Warning: Some Language . . .
"Should you be standing on that ankle?"
Dick slid his arms around Elle's waist and kissed the side of her neck. She always smelled like what Dick thought heaven would smell like; like the air after a spring rain. Fresh and sweet, and was that a hint of cinnamon?
Elle smiled and set down the towel she had been folding so that she could turn around in his arms. She slid her arms around his neck and played with the soft curls that appeared whenever his hair got too long or when he would get sweaty, like right after a workout. Right now, though, he just needed a haircut. It was beginning to curl around the top of his police uniform collar.
"My ankle is perfect," she announced. "You should look at it. Have you ever had the privilege of seeing a perfect ankle before?"
"Perfect, hm? No, I've never seen a perfect ankle before," he played along with her silliness.
Her face turned serious. "Are you sure you're ready? I mean, it could be dangerous. People have been known to go blind after a mere glimpse of ankle perfection. Some have been driven mad. I would feel terrible if something like that happened to you."
"I am willing to take that risk," he told her soberly and straight-faced. "If I happen to be driven mad, would you visit me at Arkham?"
"Every damned day," she promised, solemnly. "So . . . Um, do they allow conjugal visits in Arkham," she asked, breaking into a grin and waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
That did it! Dick burst out laughing! "Now that is a disturbing thought." He lay his forehead on hers and rubbed her nose with his own. "You make me laugh," he stated. "Every damned day, you take whatever mood you find me in and you make it better."
"Then I'm doing my job correctly," she kissed the tip of his nose, and then moved down to his beautiful mouth.
"It isn't your job to make me happy," he said.
Elle frowned at him. "While it is your decision ultimately whether or not to be happy, it is my job to help you achieve it," she insisted. "Where do you get such ridiculous ideas about how relationships should be?"
"Me? You are the one who is old-fashioned. Modern American women are liberated now," he smirked.
"I'm liberated," she countered, turning back to the laundry.
"And that is why you are folding my socks?" Dick nuzzled the back of her neck before heading into his small kitchen to find something for breakfast. "What smells so good?"
Elle followed him into the kitchen and took out four huge cinnamon rolls from the oven where they had been kept warm for him. "I know you like these," she told him, sliding a couple onto a plate for him.
"Oh my God, Elle," he drooled. "If I weren't already in love with you, I would have fallen head over heels for you this second."
He quickly sat down and took a bite. His eyes closed in bliss. "This is . . . amazing!" He opened his eyes and stared down at the roll. "Did you make these?"
Elle laughed. "Of course, I did. Who else is here?"
"No, I mean that these don't taste like store bought." He took another bite of heaven. "These taste like Alfred's . . . No, better than Alfred's." He pointed at her. "But don't tell him that or I'll deny it. Did you make these from scratch?"
Elle shrugged. "You had all the ingredients," she said casually. "Well, except for the yeast. I had to go next door to borrow some."
Dick paused at that. "Which neighbor?"
"The one across the hall," Elle told him as she put a cinnamon bun on her plate.
"Old Mrs. Haskell?" Dick blinked at her owlishly. "She didn't threaten to call the police on you?"
"Only once," Elle grinned. "I told her I was dating a cop and if she needed you, I could save her a phone call. Anyway, she's quite nice once you get to know her."
"Old Mrs. Haskell?!" Dick gaped.
Elle pointed at his plate. "Eat that while its warm." She told him. "I promised to bring her some cinnamon rolls as payment for the yeast."
"You are a miracle worker," he declared, digging into his breakfast. "What are you going to do with yourself all day while I'm at work?"
Elle smirked. "Your laundry for one thing. I don't think you've done any since the last time I was over here." Dick ate a little faster, not looking up. "You haven't, have you?"
"I would have . . . eventually," he crossed his heart with a finger.
"Hm," Elle looked at him skeptically. "Did you go out last night?"
"Why do you ask?" Dick returned her gaze solemnly.
"Because I woke up alone around one o'clock in the morning."
"Tis the season," he quipped. "Nightwing needed to patrol. Criminal activity is on the rise around this time of the year."
Elle leaned back in her chair and licked the icing off of her fingers. Dick stopped eating to stare at her. "I would appreciate it, if you plan to leave me in the middle of the night, that you tell me about it before you go and wake me when you return."
Dick frowned. "For what purpose? You were sleeping so well, I didn't want to disturb you."
"Maybe before you left, but after you came home the only reason I was sleeping so 'well' is because I had been up for three hours waiting on you." She told him. "I eventually fell back to sleep, but it wasn't all that peaceful. I was worried."
"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Dick muttered.
"Look, I know about it now and that makes me a part of it in a small way," she said. "All I want is a little consideration. Tell me if you are going out, and wake me when you return so that I know you are okay."
"And you won't stay up worrying if I do that?" He eyed her skeptically.
Elle shrugged and picked up their dirty plates. "Maybe. But it won't make me worry any less if you sneak out. I'd also like to know what your route is for the night."
Dick got up and followed her over to the sink. "For what purpose," he asked again, his frown became a little more fierce.
She frowned back at him, unintimidated. "So, if you don't come home, I know where to look for you."
"Oh no! I won't have you cruising Bludhaven in the middle of the night just because I got caught up in something and didn't get home when expected." Dick told her.
"I won't jump in the car if you are five minutes late. But if you tell me you should be home at four and five o' clock comes around, I want the option of knowing where you might be. If nothing else, I could call Bruce or Tim if you go missing," Elle argued as she washed the dishes. "If something happened to you at work, you have backup. Someone would call an ambulance and I would like to think someone would then call me. But who's going to do that for you as Nightwing?"
"Elle, I've been doing this for years," he took her chin in his hand so that she would look at him. "Nothing's going to happen to me."
"Exactly! You've been doing this for years! The odds that something could happen to you are growing greater. This gives me a certain peace of mind," she said, imploringly. "I trust you know what you are doing, but mistakes can be made and accidents happen. Someone might get in a lucky shot . . . I don't suppose you'd be willing to check in with me a couple of times a night?"
Dick blew out his breath in frustration. He worried this might happen now that she knew his secret. "Elle, no. I need to keep you separate from my night work."
"Too late! If you wanted to do that, then you should have taken off after you tied those muggers to the fence instead of popping the hood of my car. I know now, and if you think that doesn't change things up a bit, then you living in a fantasy."
Elle followed Dick as he moved to get his belt and his weapon. "Don't you ignore me, Dick Grayson! I'm not telling you not to go out there! I'm not trying to run your life, but you can't come into mine and make your proclamations and then tell me to mind my own business while you run your life without any consideration to me!"
"Without any consideration . . . Elle, all I do is consider you!" He gaped at her.
"Fine. Then you can cease doing so as of right now. If you cannot allow me into each part of your life in some small way, then I will not allow you into mine." She crossed her arms.
Dick scoffed. "You cannot help allowing me into your life. We're bonded, remember?"
Elle wasn't impressed. "The way I understand it, I can have dinner with you once or twice a week and have no ill effects."
Dick blinked. "But . . . We're a couple now. We love each other."
Elle turned away. "I thought we were, but you just told me otherwise."
He came up behind her and put his arms around her. "I did not. I just don't want you worrying needlessly or staying up for me. And I certainly don't want you to put yourself into a dangerous situation just because I'm late."
Elle huffed. "I told you that I wouldn't. But it is far too late in the game to expect me not to worry about you. We have to make compromises on occasion for the other person. That is how it works!"
She turned in his arms, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes. The thought flashed in his head that she was turning on the waterworks in a bid to gain her own way, and then guilt flooded him. Elle had never been conniving before. She had never attempted to manipulate him. His gut told his brain he was an idiot, and that her tears meant that she was truly upset.
"I love you," she declared hotly.
And he knew immediately that it was so.
"I want to support you in everything, but I need you to understand what it is like for me. I'm no superhero. I'm not planning on following you out on the streets. I'll be sitting at home like a good, little girlfriend worrying about you, whether or not we stay a couple or become nothing more than bonded friends. I will not stop loving you and because of that, I will always worry about you," she told him. "I simply want you take measures that will ease that worry a little bit."
He watched a single tear escape and trace a path down her cheek.
"Just a little bit," he asked.
"Just a tiny, little bit," she said, and laid her head against his chest. His badge was cool against her cheek.
"And giving you my route every night and . . . what? Calling in every hour will do that for you?" His hand cupped her head and he let it slide through her silky hair as she snuggled into him.
She hugged his waist. "Not necessarily every hour. But a couple of times would be all right. You know, like halfway through, and then just before you head home."
"Hm," he thought about it. "I could do that, I suppose; as long as I'm not caught up in something. I wouldn't be able to guarantee it would be on the dot every night."
"I'm flexible," she assured him.
"I will learn to be," he promised.
"And you will call me if you get into trouble?"
He took her shoulders and pushed her back to arms' length. "No. I told you, I won't have you coming after me."
"I would call for backup only."
"Elle, there is already a network in place that I can call if I get into trouble," he told her.
She frowned. "A network?"
"There is someone who monitors our activity and can initiate backup or a rescue if it's necessary. She's called Oracle." Dick told her.
"Oracle? Like some kind of all-seeing seer?" Elle blinked. "You use a fortune-teller?"
Dick grinned. "No. Not exactly. She's more like a computer genius with killer hacking skills. She provides Batman, Red Robin . . ."
"That's Tim, right?"
"Right," he nodded. "Robin, and Nightwing with Intel; can monitor traffic cams and ATMs; provide us with communications, and contact the authorities for us when called for."
"All that?"
"And more really. But we don't rely on her completely. I do my own research, and my com link is capable of reaching Bruce without a relay most of the time."
"Huh," Elle moved away as she considered this. "Do you know her? Personally, I mean."
Dick turned away and busied himself with his wallet and keys, and grabbed his jacket. "I know her," he said simply.
"Do you trust her?"
"In this, I do." Dick crossed the room. "Do you feel any better about things? Does knowing that I'm not out there without resources help you at all?"
"Yes, it helps," Elle smiled.
"Good, because I've got to go or I'll be late," Dick kissed her nose. "Thank you for breakfast. It was fabulous!"
"You have a great day, and stay safe," she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth.
He looked dazed when they finally came up for air.
"I love you," she told him.
He gave her another quick peck on the lips before running to the door. "I love you, too," he said as he picked up his keys. "I've got ten minutes to get to work."
"Don't speed," she called after him. "You'd never live it down if you got a speeding ticket."
He laughed as he barreled down the stairs. "Lock the door," he reminded her before he ran out of sight.
Elle puttered around the apartment. Her ankle was still wrapped, but the swelling was practically gone and her limp was almost non-existent. She hadn't lied when she told Damian that she would be up on it in just a day or two. She had always healed quickly. It was both a blessing and a curse, however. It had been a curse whenever she had tried to convince someone that her brother was hurting her during her childhood.
Aiden was only her half-brother. Their father had married his mother, a pretty French woman, who was reportedly high-strung, and emotionally and mentally unstable. Aiden had been born early in their marriage and had been ten when their father had finally divorced her.
He had given her a settlement and cut all ties to her that did not directly concern Aiden. According to Edward, she had gone through the money in just a few years and had been nearly destitute at the end. Marcelle had been obsessed with Cedric Hamilton, however. She had only cared for Aiden because her son was her only link to her ex-husband. She had constantly promised him that she and his father would get back together, that it was only a matter of time.
So, when Cedric had met, fallen in love with, and married Esmeralda Lorena Costanzo, an Italian singer of some renown, Marcelle had blamed Esmeralda for her failed marriage, and poisoned her son's mind against the woman. Always a woman of dramatic statement, Marcelle committed suicide on Cedric and Esmeralda's wedding day. And a year later, Arabella Loren Hamilton had been born. Aiden had hated her on sight. If that hadn't been bad enough, Cedric Hamilton did not make it a secret that Esmeralda was his one, true love, and little Bella was the child of his heart.
Aiden had learned fast about his half-sister's healing talents, and had taken advantage of it. She had constantly born bruises growing up while Aiden was around, and one particularly horrible summer before her mother had died, Aiden had been responsible for her for an entire five days. That had been the year she had learned how to sew up a cut by herself . . . A skill she would use at least twice more before she was able to avoid her brother by attending a private school in Europe for a year. When she returned, she had discovered that he had moved to New York City to run their father's business interests there.
But no one ever suspected Aiden of abuse because her bruises would heal up in a few hours. The bad ones would take a little more than a day to fade. Her worst cuts never took longer than a week and were practically gone by the time anyone saw them. She had been accused of being spoiled and vindictive because of her accusations against her brother; that her bruises were merely make-up that she applied to heap false recriminations on his head. So, little Bella learned to avoid her half-brother when she could, and kept quiet on those times when she couldn't. She had also learned to not ask for things so as not to inspire those around her into believing she was the spoiled brat Aiden had often accused her of being.
Had her brother been in Italy at the time of her mother's death, Elle would have suspected him of causing it. Even so, there was always a bit of doubt about it in her mind, but she had seen the driver of the truck that had pushed their car through the guardrails and off of the cliff that day. It hadn't been Aiden. The man had been strange, however, and because of that, his visage had always remained in her memory. Even now, years later, Elle was certain that if she saw him again, she would know him.
Once she had become an adult, Elle realized that Aiden could have hired the man. She had never confronted him about it, though. Her brother was nearly as powerful a man as their father now. She needed to be certain and in a position of power herself before she did something like that, or she might end up involved in another 'accident'; one that she wouldn't be able to walk away from next time.
She sighed as she gathered up a newly-folded pile of Dick's clothing to put away. Dick wasn't the only one with secrets. Elle's secrets weren't nearly as cool as his, though. Maybe one of these days, she would tell him about that part of her life, but not now. She didn't need his pity and she wouldn't take his vengeance on her behalf. Elle had learned to fight her own battles. She lost those battles a lot more often that she cared to admit, but during those times, she had learned to be strong. She had learned to endure.
Poor, little, rich girl, indeed . . .
REACTIONS?
Okay, this wasn't the part I've been waiting so long to write yet. That part will go up tomorrow for sure, but this little bit of Elle's history will become important in the future . . .