Some small changes in POV, but most all of the chapter is Elle's point of view. In one case, I'll give you a brief glimpse into Bruce's head, but without a separation, the chapter will switch back to Elle's. Other than that, it should be easy enough to figure out whose view you're seeing.
Elle's workout outfit she borrowed from Tim, and consisted of one of Tim's too-small t-shirts and a pair of biking shorts .
WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .
It was the weirdest breakfast she had ever had. Throughout the meal, there was some kind of secret conversation going on between Dick and Bruce. Unfortunately, she was on the outs of this, being totally unaware of the meaning of all the code words they were using. Words like 'pool' and 'enjoy' and terms like 'forget something?' . . .
Elle could only blame her lack of sleep on her complete and utter incomprehension of the conversation going on around her, but somewhere along the line, it suddenly clicked. She gasped . . .
And promptly choked on her eggs.
Dick pounded on her back unhelpfully. If she survived the eggs, she would be black and blue. Elle grabbed the juice and started chugging; coughed once violently in the middle of it and had to use her napkin to wipe the orange pulp from her nose and eyelashes.
Lord, she was so tired . . . so tired of looking like a putz in front of Dick's family. Damian stared at her, concerned. Such a sweet child, she thought, at least when he wasn't, you know, assassinating people! Oh, but Dick said they had been working on that, so maybe Damian hadn't murdered anyone recently. She wasn't ready to share with the rest of the family yet about her knowledge of them. Bruce knew, but she really didn't want anyone else to find out.
Damian excused himself to finish getting ready for school. Alfred came over to begin clearing the remnants of his breakfast away while Elle busied herself with her blueberry muffin. She discovered if she kept her mouth full, no one would ask her questions. She continued eating, but with a tad bit more caution.
Her only comfort was that Dick's face was as red as hers.
Alfred offered her some fresh coffee.
"Will you be using the Batcave's training area or would you prefer to use the 'upstairs' gymnasium, Master Dick?" Alfred asked smoothly.
Coffee sloshed from Elle's cup, and she set it down quickly.
"Did you burn yourself, Miss?" "Are you okay, Elle?" and "You didn't get that on you, did you?" All the words of concern had her wishing to sink into the floor and disappear.
She shoved her coffee-drenched hand into her lap and waved her unburned hand in the air in an attempt to remain casual. "Oh yes, sure; sure . . ." To which question she was referring, Elle left it up to the one asking the question. "If you'll excuse me now."
Despite the overwhelming urge to run, Elle exited the kitchen calmly. She only increased her speed slightly as she went up the stairs. She might have ran down the hall to Dick's room, but Elle saw Damian coming out of his room, so she continued walking as if she didn't have a third degree burn on her hand.
"You have a good day in school, Damian," she wished him.
"I wish I could remain and help Grayson and Father train you," he remarked sincerely.
Elle smiled weakly. Did everyone know of her incompetence? "I'm sure I won't be an expert before school's out. You'll have plenty of time to show me how to not die the next time."
He looked at her funny.
"Is that the extent of your ambition, Hamilton? To not die?"
"I kind of thought it was a worthy ambition as far as that goes," Elle shrugged. "I'd really prefer to not die if it can be helped."
"You do not want to know how to defeat your enemy?" Damian shifted his backpack to his other shoulder.
Elle frowned. "Your brother said that defeating him wasn't the goal."
"If that is not the goal, then what is?"
"Um," Elle hesitated, very aware that the little boy in front of her was capable of kicking major ass. "To get away so that I can run to safety or find help?"
She wasn't sure why she blushed at Damian's obvious disappointment in her answer, but she stammered out a hasty goodbye, and retreated to Dick's room quickly to run water over her stinging hand. It wasn't actually much of a burn. In truth, it was only slightly reddened. In an hour she might not even notice it.
"Have a good day, Dami," Dick said as he met the boy at the bottom of the stairs.
Damian frowned at him. "You are not doing Hamilton any favors by only teaching her self-defense," he said in lieu of greeting. "You should be teaching her offense as well."
"Damian, Elle isn't planning on becoming a vigilante, you know. And I would rather her not challenge her attacker, but escape him. It is less likely that she will get hurt that way," Dick explained.
"You're leaving her helpless," the boy accused him, angrily. "Even Gordon can fight and she's confined to a wheelchair!"
"Babs spent years as Batgirl, though. Her training didn't desert her when she lost the use of her legs. She merely adjusted and compensated for her loss." He told him. "Elle doesn't have the same background, temperament, or skills that Babs has. But I assure you that I am not going to leave her helpless."
"She needs more than the mere basics, Grayson. She lives in Bludhaven."
"She won't need more than that because she won't be facing off against criminals like the Joker. And I plan to be there when she needs me. I'll protect her. And you should get going before you're late." Dick sighed.
"You can't be with her all the time, Grayson," Damian muttered as he exited the Manor to meet Alfred out front in the car.
Dick stared after him. Damian had a point. He couldn't always be with Elle. But Elle was not a fighter. He would teach her to defend herself, but she wouldn't be able to stand up to the likes of dangerous criminals. She didn't have the speed and reflexes out of the water to be an effective fighter. But he wouldn't leave her helpless either.
Dick ran lightly up the stairs. He would coax Elle down to the gym. Bruce had canceled his morning to help train her. Between the two of them, they could be certain that, even if Elle was never a fighter, neither would she be a victim.
Bruce watched critically while Dick ran Elle through what she already knew. It wasn't much; just the basics really, but he had only been doing this for a couple of weeks. It had been helpful to her thus far, as last night proved, but would it have been enough had the Batman not shown up? That Carr fellow hadn't appeared ready to give up despite that shot in the face with mace.
"Damian is right, you know," he commented when they stopped for a short break. "You're going to need to teach her some offense. She did manage to punch Carr in the eye, but he hadn't been put off by anything that she had done."
Elle collapsed onto the mat, groaning. "I don't understand it," she muttered disgustedly, draping her arm over her eyes. "He just wouldn't take no for an answer!"
"It seems that while most can resist your charms reasonably well, but there are a few that are more susceptible to it," Bruce remarked.
Elle laughed. "My charms? Daniel wasn't interested in my charms. He wanted to form a permanent partnership in which his career would benefit from my voice," she said, ending bitterly. "All he could talk about was the music. 'We'll make beautiful music together,' yada, yada, yada; blah, blah, blah."
Dick frowned. "That's also a euphemism for sex, as well."
She lifted the arm she had over her face and rolled her head to look at him from her position on the mat. "I know the difference, Dick. He isn't in love with me; just with my voice."
"While I am grateful that is the case, I will never understand it," Dick told her. "Who couldn't help but love you?"
Elle grinned at him. "You're sweet, but deluded. I know many, many people who don't even like me." Her smile wilted a bit. "And one who quite literally hates me," she muttered under her breath.
"Those people are nuts, though," Dick defended her; not hearing her last remark. "Come on," he called to her. "Get up, lazybones."
She groaned. "Slave driver! It's too early for this," she complained loudly as she rolled onto her knees.
Dick laughed as he helped her to her feet.
"I baby you," he declared, pointing to Bruce. "He's the one you're going to have to worry about."
Elle sent Bruce a look of trepidation. The look he returned did nothing to ease her apprehension.
"Although there are several things we will be showing you," Bruce began. "The first thing we need to do is work up an exercise program to increase your stamina."
Elle gaped at him. "I am not out of shape!" She paused. "Okay, by much," she admitted grudgingly. "But in my defense, I could swim five miles and not be out of breath."
"That's in the water," Bruce pointed out. "You won't find much water in the streets of Bludhaven. You need to increase your stamina on land."
She slumped. "But on land is so much harder," she whined.
"Save your breath," Dick warned. "You're going to need it."
An hour later, Elle resembled nothing more than a lump of flesh where she lay on the mat. Bruce had worked her until she had collapsed into heap. Dick squat next to her, trying to coax her up.
"Go away," she mumbled at him.
"It's only hard now," he promised. "In a week, this will be so much easier."
She opened one eye and glared at him. "Go. Away."
"Elle, that was only the warm up. It's time to show you a few more self-defense moves," Dick poked her in the shoulder; giving her a shake.
She groaned, but didn't move. "You aren't motivating me, you know," she informed him.
"You want motivation?" He rubbed a hand over his chin. "Marshmallows? Hot chocolate?
"You just want to throw me down on the mat again," she snarked.
"Butter on your popcorn and a movie madness marathon?" He added.
Elle sighed heavily, but held up her hand. Dick grinned and pulled her to her feet.
"That's the spirit," he said, cheerfully.
Elle growled, but prepared herself for more abuse. At least she didn't have to sing tonight. Just the effort of holding the mike and standing upright seemed to be beyond her at the moment. She reminded herself that Dick admired strong women, and while there was no way in hell she would ever don a pair of spandex leotards and a mask for anything other than a Halloween party, she did want him to be proud of her in general. Elle knew that he was only doing this because he wanted her to be safe.
Bruce lifted an eyebrow at Dick's choice of motivation. "Sugar and cholesterol is your prime motivation? It is little wonder you haven't the energy to make it through a workout."
Elle turned and glared daggers at him. "Hey! I can eat what I want and require little in the way of exercise to fit into my clothes. Do not criticize my one true joy in life!"
"Do Atlantians even get high cholesterol," Dick mused. "Another question for Arthur Curry."
"I'm more Italian than Atlantian," she informed them. "Italians love to eat."
"Marshmallows and buttery popcorn?" Bruce raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. "That's different. This is snack food, or manna from heaven . . . Same thing."
"Do you eat like this," Bruce asked Dick.
Elle snorted. "His eating habits are far worse than mine."
"Elle's a great cook." Dick patted his flat, rippled stomach. "I'll probably have to add a few more reps to my workouts as a result; maybe an extra mile to my runs."
Elle blinked at him in dismay. "You never complained about my cooking before."
"Who's complaining?" Dick grinned. "I haven't eaten so well since I moved out of the manor."
"Hmph," Elle grunted, but was secretly mollified. "Okay, let's get this over with. What do you want to show me?"
Another hour was spent going over a few simple offensive moves. An eye jab is effective in blinding your opponent; and ear slap can screw up his equilibrium and possibly burst his eardrum while being very painful; any jab to the throat is painful and will cause your opponent to choke. In fact, if enough damage is done, it will cause the throat to swell, possibly cutting off his air supply.
Bruce showed her how to kick someone in the knee to disable them and then how to blitz him in the face, neck, and head with something called a hammer fist or a knife hand. He reviewed the pressure points that Dick had showed her and introduced her to at least three more.
When they finished, Elle sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. Loosened strands of sweat-drenched hair stuck to her neck. Her legs felt wobbly and she held them up with her arms wrapped around them, dropping her forehead onto her knees. She was beyond exhausted. What irritated her was that Dick and Bruce looked as fresh as a couple of damned daisies!
Dick sat a couple of bottles of water and a sports drink beside her. "Just rest up a little while. Bruce and I are going to spar a bit and then we will show you how to go up against two opponents simultaneously."
Elle gaped at him. "We're going to do more," she squeaked.
"Only after you rest and recuperate for a bit," he promised.
"You guys have shown me so much already, I don't know that I'll be able to remember everything," she moaned.
"We don't expect you to remember it all immediately," he told her. "We will be adding all this new stuff to your regular workout. Eventually, if will become automatic."
Elle opened her mouth to complain, but remembered her true goal was for Dick to admire her strength and determination like he did his other girlfriends, and promptly closed it; nodding her reluctant agreement.
"That's my girl," he said, encouragingly. "I'll make it up to you later. Promise."
Her smile was weak, but present. Why did the muscles in her face ache? She opened the sports drink and chugged about half of it before she became cognizant of the fact that her boyfriend and his father were circling each other warily.
Oh yeah, they were sparring each other, she remembered. Even her brain was tired apparently.
It didn't take long before Elle was mesmerized with both the beauty and brutality of their workout. Both men were as graceful as dancers, but their blows were powerful and looked deadly. None were actually landing as each of the men easily blocked the other's attack. It was as fascinating as it was frightening, however, and she watched, enthralled.
They appeared to be evenly matched, until Dick decided to step it up by adding his acrobatics. He was amazingly agile, she thought. He only managed to get in one hit as Bruce reacted immediately to compensate for the change in his opponent's fighting style. Dick leapt to avoid a leg sweep and used Bruce's shoulders as a launching pad to flip over his shoulders. Bruce spun around quickly and grabbed the back of Dick shirt to yank him back out of the air and down onto the mat on his back.
Dick hit hard and the blow with the mat knocked a grunt out of him. Bruce stepped over him, prepared to deliver a blow. Gasping, Elle forgot her fatigue and jumped up in shock. Dick swung his legs up and grasped Bruce's torso between them and pulled him down. The two began grappling until Dick slipped out of Bruce's hold and rolled away, only to flip to his feet. Bruce followed suit instantly.
The two circled each other again. There seemed to be another silent conversation going on between them, and some kind of consensus was made. They moved together to the side wall where a collection of bo-staffs and fighting sticks were displayed. Bruce's hand grasped a staff while Dick went straight for the fighting sticks.
Bruce lunged forward; thrusting the staff at Dick's midsection. Dick sidestepped the move, using one hand to swipe the staff away from his body as he moved in to strike the face. Bruce moved with the block swinging the staff up and around into a vertical block. The resultant clash of the two weapons made Elle flinch. She leaned back into the wall as if wanting to disappear into it.
Bruce swung the top of the staff down with the intention of hitting Dick's shoulder and possibly stunning him into dropping one of his weapons. Dick easily predicted the move and spun away. Bruce's staff met air as Dick performed a spinning roundhouse kick in the direction of Bruce's head. Bruce ducked and turned, bringing the staff around in an arc aimed at striking Dick in the back. As Dick landed, however, he swung both sticks down and to the side, blocking the blow, but barely.
Elle gasped; eyes wide. They weren't pulling their punches at all. Each swing, each kick, every blow was coming at full strength and meant to incapacitate their opponent!
Holy Crap! Elle jumped as yet another audible crack echoed throughout the room.
Dick landed a lucky sidekick into Bruce's ribs, but the older man didn't even flinch. Bruce moved instead with the blow; twisting his back to bring the staff down on the opposite side and striking Dick's forearm hard enough to numb his fingers and forcing him to drop one of his weapons. Dick swung the other stick at Bruce's incoming figure. His bo-staff inconveniently placed, Bruce blocked the blow with his own arm; rewarding Dick with a grunt of pain.
Impossibly, they smile at one another and both toss their weapons away. Elle doesn't even have the chance to breathe a sigh of relief before Dick rushed Bruce with a number of roundhouse kicks, alternating both legs. Bruce backed up, using his forearms to block the flurry of kicks.
Elle was reaching her limit. She wanted to scream at them to Stop! Stop! It was too much!
Finally, as Bruce neared the wall several feet from where Elle stood, he grabbed Dick's leg instead of blocking his kick, and rotated all the while keeping his son's leg extended. He landed a sharp elbow to Dick's head. The attack dropped him and Bruce pushed his advantage. He brought his foot down hard, but Dick was no longer there as he rolled away. Bruce followed close, stomping down in a repeated attack and forcing Dick to keep rolling in order to avoid Bruce's feet.
He rolled in the direction of Elle, and she backed away from the combatants. Suddenly, Dick does a reversal, and rolled back toward Bruce; coming in under his foot and knocking him off-balance. Bruce fell forward, but caught himself on his hands and flipped over to land on his feet. He spun around just as Dick regained his own feet.
Dick was swaying! Elle knew that it was from that devastating blow he took to the head. Caught up in the adrenaline rush, Elle's heart was pounding in fear. She realized that none of those other men that Nightwing had fought were even a challenge to him because the man who trained him was as incredible a fighter as Dick, and seemingly merciless even in practice.
Bruce surprised Elle and Dick both when he closed the distance between he and his son with several fast front flips. It was not his usual fighting style, but proved that Dick wasn't the only gymnast in the family, even if he was the most talented. Dick responded with a couple of back flips, but his balance was off from the hit he took earlier and he stumbled. Bruce landed in front of him solidly, but jumped up to kick Dick in the chest with both feet; sending the younger man flying backwards. Bruce rushed over to where Dick had landed in a sprawl. The younger man was slow getting up.
Just as Bruce approached his son, he was hit from behind. Surprised, he staggered; going down on one knee, and suddenly Elle was right there in his face. His shock allowed her to land one solid blow to his left cheek before he grabbed her; slamming her onto the mat and pinning her into place.
She yelped at the pain that the punch sent reverberating up her arm. But she was a virago; kicking and biting at him albeit ineffectively. Her growls were punctuated with furious screams.
"Leave him alone!" She yelled, enraged. "No more!"
"Elle," Bruce tried to calm her, but she was having none of it.
"If you touch him again, so help me God, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life," she snarled.
"Elle," Dick kneeled down beside her, taking over for Bruce. "Elle, stop! It's okay! Bruce didn't hurt me!"
Bruce stood up, watching as his son struggled to contain his girlfriend. "Not even that elbow to the head," he asked.
Dick looked back over his shoulder at him in consternation. "Okay, maybe that one hit," he laughed. "I'll admit it. You really rang my bell with that one."
Bruce smiled, as he rubbed a hand over his ribs. "That sidekick was pretty brutal," he told him.
"And that last kick," Dick said. "I'd rub my chest, but I'm still a little busy here."
Their banter was beginning to break through the red haze that had descended on Elle when she had thought Bruce was going in for the kill. She blinked up at Dick who was smirking down at her. As soon as he felt her calm, he slowly released her.
"Are you okay, now?" He asked this with way too much good humor. "Should Bruce be worried?"
Elle sat up. She was shaking now, and to her utter dismay began to cry. Startled, Dick pulled her into his arms. He glanced up at Bruce to find him dumbstruck.
"Hey," he murmured. "It's okay. We were just sparring. It wasn't real."
Elle sniffled, clutching him to her. "I-It looked real," she stammered. "It l-looked really intense!"
Bruce, finally determining it was safe, knelt on the other side of her. "I wouldn't intentionally hurt Dick, but we train this hard so that we are better prepared for whatever the streets might throw at us," he explained, gently. "The people we go up against won't stop whenever we take a hit and let us recover."
She snuggled deeper into Dick's arms. "It was scary."
"I'm sorry," Dick told her. "I should have warned you it could be like this. This is normal for us, and I didn't think about what it would look like to a civilian."
"Is it like that often . . . Out there, I mean?" Elle leaned back to look at the both of them. "It didn't seem to be that intense those two times I saw you in action."
Dick smiled at her. "Not usually, no. It is usually just like those times you witnessed, but every so often you meet up with someone better trained or better prepared and things can get pretty fierce then."
"If we trained for the muggers and petty robbers we meet, we would be in serious trouble during those times we are facing stronger opponents or hard-core criminals," Bruce added. "Are you better now?"
She was . . . But she was also deeply embarrassed.
"Y-Yes," she nodded. She accepted Bruce's hand in helping her stand up. "I'm sorry," she apologized.
Bruce smirked at her. "For what exactly are you apologizing? Coming to Dick's rescue or for punching me?"
Elle opened her mouth and closed it again. She frowned as she thought about it.
"You have a point," she said. "Apology retracted."
Bruce's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Retracted?"
"I'll always go to Dick's rescue if he needs it," she explained, but then she narrowed her eyes at Bruce. "But if you hit him again like that, I make no promises. Training is over for today," Elle announced, walking toward the locker room. "I'm taking a shower."
The two men watched her walk away, and when Elle disappeared through the door, they exchanged glances.
"Wow," Dick said.
"We have our work cut out for us," Bruce mused. "She could have done some damage if she knew how to throw a better punch." His fingers touched the bruise forming on his cheekbone.
"I can't believe she did that. She attacked the Goddamned Batman." Dick shook his head. "Amazing."
Bruce smirked. "You got yourself a keeper."
Dick grinned at him. "Speaking of which . . ."
REACTIONS?
I thought to have this up earlier, but the sparring match became kind of epic and required a bit more thought. Hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you thought of it, please . . .