This takes place about 4 days after Christmas.

WARNING: Some Language, Nudity, Sexuality . . . (Depending on your imagination, this should be nothing worse than anything on Prime Time television.)

"Elle? You home?"

Silence greeted him as Dick let himself into Elle's apartment at around nine that morning. He only had a few minutes before he needed to get back out on patrol, so he quickly carried two boxes of his personal belongings in and set them on the dining room table. As much as he liked the fact that his apartment was in one of the worst neighborhoods in Bludhaven, he didn't like it so much for Elle.

He had, in fact, chosen his apartment for its location. It put him in the thick of things, and as Nightwing, it gave him a place close by that he could retreat to if he were injured on patrol. But the idea of Elle coming home at two o'clock in the morning from work in that neighborhood . . . If she could be attacked in her decent neighborhood, the chances of that being repeated in his were far greater, and it terrified him.

No, it was better to give up his apartment and move in here. That was the thing about Bludhaven. Crime was equal opportunity in this city. It was everywhere. Besides, he was going to keep his nest . . . the apartment he rented anonymously above his old one where he stored most of his Nightwing paraphernalia. He would see about creating some secret storage in Elle's extra bedroom and split his equipment between the two. He thought he could create a false wall in the large walk-in closet that would work well.

Elle had been busy making room for his things. A shelf on the entertainment center had been cleared for him, and she had rearranged a grouping of pictures on the wall so that it could include some of his photos as well. He opened one of the boxes that contained books, a few movies, and some pictures; pulling out the one of him and his parents and another that contained Bruce and Alfred, and set them on the table. He had more of Damian and Tim, but only one that had Jason in it. Although Alfred had been snapping pictures left and right during Christmas. Dick would make sure that he received copies of those as well.

After living with a butler for years, Dick had gotten into the bad habit of just leaving his stuff wherever it fell. Elle had been trying to break him of that. He was better than he had been, but he saw evidence of his presence throughout the living room. His workout clothes were still laying where he had left them near the front door, he noticed, frowning.

Elle was usually quick to get his gym bag out of the living room or to harangue him into moving it. He glanced at the clock again. It was too early for Elle to have left for rehearsals. She must have gone out to run some errands, he decided, and hadn't taken the time to straighten yet this morning.

Taking a moment, he stopped to see if he could 'feel' her. Cedric had told him recently that the bond's limits would increase over time until they could not only sense one another's emotions over a great distance, but could eventually locate each other physically the same way.

That would be a neat trick, Dick thought. They were only just shy of three months into their bonding, so he could usually only sense Elle's emotions if she were close to him right now; except the distress during an extended separation or she was in real danger. That was part of the reason behind his giving her the whistle keyring with the locator embedded in it. Eventually, he would be able to find her anywhere on the planet, but they were still years away from that ability.

He didn't expect to be receiving anything at the moment, but Dick 'felt' a wave of distress that didn't belong to him.

What?

He concentrated on Elle and focused. Was she in danger?

No, it was not that kind of distress . . . But what? Where was she? She had to be close for him to feel her at all. Was she home?

Dick's eyes snapped open. If she was home, why hadn't she come out to greet him? He had thought she had gone out.

Fear swept through him as he ran to the bedroom; pulling out his gun. Home invasions weren't unheard of even in Elle's neighborhood, although her building had its own security.

"Elle?" Dick shoved open the door and found her. The relief was immediate and great. Suddenly he felt like his legs weighed a hundred pounds. He tucked his service weapon back into its holster.

When she didn't acknowledge him right away, however, the concern was back in a rush.

"Elle, baby? What's wrong?"

A moan greeted him. Dick was around the bed and kneeling beside her in a second flat.

She was sweaty and clammy. Was she sick? He thought she didn't get sick . . .

"Elle, speak to me, baby! What's going on?" He ran a hand through her hair, pushing the sweaty strands off of her face.

"Dick?" Elle opened her eyes and blinked up at him. "I don't feel so good," she admitted, miserably.

"What happened, sweetheart?" She didn't have a fever, he noted with relief, but that just made her symptoms that much harder to diagnose.

"I don't know," she whined. "I woke up feeling nauseous."

"Have you ever had something like this before?"

"No," she sniffled into her pillow. "Never. I felt fine when I went to bed last night."

Dick thought back to the previous evening. "We had Chinese for dinner," he murmured.

Food poisoning?

It was possible. They each had separate items from the menu, although they had each taken bites of the other's meal. Dick did a sound check of his own body, but he felt fine. Maybe he just didn't eat enough of her food to have made him ill. He would toss out that particular restaurant's menu, however. He didn't want a repeat of this.

"I'm sorry, baby," Dick sympathized. "It will probably pass quickly though if it came from the food. Have you thrown up yet?"

Elle buried her face under the covers and groaned.

Well, that answered that question.

"You should probably call in sick to work," Dick suggested gently. Tonight was one of Elle's nights to sing, but she couldn't perform in this condition.

A sob reached him through the blankets.

"Ah, Elle, don't cry," he begged. "Do you want me to get you something?" He hated to hear Elle crying.

"I w-want to sing," she sobbed, piteously.

"But you can't go on stage like this," he told her reasonably.

"Maybe it will go away in time?"

She really did heal up a lot faster than the normal person. He supposed it was possible, but he hated to get her hopes up and then have them dashed later.

"Maybe," he admitted cautiously. "But you should still call Randi, and give her a heads up, just in case."

The sigh was just barely audible beneath the covers. "Can you call?"

Wow! She must really feel bad . . .

"Sure, baby. Where's your cell phone?"

"On the table in the living room," she pulled the blankets down. "It's probably finished charging by now."

"Right."

He found it sitting on the little table Elle used to keep her keys on and toss the mail. He found Randi's number and hit call. As he waited for her to pick up, Dick looked at the photo of the two of them dancing that first night. Elle had put it up on the wall in a place of honor. You couldn't miss it when you walked into the apartment, being directly opposite the front door.

That had been a turning point in his life . . . The best thing that had ever happened to him. Dick thought back to those first terrible weeks after his parents had died so long ago. He had wondered then why he had lived and had wished often during that time that he had joined them when his pain had been too great to bear.

This, he decided, this was the reason he had continued to live when his world had crumbled around him. For that moment . . . His fingers traced Elle's face in the picture. She'd truly loved him; even then.

Randi was accommodating. Elle had covered for her numerous times, after all. She asked to talk to her, and Dick brought the phone over to the bed.

"Randi wants to talk to you," he murmured to the mound of covers.

Instead of pulling the blankets from her head, a hand peeked out to take the phone. Dick smiled and set the cell into it; watching it disappear back under the covers.

"I have to go now," he told her. "Are you sure you don't need anything before I leave?"

Elle peeked out of the blankets at him; shaking her head. "Go," she croaked.

Dick leaned in and kissed her forehead. Elle grimaced, and yanked the covers back over her head.

"Ew, Dick," she groaned. "I'm gross."

He chuckled and patted the mound. "Keep your phone nearby," he ordered, "and call me if you need me."

Her hand peeked out and waved him away.

Poor baby . . . He would swing by in a few hours and check on her.

"You sound miserable." Randi's voice drifted through the phone.

"Makes sense," Elle told her, "since that's the way I feel."

"What's wrong with you," her friend asked. "You never get sick."

"Dick thinks its food poisoning. We had Chinese takeout last night." Elle fought back another wave of nausea. Just the thought of Chinese had her stomach churning and her head spinning.

"Dick didn't sound sick when I spoke to him," Randi said. "I thought I heard him say he was going back out to work?"

"He just left," Elle told her. "And we had different items on the menu."

"No sharing?"

"Just a couple of bites between us," Elle swallowed a mouthful of saliva. "Ugh, please, can we talk about something else?"

Randi laughed a little. "Sure," she said. "But if he had a few bites of your food, he should be feeling sick as well."

"Nnnrgh," Elle groaned; no longer listening as she contemplated a run to the restroom.

"Okay, okay, I'll let you go," Randi told her. "Don't worry about tonight. I'll get ahold of Brian and Morris for you. Call me, though, if you start to feel better."

"Don't you mean if I start to feel worse?"

"No. If you start to feel worse, you call Dick," her friend said. "If you start to feel better, then call me and we'll talk some more. Later, then."

Dick stopped by the apartment during his lunchbreak to check on Elle. He had planned to eat his Chinese leftovers, but decided to throw out the whole lot of it since Elle got sick. If he remembered correctly, there should still be some lunchmeat. He could make a sandwich.

As he opened the door, a delicious aroma struck him.

Oh my God, what is that?

Dick went straight for the kitchen and lifted the lid of the skillet simmering on the stove. Chicken Cacciatore . . . One of his favorites! There was a salad and homemade dressing sitting on the counter, and a towel covering what he knew was fresh baked bread. He peeked in the oven and saw cheese-stuffed shell pasta baking. He closed the door and wandered back into the living room.

Had Randi come over to cook? He didn't think she was Italian. This had all the signs and smells of an 'Elle' meal, but when he had left here three hours ago, she had looked like death warmed over.

He headed in the direction of the bedroom, but heard the shower as he neared the bathroom. He looked into the bedroom anyway, and saw that the linens had been changed and the bed made.

Huh, she was obviously feeling better now.

After mentioning Elle's illness to his superiors he was cleared to take an hour lunch. Grinning, Dick stripped off his belt and laid it on the dresser. He began stripping and draping his uniform over the chair to prevent wrinkles. A mid-day shower sounded pretty darn good right about now.

Elle was shampooing her hair as Dick eased open the curtain and stepped into the shower/tub combo behind her. She was going to kill him for this, but it didn't stop him. He slid his hands around her waist as he kissed her shoulder.

Elle screamed and tried to turn around, but slipped. Dick caught her and pulled her up against his chest, as she clutched at his shoulders for purchase.

"You're feeling better, I see," he chuckled.

Elle blinked at him; gasping, and immediately slapped at his chest.

"Oooh, I'm going to kill you, Dick Grayson," she shrieked at him.

He caught her wrists before she did him serious damage. "I have no doubt that you'll find a way to make me regret this, but I'm not going to regret it right now," he murmured; enjoying the feel of her slippery body against his. "And you smell better now, too."

"You jerk! Now, I've got shampoo in my eyes," Elle complained; pouting.

"Ah, damn! I'm sorry," Dick muttered as he backed her under the spray.

He helped her rinse her hair and eyes of the soap; supporting her in case she felt wobbly after her scare. It had been mean of him, but then so had dumping a tarantula on him while he was sleeping. If she was still mad at him at the end of the shower, he would remind her of paybacks, and she would huff and forgive him.

He was just happy that she was no longer sick.

Now that the last of the bubbles had been banished, Dick swooped in for a kiss; allowing the water to run over his head and face. He no longer worried overmuch about little things like breathing when kissing Elle, and apparently she didn't either as her arms moved to encircle him.

She tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash, and felt like heaven as his hands wandered liberally. She moaned into his mouth and leaned into him.

"You are better now, aren't you," he asked her when they came up for air.

She laid her head on his chest, murmuring the affirmative.

"How much better?" The question was leading, and Elle proved that she was psychic by reading his mind. He gasped, and murmured in pleasure. "That much, eh?"

She turned her face up wearing nothing but a sleepy smile.

"You sure?" As much as he wanted this, he did not want to hurt her.

"Jerk," she grumbled in mock annoyance.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you still angry with me?"

"I'll strangle you later," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Now, shut up and kiss me!"

He knew it! She had forgiven him already.

Dick smiled even as he pressed her back against the tiles; eager and willing to follow her imperious orders.

God, how he loved this woman!

The meal was fabulous! But he was sleepy now. Not enough time to even catch a power nap after making love and eating a large meal. He only had five minutes left before he needed to get back out there and resume his shift.

"You amaze me," he said for what must have been the thousandth time.

"You've had my chicken cacciatore before," Elle laughed, taking his plate into the kitchen.

"The food was, too, but that wasn't what I meant. I told my boss that you were dying," Dick told her; picking up the salad bowl and the bread. He followed her into the kitchen. "I thought you were dying!"

Elle snorted. "You did not, or you wouldn't have left," she said knowingly.

He set the dishes down and wrapped her up in his arms. Nuzzling her neck, he agreed with her. "No. You're right. I wouldn't have."

Elle leaned back against him; luxuriating as much in the feeling of his love as she did his body. She turned her head so that he could kiss her lips.

"Mm . . . You better get going, Officer Grayson," she smiled against his lips. "Or you'll be late. Bludhaven is waiting for you to save her."

"Like you saved me . . ." He pressed on last kiss to her forehead before letting her go and moving back to the bedroom to retrieve his belt.

"You're still staying home tonight, right," Dick asked, reentering the living room as he finished buckling the tools of his trade around his waist.

"I'm feeling so much better . . ." she began, but tapered off at Dick's look of disbelief. "What?"

"You could barely lift your head off of the pillow four hours ago," he stated.

"I heal fast."

Dick shook his head. "No. Elle . . . Just no. Stay home and get well."

"Dick, I feel fine now," she argued. "It was just a passing thing!"

"Then give it til tomorrow to pass," he said firmly. "Elle, you were really sick!"

She pursed her lips and leaned against the couch; swinging the kitchen towel from hand to hand. "Funny, you weren't all that worried about how sick I was when you climbed into the shower with me!"

Dick frowned. "That's not fair. I would have left you alone if you hadn't been feeling better!"

She smiled smugly; knowing she got him. "Exactly!"

"Fine," he said. He wasn't happy about it, but she had proven her point. He radioed in to dispatch that he was back on duty and reached for the door.

Elle followed him to the door. "Are you going to stop by the club later?"

Dick turned to face her. He could feel the sudden nervousness that ran through her. She thought he was angry with her. He wasn't, but he couldn't help but worry about her. It was hard to remember sometimes that she didn't need the same recovery time as ordinary women.

"No," he said, but quickly clarified before she could be too disappointed. "I have a lead that I need to follow tonight. I'll be by at closing to follow you home, though."

The nervousness went away and warmth followed.

"You don't have to do that anymore, you know," she reminded him. "I think the car is finally reliable enough to suit even you."

"I'll be there," Dick growled. "Lock the door behind me."

She blew him a kiss and closed the door in his face. He waited until he heard the lock click into place before returning to patrol.

A smile lifted his lips in the elevator as he watched the floors scroll by. Not even an argument could tarnish a great afternoon, but then again, their arguments were seldom knock-down, drag-outs. The two of them usually were able to sort out whatever their problems were in a few short minutes, in fact. If that was the worst they had to worry about, Dick thought optimistically, then life was looking up . . . Finally!

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