Today is a TWO-FER! Make certain you don't miss the previous chapter. :D

WARNING: A Bit of Strong Language . . .

The yellow police tape was gone when Dick and Elle stepped off the elevator onto the eleventh floor. Bruce and Alfred and the boys had wanted to help them get settled in, but the couple had nixed that idea. They both knew that their homecoming would be an emotional affair, and they wanted to have privacy for that; although they had talked about the distraction that having company would provide, it would only push back the inevitable. Elle simply preferred to deal with it alone.

It was only a few feet from the elevator that she began shaking. Dick was immediately solicitous, but it wasn't their door that she was staring at, but that of their neighbor's. Her chin wobbled dangerously and her eyes welled quickly with tears. It took Dick a moment to remember that the husband of the couple living next door to them had been killed when he had responded to Elle's screams that night.

"Are you going to be alright," he asked, wondering if they should have taken Bruce up on his offer to take them in for a few days after all.

"H-He t-tried to help m-me," she began sobbing into Dick's shoulder.

His arms tightened around her. This had to be just one of the many reasons behind Elle's fluctuating emotions; that deep grief that he couldn't seem to touch. For the first couple of days after the surgery, she had managed to keep most of it at bay, but he felt it brush over his soul at odd times. He could only guess what horrors she had been put through that day. He had so foolishly chosen to ignore the fear he had felt in his concern for Bruce and that night's mission; guessing that it was something as inconsequential as a bad dream.

He had thought her safe at home in bed; taken comfort in that her building had security. It had taken him a while to understand how the pain had escaped his notice until he learned that the assassin had been after him, too. His beautiful Elle had realized that and tried to dampen what he had been feeling in an attempt to keep him safe and prevent him from coming back in the middle of it all, to possibly his own death.

She had foolishly thought he could survive without her. He knew better . . . Hopefully now, so did she.

"Do you want to go to the manor tonight instead," he asked her softly. "We don't have to come back here at all, you know. We can look for a new place and I can arrange for our things to be moved without you ever having to step foot back into the apartment."

"No," she shook her head even as she clutched at his jacket. "Mook's been by himself for several days."

He smiled against her hair; tightening his hold on her. "Bruce said Alfred oversaw the cleaning of the apartment while we were laid up. He would have seen to it that Mook was fed."

"Are you sure?" She looked up at him warily.

Nothing could be worse than if they returned to discover a dead tarantula in their apartment. Alfred hadn't mentioned the spider, however, and Dick suddenly was concerned that maybe the little beasty had either escaped during the home invasion or might have indeed perished. But no, if Alfred had discovered a dead tarantula, or even a live one, the man would have mentioned it.

"Do you want to wait out here while I check," he offered, hoping she would let him.

Elle shook her head. "No! Don't go in without me!"

"What?" he glanced down at the sound of barely restrained panic.

"Just . . . just don't," she said, refusing to explain herself. "We do it together."

He nodded. "Sure, baby. Whatever you want."

"Don't call me that," she asked him.

"You never minded before?"

She grimaced. "Don't patronize me, Dick."

He sighed, reaching deep for patience. She just went through an agonizing and terrifying ordeal. He needed to make allowances for her upset. This had to be incredibly hard on her.

"Sorry," he mumbled into her hair. Don't say anything else . . .

They approached their apartment together with the trepidation of entering a house of horror. The memories as frightening as any ghosts.

The door to their left opened and another neighbor stepped out into the hall with her son. The little boy with the boa constrictor named Turtle, Dick reasoned. This must be David.

"Oh! You're both back," the woman exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

Elle straightened and smiled at her and the little boy. "Hello, Claudia, David. We've recovered very nicely, thank you."

Claudia returned the smile. "We weren't sure how long you'd be gone, so we asked the superintendent to let us take care of Bob until you returned. We have him in his old terrarium in our apartment."

Bob? Oh, she meant Mook . . . Elle must not have told her of the arachnid's name change.

A lot of Elle's tension seemed to slip away at the news. "Oh, thank you, Claudia! You cannot know how much that means to us. I was so worried about him."

Elle, a little more worried than Dick, but he was still thankful he wouldn't be walking into the apartment to a dead spider. Still, he was kind of growing fond of the furry, little beastie. He kept his mouth shut; and not just for the boy's sake. Elle often smacked his arm or shoulder when he called the tarantula anything other than his newly-bestowed moniker.

"It's no problem," she assured them. "I have to run. David has a dentist checkup right now, but you can pick up Bob anytime this evening."

"Uh, h-how is . . ." Elle glanced over her shoulder at the neighbor's door on their right.

Claudia's face fell a little, and pulled David against her side in an unconscious move. "She left the next day, I heard. Hasn't been back since that I know of."

An awkward silence fell over them.

Dick felt Elle's trembling return. "We appreciate you taking care of M- . . . Bob for us," he said. "I'll come over sometime after six to get him."

Claudia nodded. She hesitated, and then spoke quickly. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you," she told Elle.

Elle plastered on a watery smile; giving Dick a one-armed hug. "Dick saved me," she admitted softly. "Almost did himself in in the process, though."

Claudia's eyes met his, curiously, but didn't ask. "I guess having a police officer as your significant other can come in handy," she said, with false cheer.

Elle didn't seem to notice the other woman's discomfort. Dick figured that the neighbor thought that his work had followed him home that night. He didn't blame her for the misconception. The truth of the matter wasn't anymore reassuring.

"He's my hero," Elle told her, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

He kissed her forehead. He couldn't help it. Those looks had to be rewarded.

"We'll let you go," Dick said; eager to bring the uncomfortable conversation to an end.

They had a traumatic afternoon to look forward to, and he wanted to get it done and over with, and maybe they could call for a pizza and spend the evening in bed. For all that they spent the last couple of days sharing a hospital room; it didn't provide the same comfort as cuddling together in their own bed under several layers of blankets.

They moved back to their door as Dick produced the key to the new lock. Claudia and David moved passed them toward the elevator. He was thankful for them for the distraction, however. It made entering the apartment less intimidating; the dread they had both been feeling had dissipated somewhat.

Elle stood there hugging herself as Dick closed and locked the door behind them. There was a new deadbolt that had been missing before and a security bar-latch to replace the previous chain. Dick had his own ideas for adding an extra measure of security; something he would look into tomorrow.

He turned around as she stared at the newly cleaned living space. Dick noticed several things that were missing or had been replaced; the new side table that stood in place of the one that had been the catch-all for their keys and mail and where they charged their cell phones was the most prominent difference. Books and movies had been returned to their shelves, but in different locations than before. Pieces of pottery were gone and new picture frames accented personal photos. Personal effects were in the wrong place.

It was surreal and more than a little disturbing.

Dick hadn't been present when these things had been destroyed or damaged. He had only caught the barest glimpse of the mess the apartment had been when he had first arrived on the scene. But now it gave him the willies, seeing the place put back together . . . wrong. Instead of making it less obvious that an intruder had been here, as he was certain Alfred had intended; it made it almost glaringly so.

The apartment was chilly, making it feel even less inviting. Dick moved to the thermostat and cranked it up. He wondered how long they would be here before Elle agreed to move. He didn't have to ask. It was only a matter of time before it happened. If he felt this uncomfortable; how much more would she?

As he suspected, the two of them spent the first day and night within the confines of the bedroom. Nothing in here had been touched during the home-invasion, although Dick noticed evidence of the forensic guys' presence, even in here. Luckily, Elle didn't seem to notice.

It have been a quiet evening with only a bit of music playing. Dick had brought Mook back to his own terrarium in the living room; a piece that had managed to escape without damage. He tossed in a couple of crickets that Claudia had given him from their stock, and returned to the bedroom with Elle.

Sleep had been elusive for him; not that he hadn't been tired. Dick was exhausted. But Elle's emotions were all over the place. She went from numb to frightened; from uncomfortable to grief-stricken. When he had fallen asleep, he had dreamed of watching her weep from afar; unable to draw near enough to comfort her. She had been inconsolable, and when he had awoken later, it was with tears staining his own face.

Elle had been turned away from him, so Dick had rolled over against her back and wrapped his arm around her. He entangled his legs with hers and drew the blankets up to their chins and settled in for a long night. She had cried several times throughout the night. And although she had allowed him to hold her, Elle had not turned to him . . . not even once.

He felt so helpless in the face of her emotional turmoil, and anger against the nameless assassin grew in his breast. What had been done to her? He could only guess because Elle wasn't talking; at least not yet. He hoped she would eventually. He hoped she would with him. While he didn't relish hearing about all the ways he had failed her that night, he knew that the confession would be cathartic for her . . . And hopefully, in some ways, for him as well.

The department had let him off for six weeks to recover. Then he would be back to the joys of paper pushing for the foreseeable future, until his sergeant was reasonably assured of his return to his previous health. But it wasn't his physical health that was a problem.

By the end of the first week, he was ready to pull out his hair.

He had helped Elle reorganize the living room to more closely reflect the way it had been before. They had gone shopping one day to replace a few knick-knacks together; hoping to create some new memories in the process. All in all, it hadn't been a bad afternoon, but Elle was still suffering; still sad in ways that Dick didn't understand. Worse; ways she refused to help him understand.

She hadn't allowed him to do more than hold her at night, and he was getting scared that the attack had been more than Elle had let on. When he kissed her, she allowed it, but what little passion had been aroused was only on his side. When his hands would stroke her, Elle would catch them and move them to lay still on her hip or her stomach. And when, after a few days, he had gently pressed the issue, he had been left sitting alone in their bed in dismay as Elle had fled to the bathroom to cry.

Bruce had taken over the decision making when the two of them had first arrived at the hospital. He had spoken to the doctors of each of them; going so far as to claim them already married so he would have a say in the care of each of them and be kept apprised of their condition. Bruce would know if the doctors had discovered what Dick was, himself, strongly suspecting. He had to swallow his upset and anger that Bruce had kept such an important piece of information away from him. Dick still held out hope that he was somehow wrong . . . But what else could be making his Elle react to his advances in this way?

He dialed Bruce's cell and waited; his thoughts unwillingly traveling back to Elle's condition when he and Tim had found her at the bottom of the ravine. Just tiny scraps of material and a short, silk robe was all the covering she had on. He hadn't looked; hadn't thought to look at more than her more obvious injuries. It had been freezing cold, and he had only thought to cover her up and get her warm.

"Dick? What's wrong," Bruce's voice came over the phone.

Direct and to the point. No greeting or pleasantries. After what had occurred, Bruce probably could only imagine the trouble that was bound to follow. No thought that Dick was calling him to grab lunch together.

Perhaps he knew more of what was going on in Dick's home than Dick himself . . .

"Bruce, do you have a few minutes? I need to ask you something," Dick came right out.

There was the slightest hesitation, and then Dick could hear him making excuses over the phone line. Great. He had interrupted a meeting.

It took only a couple of minutes, and the sound of a door closing before Bruce came back on the line.

"Go ahead," he told him.

"Y-You spoke to Elle's doctor after we were brought in." It was a statement. Dick knew damn well that he did. Bruce had told him as much. "He told you about Elle's condition."

A pause . . . It was not the reassuring kind.

"He spoke to me, yes."

No other information was forthcoming. Bruce was waiting; obviously unsure of what all Dick knew and unwilling to accidentally let something slip he didn't want his son to know about.

Ice settled into Dick's stomach. "Did you tell me everything he said about her?"

"Have you spoken to Elle about this?"

Dick closed his eyes. Bruce was avoiding answering his question. He knew . . . something.

"I'm asking you," Dick told him, his voice sharp. "What exactly did the doctor tell you happened to her?"

"Dick, you know all of this. Why are you calling?"

He felt sick.

"Did . . ." he swallowed hard, and tried again. "D-Did that bastard . . . ? Ah, God," Dick dropped his head in his free hand. He was shaking, and it was coming through in his voice. He struggled to calm himself.

"Bruce, did he . . . do something to Elle . . . Something . . . sexual?"

"What?" Bruce's voice sounded vaguely surprised. Because Dick figured it out or . . .?

"Did that bastard rape her," he suddenly snarled into the phone.

Dick could hear Bruce's breath catch.

"Oh no! God, no, Dick," he assured him quickly, relief in his voice. "No, he didn't. Elle was physically assaulted, but not sexually. Did you really think . . . What made you think this?"

"You're sure? You aren't hiding this from me, are you; thinking that I might try to kill that son of bitch?" Dick gasped out. "You need to tell me the truth!"

"Dick, I promise you, nothing like that happened according to the doctor," Bruce told him.

"Then why . . .?" He cut himself off. Relief warred with confusion and worry. The fear didn't leave; it only redirected itself.

"Why . . . What, Dick?" Bruce's voice was soft now. Inquiring. He was worried. This was why he had wanted them to come back to the manor after leaving the hospital.

"Nothing . . . It's nothing," Dick mumbled. "If you're sure . . .?"

"I'm positive, Dick. It is standard procedure in these events to check for sexual assault. There was nothing that pointed to that scenario." Bruce sighed. "Dick, why did you suspect this in the first place?"

"She's distant," Dick admitted. "I mean, she lets me hold her, but . . ." God, he didn't want to go into this . . . Not with anyone, but particularly not with Bruce. "But that's it. She shies away from anything intimate. And last night . . . She ran away from me to cry in the bathroom.

"I can't sleep at night without dreaming about her weeping; grieving for something . . . It's like the knowledge is right there, but hidden somehow; just out of sight. And I can't ever reach her," Dick gasped out. "I don't know how to help her, Bruce! I don't know what I need to do to make this better!"

"Dick, I'm . . . sorry," Bruce answered helplessly.

Dick frowned. Bruce never answered helplessly. "You know something," he accused him.

"No."

"Don't lie to me," Dick growled. "Not about this! Not about Elle! Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is! If you know, then you damn well better tell me!"

"I . . . I can't, chum," Bruce said, defeated. "I'm sorry, but this is something that you are going to have to work out with Elle for yourself."

"What the fuck," Dick burst out.

"I promised her," Bruce interrupted his tirade before it could get out of hand. "I'm sorry, Dick, but I promised her I wouldn't say anything."

"You talked with her about this . . . this thing? She told you what it is?" Dick couldn't believe it.

"I advised her to talk with you about it," Bruce told him. "Elle . . . She thinks she's protecting you, Dick. I'm sorry. That's all I can tell you. I probably shouldn't have said that much." He sighed. "I need to go. I was in a meeting when you called and they're waiting. Just . . . I don't know. I'm not the right one to ask about stuff like this. You're just going to have to talk to her."

Dick blew out a breath in frustration, and leaned back on the couch. "Right. Talk to her. Okay. For what it's worth, thanks, Bruce."

"You don't have to thank me. I didn't do anything," he answered apologetically.

"You took the call," Dick said. "I appreciate that."

"I'll always take the call," Bruce said softly. "Good luck."

The line went dead as Bruce hung up, and Dick stared at the ceiling. One worry was relieved, only to have another raise its head in its place. But he was grateful. Elle hadn't been raped . . . For that he could only thank the heavens.

He closed his eyes as he breathed through it. Now, he knew at least that he wasn't imagining it. Something else had happened that drew Elle away from him when he knew that she needed him most. He frowned in thought.

This wouldn't be easy. Elle's already proven she can keep a secret.

REACTIONS?

Ah, we all knew this would happen, didn't we? He suspects . . . something . . . is wrong.