexy, though, you know?"

Dick blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He wasn't sure, but he thought he almost felt jealous of himself.

"No, I don't know," he grumbled, still unsure if he should be annoyed or flattered.

She laughed. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"What? Uh . . . No," he denied. "Should I be?"

Elle had forgotten in the course of their conversation that she had been upset. She leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Of course not, silly. I already have the sexiest man alive for a boyfriend. I think I would be the one jealous if you suddenly decided to run around Bludhaven or Gotham in skin-tight spandex that leaves nothing to a girl's imagination. Althooough, you were damned sexy in that Batman costume the other night."

"Yes, I think you are definitely feeling better," Dick smirked. He was blushing, however. He hadn't blushed this much since he was in middle school.

He almost regretted his words when she jerked away from him and glanced back at the mirror. He cupped her face, turning her back toward him. "Don't do that," he ordered gently. "I didn't fall in love with just your face, you know."

Startled, Elle gaped at him. Did he mean that? Does he realize what he just said? "You don't mean that . . ."

"Yes. I do," he tilted her chin up as he brought his mouth down to meet hers. "I love you, Arabella Hamilton," he whispered softly against her lips. "So, I would appreciate it greatly if you never scared me like that again."

The kiss began as sweet, but as usual quickly gave way to passion. And yet, all the while, the only thing part of them that touched was their mouths, and Dick's hands on her face. They lost track of time, and only pulled away when there came a knock on the door. This time it was Elle who was blushing when Alfred came in bearing a tray, with Bruce following on his heels.

"My, you are looking much better, Miss," Alfred commented as he laid the tray of food on her dresser. "I must say, you had us quite worried there for a time."

Bruce moved to stand behind where Dick still perched. He laid a hand on his son's shoulder and both smiled and frowned down at her simultaneously. Somehow he managed to convey both his concern and his delight at her recovery in that convoluted expression. Elle's lips twitched with amusement.

"Indeed, we were. Are you feeling better, Elle," Bruce asked, his voice serious.

Embarrassed, she dipped her head down, her gaze on her lap. "I am," she admitted, honestly. "The pain is nearly gone."

"Pain," Dick asked, concerned. "You never told me you were still in pain! I mean, you look uncomfortable, but you haven't acted like you were hurting."

Elle peeked up at him, smirking. "Compared to earlier, this is nothing. Just a little residual burning sensation; similar to what I felt the first time something like this happened."

Dick looked put out. "You should have told me this could happen, Elle. We would have found something else to do this afternoon."

"Dick's right, Elle," Bruce agreed. His expression finally settled on serious. "You should have mentioned you had an allergy to chlorine. None of this would have been necessary."

Tears welled in her eyes at his gentle chastisement. "I am so sorry, Mr. Wayne! Once I realized the extent of it, I planned to tell Dick, but then the guards burst in, and then my father!" She sniffled. "But then Damian hit his head, and I-I knew that I was the only one who could get to him quickly enough . . . How is he? Dick said he was recovering, but . . ."

"Yes, I want to thank you for that," Bruce told her. "I realize that without your quick response, he would be recovering in the hospital, or . . . worse; beyond recovery."

"He's ensconced on the sofa in the game room, Miss, currently pursuing his goal of besting Master Richard's top score." Alfred spoke as he poured a spot of tea.

Elle glanced at Dick, a hint of her earlier smile already returning. "Top score? Which game is that?"

Bruce and Dick moved out of Alfred's way as he handed Elle the hot tea. "It does not matter, as Master Richard has long since held the top score in all of the games."

Bruce snorted in amusement. "Drives Damian crazy."

"Will the tea be a problem," Alfred asked, still holding the cup and saucer. "Do you need to continue only with water? I made this with the bottled water your father brought with him."

Elle smiled at him, taking the tea from his hands. "It should be fine. Thank you, Alfred. The burning sensation is only on the skin. My insides merely ache, and the tea should help with that. Don't worry. It will resolve itself with time."

Bruce's eyebrows pulled together. "This . . . allergy, Elle. I've never heard of anything like it. You and your father mentioned that your mother suffered from it as well."

The warmth of the honey-sweetened tea soothed the soreness in her throat. "Mm, yes, she did. Although I don't remember ever seeing her have a reaction before myself, my father told me about it. Hers, I take it, was on par with the reaction I had today. It had frightened Poppa enough that he developed special filters and had a well dug for the house. We have two pools like you do here, but ours is a salt-water filtration system that has no need of chemicals like chlorine. None of the taps in our house has chlorinated water, not even the shower or laundry."

"One of your father's guards said something about your apartment having a special filtered system," Bruce commented.

Elle sighed. "Poppa can be a bit overprotective," she murmured. "But that is correct. He actually added the filter system to the entire apartment building, as well as a smaller one to my apartment alone. Kind of redundant, that, but you can't tell that man anything once an idea gets in his head."

"That's probably good to know," Bruce smiled. "So the chlorine in the tap and shower here are a problem for you as well?"

"I'm not sure," Elle pursed her lips in thought. "Maybe a little, but I'm only here until tomorrow. It might have been why it took so long to stop my reaction, and explains my slow response time."

That comment incited three sets of raised eyebrows. Dick asked what was on all their minds. "This is a slow response time? I have been amazed at the speed of your recovery. I thought you would have required a prolonged hospital stay. This," he indicated her skin, "is incredible!"

Elle shrugged. "The only reason I stayed in the hospital at all the first time was because I was in public when I had the reaction to the chlorine, and someone had called an ambulance. And then the doctors insisted on doing all kinds of tests . . . Some of them Poppa allowed, but others he rejected outright."

"What kinds of tests did he refuse?" Dick asked first, although Bruce's mouth had opened to most likely ask the same thing.

"Certain blood tests, and he refused all genetic testing," she told them. "Although, after what he told us today, it makes a lot more sense why he refused to allow the doctors to pursue it."

Bruce frowned. "After he told you about what today? About the allergy? I was under the impression that you already knew about it."

Elle's eyes widened, and she glanced at Dick. "I . . . uh, I thought he told both of you."

Dick shook his head. "No, only me."

Elle was suddenly nervous. She slid her hands beneath the covers on her lap to hide them. Her hands appeared completely normal sitting in the bed, but she couldn't help feeling self-conscious.

Dick retrieved one of her hands, and held it between two of his own. "You can trust Bruce, Elle. He's fantastic at keeping secrets."

A strange expression crossed Bruce's face as he glanced at his son, but he said nothing.

Elle nodded, but remained silent. She used to joke about this, but now couldn't seem to admit to it once she discovered the truth of the matter.

Dick took pity on her, and spoke the words for her. He would have told Bruce later anyway.

"Elle is part mermaid." He grinned. That was fun to say out loud.

She was surprised when Bruce only nodded, taking the revelation in stride.

"That," he said, "makes perfect sense."