No Warnings . . .

It took some doing, but Dick managed to get Peterson to cover his shift for him on Saturday. He still had to work second shift on Sunday, but he was certain he could be back from Chicago on time. He hoped that Elle would be able to make the return with him, but wasn't sure if she would prefer to stay with her family another day.

He glanced over at Elle in the passenger seat. She was unusually silent for this trip. She stared out the window, not excited to be going home for an early Christmas, but looked as if she were headed to her own demise. It was so out of character for what he knew about her that Dick wondered if there were something he was missing.

"Why do I get the feeling that you didn't want me to come on this trip," he asked her; trying not to feel hurt.

His family, not known for their hospitality except when keeping up appearances, had pulled out all the stops for her. He had only met her father twice, and neither time had been a relaxing time full of fun and laughter. Certainly Christmas would be the perfect opportunity to meet with her father and finally be introduced to her brother in a setting of yuletide celebration. That was good, right? Everyone would be on their best behavior and the event would roll by smoothly.

At least that was the plan.

It was a plan that Elle didn't appear to be in on.

Elle sighed and rolled her head to look at him. "It's not that," she told him. "It's just my family . . . This would be so different if we were traveling to meet my grandparents."

Dick frowned as he watched the road. "I've met your father, though. Although neither time was during the best of circumstances . . ." Boy, was that an understatement. "He wasn't so bad. We got along well enough. I kind of got the feeling the last time that he even approved of me."

Elle gave him a disbelieving look.

"Not so bad . . ." She shook her head. "Look, it isn't so much my father. You're going to be meeting my brother, too, tomorrow night."

"That's right," he said, surprised. He generally remembered everything she had ever told him about her family, but she only mentioned the brother once to him and that in passing. "You have a brother. You never talk about him. What's his name?"

"Aiden."

That's it? All that she was going to volunteer about him? It didn't take a neon billboard flashing to tell him they apparently didn't get along.

"I don't always get along with my brothers either," he said hoping to ease her into revealing more.

"You do well enough," she muttered, staring back at the passing countryside.

"You've haven't met Jason, yet," Dick remarked sarcastically.

She glanced back at him.

Aha! She was interested . . . Now, how could he use this?

"Jason's kind of the family black sheep," he explained.

Her lips tilted up on one side. Dick's eyes crinkled at the thought that she might consider herself as having something in common with his most obstinate brother. He couldn't imagine Elle as being a black sheep in her family.

She pointed to an upcoming road. Dick slowed to turn and then realized that he wasn't turning onto a road, but onto a driveway. The drive was curving so one couldn't see what lay beyond the next curve and was lined with a hedgerow and tall Maple trees whose branches extended over the drive. The snow made it look majestic and magical. Despite herself, Elle straightened up in her seat as if eager to see her childhood home.

"This must be magnificent in the fall," he murmured.

The house had yet to come into view. Its drive had to be three times that to Wayne Manor, but then Bruce's home was just on the outskirts of Gotham City. Hamilton built his home almost twenty minutes past the last neighborhood on a huge expanse of land that bordered the shores of Lake Michigan. The drive into the city would take the at least an hour.

"How can your father stand the commute into the city?" Dick wondered aloud.

"Poppa has a helicopter for those times he must get in quickly, and other times, he is driven in by his chauffer while he works in the back. He can cut his time at the office short since his workday begins and ends in his limo. When the commute is inconvenient, he stays at the penthouse." Elle explained. "We'll be staying at the penthouse tomorrow night after the company party."

Ah, yes, he thought. Hamilton Industries annual Christmas event. It was an event, too. No normal Christmas shindig where the employees got drunk on eggnog and passed out pictures made on the company copier of Melvin from Accounting's butt or where Cindy from the secretarial pool makes out in the boss's office with Eddie from the mailroom.

"You remembered to rent a tux," Elle asked suddenly. "If not, I'm sure we can find something for you before then."

Dick glanced over at her, amused by her nervousness. "Elle, I grew up attending these kinds of events with Bruce. I own at least three tuxes."

She smirked at him, rewarding him with a hint of her old self. "But did you remember to bring it with you?"

Dick's heart skipped a beat before he remembered tucking the garment bag on top of his small bag and Elle luggage.

"You did that on purpose," he accused, rubbing a hand over his chest.

Elle giggled. Her laughter died abruptly as the house finally came into view at last. It was made of brown brick with pale accents. Vaguely Tudor-ish in architectural style, it managed to look both elegant and modern at the same time.

"Impressive," Dick commented as he bent his head to see as much of the home as he could as he drove up to the front doors. "I like all the windows."

"Wait until you see the inside," Elle grinned. Her earlier reticence nowhere in sight now.

Elle was out of the car before Dick got his car door open. The front door of the mansion opened and the Hamilton's version of Alfred appeared. Elle threw her arms around the poor man, but one of his arms came around to hug her fondly for the briefest moments before his eyes took in Dick. He pulled himself up into the epitome of butlerhood, and Dick had to hide his smile.

"Welcome home, Miss Bella," the man greeted her with a stiff nod.

Elle laughed, but didn't embarrass the man further. "Thank you, Frankie. I missed you."

"The feeling, I can assure you, Miss, is mutual."

Elle ran back where Dick was pulling their bags from the car. "Hey, don't dis the help," she told him. "These guys put a lot of stock in their professional reputations, you know."

Dick smiled and set the luggage down by the curb. "Wouldn't want to do that. I learned a long time ago to never get Alfred angry."

Elle smiled back. "Once they get used to you, you can haul around just about anything you like. They might not like it much, but they'll indulge you. Right now, however, you are a guest, and guests don't tote their own bags anywhere."

Dick followed Elle back up the steps. "Franklin," she said. "This is Richard Grayson. He's my bonded mate."

Not friend; not boyfriend, but bonded mate. Franklin must have been employed by the family for years to be in the know like this. He wondered if all the servants were aware of who and what their mistresses were. Franklin certainly was, for his eyes lit up even if he retained that stiff upper lip that all good butlers wore.

"Indeed," he nodded in Dick's direction. His gaze still curious, but much warmer. "Welcome to the Estate, sir. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Franklin, and should you have need of anything during your stay, please, come to me and make your wishes known."

"Anything?" Dick couldn't resist a little tease.

Franklin didn't bat an eye. "Anything," he confirmed.

"Well, I wish to know where Poppa is," Elle asked.

The shift in Franklin was subtle, but Dick noticed. Something wasn't right. Franklin's gaze had a plea in them as the butler glanced Dick's way and then back to his mistress.

"He is in his room, Miss Bella," he said simply.

Elle frowned, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. The winter sun was dipping low on the horizon already. "So early? Has there been no improvement?"

"He wanted to be well rested for dinner and the evening festivities," Franklin explained without actually answering her question.

"Festivities?" Elle asked. "What exactly does that mean? Are we having guests?"

"Mr. Aiden will be joining you tonight." There was no mistaking the gravity in the majordomo's voice. Apparently, the servants understood the nature of the brother/sister relationship all too well.

If Dick hadn't been watching for a reaction, he might have missed it. He could hardly credit it knowing Elle the way he did, but sure enough, for just a second, she seemed to shrink in on herself.

So much for a 'Merry' Christmas . . .

Cedric had instructed that Dick's bags be placed in Elle's bedroom. Dick looked around with interest at the room where his girlfriend grew up. If he felt in the least bit uncomfortable with the feminine colors and the occasional frilly touches, he never said a word. He wouldn't complain when this was his best opportunity yet to learn something about the girl Elle had been growing up.

He wandered over to her bookshelf that was filled with trophies and medals for swimming and diving. She hadn't been joking when she said she had the trophies to prove she was fast in the water. There were pictures of her with her teammates and one of her out in front of her competition by two entire lengths. He wondered if she had been holding back. He knew that she could have been finished the race before the other swimmers were even a third of the way into their first lap.

He stopped at her desk and picked up a framed photo of a woman that looked amazingly like Elle and a small girl about five or six years old. Esmeralda, he thought; Elle's mother. There were a few differences. Her mother's smile was even wider than Elle's, her hair was a lighter brown, her eyes darker, and she was slimmer, more willowy than her decidedly curvier daughter.

"She was taller than I am," Elle commented as she entered the room. "Nonna is, too. I guess I take after the women on my father's side of the family."

"Did you see your father?" Dick asked, setting the photo back in place.

She frowned. "The doctor is in with him."

"So, what exactly is wrong with Cedric?"

Elle went to the bed and climbed onto it; kneeling on the mattress. "I honestly don't know." At Dick's look of disbelief, she sighed. "It started out as exhaustion, due to overwork, we thought. Then there was a lack of appetite, headaches, and dizziness, followed by muscle weakness, loss of coordination . . ." Her voice dwindled away.

Dick sat down beside her. The fear crept into her eyes, increasing with each symptom she listed. He put his arm around her.

"It scares me," she admitted quietly. "The thought of losing him. But in the beginning I thought that maybe he was . . . you know, faking it; to get me to stay with him. It terrified me to think I would never leave this place, as much as I love it. And now, I'm thinking that I wasted all this time I could have spent with him."

When Dick remained silent; just a strong shoulder and a listening ear, she sighed and continued.

"He just makes me so angry," she told him. "I feel so frustrated and confined here. It is like I cannot breathe. But as much as his high-handedness infuriates me, I still love him." She looked up at Dick. "He's my father."

That one small sentence said so much. She leaned her head against his shoulder, taking advantage of his strength, if just for a little while. She bet none of his other girlfriends were this needy. She bet they handled things like this with level-headed aplomb and lady-like dignity.

"But I don't want to stay here. I feel as though I might never leave!" Her breath hitched. "Does that make me a bad daughter?"

She felt his lips, warm against the skin of her forehead. His arm tightened around her.

"You are one of the best women I have ever met," he told her; giving her back the compliment she had once bestowed on him.

One of . . . She noticed. It should have made her feel great; should have made her feel wonderful and on top of the world. Normally, she thought it would, but for being here. Instead, however, it made her feel strangely sad. His arm should have given her strength, but instead she felt alone despite his company.

Not enough. Would she ever be enough . . .

It was the house, she decided. She was weak whenever she came here. It represented her childhood when she was dependent on others for her every need. But not this time, Elle determined. She would not be weak, not this time. She would be strong . . . Like Dick's other girlfriends. She could do this. She lifted her head and sat up straight; away from him.

Her father was dying. It was the first time she admitted this to herself. Elle would be strong for him as well as for Dick, and maybe herself. Poppa wouldn't want to linger. She could do this. After all, people buried their parents every day. The memory of standing beside her mother's open grave as dirt was shoveled on top of her casket flashed in front of her eyes, and made her lip quiver. The idea of having to watch as the same thing happened to her father . . . She bit her lip, hard.

She would not cry.

Memory of her father's deterioration as the doctor examined him as she stood in the doorway, made her breath hitch. Dick's arms tightened around her, tugging her against him once more. She snuggled into him; breathing in the perfect combination of scents that made him up; his shampoo, his deodorant, the detergent he used, and that unique aroma that was his skin. It calmed her and oddly made her feel safe again.

Her hand slipped up to wipe away the one, lone tear that managed to escape her steel grip over her emotions. She could do this. She would hate it, but she would do it anyway.

It was the last thought she had for a few hours as sleep eventually overtook her.

REACTIONS?

High-stress situations will give us a glimpse into Elle that we usually do not see . . . She's not quite as confident in herself as she would have us believe.