WARNING: Some STRONG Language; Emotionally-Charged Scenes . . .
Dick was in the extra bedroom going through his gear. He lost the top to one of his three uniforms. It wasn't something he could repair himself, so Alfred had promised to make a new one for him over the next few days and deliver it. He was basically grounded from patrol for another two weeks before Leslie would give him leave to go out again. Normally, he would go as soon as he felt up to it, but Elle would throw a fit if he tried to patrol before Leslie allowed it.
"Dick?"
He turned his head and saw Elle leaning against the doorjamb.
"What's up, Ba- . . ." he swallowed the endearment.
"I was wondering, when do you think we would be able to resume my self-defense classes," she asked softly.
He caught his breath. Of course, she would want to prevent this from ever happening again. If she couldn't count of him to protect her . . . Guilt washed over him again. He had failed her spectacularly this time.
"I can show you a few things this afternoon if you like," he said over his shoulder as he began restocking his utility compartments in his gloves and boot; unable to face her.
Suddenly her hands slid around his waist; startling him. It was the first time she had come to him for affection in days; the first time she had chosen to touch him rather than merely react to his embraces. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her, but didn't move for fear she would retreat.
She leaned into him; laying her head on the back of his shoulder and hugging him from behind.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. Please, don't blame yourself. Please, Dick."
He set down the items he was holding and reached up to stroke her arms. He held her there, just relishing her touch. He didn't believe her, but he wouldn't refuse any contact at this point.
"I should have been there for you," he said. "I should have trained you harder; taught you more. Damian was right."
She shifted position; settling her chin on his shoulder and peering at the side of his face. "What was Damian right about?"
"You need to learn more offense. You need to know more than how to break a hold; you need to know how to neutralize and immobilize your attacker." Dick dropped his head down into his hand. "I've been so stupid. I could have lost you."
"No! Don't do this," Elle begged him. "If we're passing out blame, then how much more of it belongs to me?"
"You?" Dick turned around to face her. "You should be able to feel safe in your own home!"
"This guy didn't knock on my door by accident, Dick," Elle told him. "He came here specifically for me. Yes, he was after the both of us, but the things he said made me believe that I was the primary target; not you. I was the reason he was hired. This was my fault."
"No, your brother . . ."
"Wasn't the one who hired him," she interrupted that train of thought.
"How do you know? Who else could it have been?" Dick frowned.
Elle shrugged. "I don't know who else could have been behind it. But Aiden . . . Well, he might have stopped by my room at the hospital."
Dick leapt to his feet; scowling down at her. "He what?!"
She blinked in surprise. "We talked. That was all . . . just talked."
"What could he have wanted to talk about?" Dick glared at her. "How the hell did he even know you were in the hospital unless he was the one who had hired the guy?"
"Apparently, the nurse called and left a message on Poppa's cell phone. Poppa had left it in Aiden's apartment a week before he died," she explained. "Anyway, he said he was curious to know who had wanted to kill me."
"As far as I know, he's the only one who'd celebrate if something happened to you," Dick growled.
Elle looked away. "That's not entirely true," she said hesitantly.
"Really? And how do you figure that?"
"If I died, Aiden would lose his chance to regain his position in the company." At Dick's confusion, Elle continued. "If something happened to me, Poppa's majority shares would pass directly to you and from you to Bruce. Aiden would never be able to get his hands on it."
He was shaking his head. "He still can't touch it. The company belongs to you now, Elle. You own controlling interest."
Elle turned away and rubbed the back of her neck. "Uh, yeah . . . About that . . ."
"About what?" He stared at her retreating back.
"There's something else that you should probably know."
She moved out of the spare bedroom and back into the living room. Dick followed her; closing the door behind him.
"Something else? Elle? What's going on?"
She moved past the seating arrangement and into the space she had designated for her office. Opening a drawer, Elle pulled out an envelope and tossed it on top of her desk.
"That came by special messenger the night of the attack," she backed away from it, to give Dick the space to pick it up and slide the documents inside the envelope out. "It's a court order for a competency hearing to be held in . . . Um, a little more than two weeks from now."
He gaped at her. "What?"
"I suspect that Aiden has bribed a number of doctors and others to testify that I am not only incapable of running Poppa's company, but also my life." She leaned against the dining room table and watched him process the news. "Aiden is petitioning the court to be appointed my durable power of attorney in both finances and mental health, and as my guardian. As such, he would be able to regain control of the company, the monies that Poppa left me, and even go so far as to institutionalize me, if he chose to do so."
Dick stared at her in horror. He glanced down at the papers; reading them, but it only confirmed what she was saying.
"My God! He would seriously do this to you; his own sister?"
"Half-sister, as he is so fond of pointing out." Elle said. "But his plan would only work if I were alive."
Dick tossed the papers back onto the desk in disgust. "It could also be a red herring," he told her. "Something to throw the police off of his scent."
"You know, I accused him of that," Elle said, thoughtfully. "If this was just about the two of us, I think I would agree with you, but this is just as much about the company and his inheritance as anything. He wants Poppa's company. For him to get that, I must live. He can still get his jollies from tossing me into a padded cell and forgetting about me."
"We need to get married," Dick said suddenly.
Elle surprised him by smirking. "We are married."
"Officially," he replied dryly. "The lie Bruce told to the hospital won't stand up in court. For that, we're going to need a marriage license."
Although she agreed that marrying was a good idea, Dick needed to understand that it wasn't a foolproof plan. She hated bursting his bubble like this.
"You do realize, that if the courts declare me incompetent, there's a good chance that they could annul the marriage."
Dick was immediately furious. "They can't do that!"
"Yes, they can. If I'm incapable of making my own decisions, how can I reasonably enter into a marriage contract? Worst case scenario: you would be brought up on charges for taking advantage of my weakened mental status for personal financial gain."
Dick hesitated, shocked, but then continued his tirade. "That's ridiculous! As Bruce's heir, I stand to inherit far more than you are worth, even with your father's company thrown in the mix!"
Elle bit her lip at the bitter irony she was about to point out to him. "True, but you don't have any of that yet, and Bruce is still young and in excellent health, despite his . . . um, hobby. You're living arrangements showed you to be living in one of the worst hovels in the lower east side. Since you've began dating me, those living arrangements have improved dramatically."
"That was my choice," Dick ground out. "I didn't want to sponge off of Bruce's money! I wanted to be close to where the action is! Where I lived made perfect sense."
Elle wasn't impressed by his argument. "How many of your cop friends live as poorly as you do? . . . Did," she amended. "Close to the action? How is the judge supposed to interpret that? You are Dick Grayson now; not Nightwing. Where you lived made absolutely no sense for any person coming from a privileged background.
"It made it look as though you and Bruce had a falling out. You could have even assumed that Bruce cut you out of the will," she concluded.
Dick stalked toward her; stopping only inches away. "You know that's not true! Elle, what are you trying to do?"
"I'm playing devil's advocate," she told him. "This is what the lawyers will bring up, and if you think about it, you would realize that. This will be their argument and it will make you look like a gold digger and an opportunist."
"Bruce will prove that wrong. He can tell the courts he never disinherited me, nor did he have plans to," Dick remarked. "Not only that, but I didn't know who you were when we first met."
"But you didn't necessarily know that he wouldn't, and can you prove that you didn't know who I was at the time we met?" Elle spoke reasonably, tilting her head to look up at him. "You're looming again."
Dick loomed over her and growled, "I don't loom!"
A grin suddenly broke over her face and Elle laughed with delight. "Of course, you don't! I don't know what I was thinking!"
Dick pulled her into his arms; nestling his cheek into her hair. "I won't let him do this to you, Elle! I won't fail you again."
She shifted until she could look up at him; her face mere inches from his own.
"You've never failed me," she declared. "Never! Not once."
He sighed. "Elle . . ."
She twisted to free her arms and brought her hands up to cup his face. "You have not failed me, Dick! You've saved me! I won't have you believing this lie."
His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. It was close, though.
"I love you," he whispered; lowering his face, but not quite touching her. That small bit of space was left for her to cross.
"As I love you," she declared hotly, and then she crossed it; her lips taking his in a searing kiss.
The passion was back, and he rejoiced.
"What are you doing," Elle asked as she walked into the living room. She was already dressed for bed in a pair of his flannel pajama bottoms rolled up and a mid-riff showing, white t-shirt.
Dick had just finished fiddling with the camera. It had somehow wound up behind the entertainment center again. Even Alfred had managed to miss it back there. He smirked. Considering the last video that he and Elle had made, that was probably a good thing. Alfred's manners were impeccable, but even he might have been curious enough to take a peek.
He probably should have erased the bit of video after Elle's last prank. He didn't relish anyone stumbling onto it and discovering Dick and Elle's debut as porn stars. But, it might be fun to watch some of the stuff they had on here. Their first date was always a favorite. Elle always laughed watching Dick dive into the lake after her. And they both loved Mook's induction into the family.
"Thought we could watch a movie tonight," he told her. "I made popcorn . . . Extra butter" He waved the bowl in front of her enticingly.
Elle smiled and grabbed the bowl; plopping herself on the couch. Dick sat beside her, propped his bare feet on the edge of the coffee table, and wrapped one arm around her as he clicked play with his free hand.
"Don't hog the popcorn this time," he warned.
She grinned and fed him a handful; laughing when half of it missed its mark and fell all over his shirt.
"Behave yourself," he mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn as the first video came up. The bouncing upside down view of the grass and trees. "Your camera skills sucked," he commented, after swallowing.
"I've improved," she bumped his shoulder, playfully.
"Only because you bought a tripod," he came back.
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he nuzzled her neck as she squealed.
He settled back, content. This was what he wanted. Nothing serious . . . Just a bit of normal. Elle laughing as they teased and bantered back and forth; enjoying memories of a carefree time when they were first getting to know one another.
They were both rolling on the floor when the video came up showing Elle dancing and shrieking on the bed after Dick had inadvertently thrown Mook onto her. Then the spider had ran across his foot and it was Dick's turn to dance and yell.
"You screamed like a girl," Elle laughed.
"I screamed like a guy who just had a big, hairy Chihuahua run across his bare foot," Dick countered with a grin.
They threw popcorn at one another as they listened to things crashing in the background and every so often one of them ran past the camera holding a colander out in front of them.
"Who knew tarantulas could run that fast," she commented.
"Who knew they could jump!" Dick shuddered dramatically.
Elle grinned at him. "You do now."
"True that," he admitted.
Elle glanced at the terrarium. "We should have moved Mook over to the coffee table so he could watch the video with us."
Dick stared at her like she grew a second head. "You're kidding, right?"
But the scene changed, and Mook was caught. On the television, Dick and Elle reappeared in front of the camera; laughing, out of breath, and feeling frisky.
"Okay," she shrugged, blushing. "Maybe not. He might not be old enough to watch this part."
They snuggled; only half their attention on what was happening on the screen as they made out on the sofa. They were getting ready to head back into the bedroom as the screen went black, so that when it flickered back to life at the beginning of yet another video, neither was prepared.
Dick turned his head as he watched a close up of Elle on the screen. She adjusted the angle of the camera. He could see the living room behind her.
"What's this? I don't remember this," he said.
"Hm?" Elle hummed against his neck, distracted. She turned her head to look just as the image of herself shushed the camera.
"I'm about to tell Dick he's going to be a daddy! Don't give it away," the television image of Elle whispered to the camera. Someone was knocking on the door in the background.
Dick eyes widened, stunned. Elle froze as she remembered suddenly setting the video camera up right before the hitman burst into the apartment.
He sat up straight and dove for the remote; fumbling it as he hit rewind.
"What?! What was that? What did you just say?!"
Elle snapped out of her shock and grabbed at the remote. "Nooo," she moaned. "No, no, no, no, no!"
Dick jerked the remote out of her reach; gaping at her and then at the screen. "What the hell? Did you just say . . .?"
Pure panic consumed her and she lunged across him in an effort to steal the remote away from him. "No, don't! Oh God, stop! Don't do this!"
"Elle, stop!" Dick held her off and hit play again.
Her face reappeared on the screen. A huge, excited grin on her face as she set up the camera's angle. "Sh," she hushed the camera.
Elle leapt over the coffee table, and tried to turn the TV off manually. "No! No, no, stop! Turn it off," she yelled, hitting the button. The picture flickered to black.
She started fumbling for the camera itself; desperate to yank out and destroy the sim card, even if it meant losing the other videos forever. Dick caught her hands! His face was serious now and determined as he pulled her away from the entertainment center.
"What the hell . . ." He had rewound the video again and flipped the television back on. "Elle, stop it! What are you doing?"
The previous video was fading to black as he fought Elle over the remote again. He managed to hit play by holding the remote over her head, and Elle's picture reappeared on the screen for a third time.
In reality, Elle tried to reach the television again, but Dick pulled her back. She clapped her hands over his ears to prevent him from hearing. She tried to pull his face around; away from the screen. She was crying now; becoming hysterical, but this was too important . . . What he thought he heard her say . . .
"No," she cried. "No, no, Stop! Pleeease . . ." she drew the word out. "Please don't! Please don't! Don't do this! Please, don't do this!"
Dick jerked his face away from her grip, and held Elle by her upper arms. Her upset was becoming alarming, but he had to know . . . He needed to know what she had . . .
"Sh," the recorded Elle said for the fourth time. "I'm about to tell Dick he's going to be a daddy! Don't give it away!"
He blinked. That's what he had thought she had said . . . But Dick had little time to process his shock as Elle collapsed onto her knees; sobbing uncontrollably. He dropped to his knees beside her; pulling her into his arms, he cradled her close.
"No, no, no, no, no . . ." her words were barely coherent. "You're not supposed to know," she cried out. "You weren't supposed to find out!"
In the background, Elle on the video was saying "You're home early." Then the crashing noise that immediately followed brought his attention swiveling up towards the television again.
"Oh, my God," he choked, horrified. "This is . . . Y-You recorded the attack?"
Elle clamped her hands over her ears and bent over in an effort to block it out as she wept with bitter intensity. Dick's mouth hung open, and his stunned gaze remained riveted on the action being played out in front of him.
He watched as Elle tried to get away only to fall when her attacker caught her by the ankle. He flinched at the sound of her hitting the floor. She came up like a pro, just as he had taught her, but before she could run away the bastard tackled her. The furniture covered part of the view, but it hid nothing. He could see that she had attempted to use the lamp as a weapon only to have it taken away from her.
It was only after he watched the assassin punch her in the face repeatedly that he couldn't stand it anymore and turned away. He tucked his face into Elle's shoulder as he felt around blindly for the blasted remote, but his hand couldn't locate it. He had dropped it at some point.
Elle's recorded scream had him looking back up just in time to see her being flung into the demolished side table. There was the source of that bloodied handprint he had glimpsed from the hall later that night. He thought he was going to be sick.
In front of him, Elle was moaning and crying; covering her ears in an effort to block out the sounds that haunted her nightmares. Dick seemed to come to his senses then, and gathered her up into his arms; careful to turn her face away from the television. He helped her cover her ear, placing his hand over hers, and pressed her head against his chest. He stared over her head, an unwilling witness to the horror of that night. Tears dripped off of his chin into her hair.
He needed to turn the damned thing off, but couldn't without letting Elle go. He wanted to take her out of the room, but he wasn't sure he could find the strength to stand himself, let alone carry her as he knew he would have to. So, he just held her; shielding her from reliving that hell as best he could as he forced himself to watch the rest of it. And when the video image was blocked when Elle had shoved it behind the entertainment center, he continued to listen; imagining what was happening from the sounds still emanating from the recording.
Eventually the noises stopped when the assassin was forced to flee the apartment with an unconscious Elle.
He don't know how long they sat there on the living room floor, holding one another and crying in each other's arms. It was only then that he found the strength to finally look for the fallen remote and shut the video off.
That was why he had gotten a busy signal that night, he thought numbly. She had been on the phone with 911.
Then it hit him . . . The baby . . .
"The baby," he choked out the question, but he knew.
He knew.
And suddenly everything . . . Elle's emotions; Bruce's reluctance to share this; all of it . . . made the worst kind of sense now.
"I-I lost it." She finally answered him; her hysteria had run its course and she sounded as numb as he felt. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
His mind, full of the night's revelations, didn't hear it until her voice rose.
"I'm sorry, Dick! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"Sh," he hushed her.
"But it's my fault," Elle burst out. "I should have paid more attention. I should have tried harder. I should have practiced longer . . ."
"What?" He wasn't sure he was following her train of thought. "What are you talking about?"
"If I would have worked harder; listened better; practiced more . . ." Her bottom lip quivered. "I could have stopped this somehow; stopped him!"
"Ah . . . No, Elle. Don't do this to yourself," Dick soothed.
She was shaking her head as she pushed away. There was pain, anguish, and desperation all there in her face; her eyes.
"If I hadn't acted like some kind of fucking diva and took what you and Bruce were trying to teach me seriously, I could have saved you from being shot! I could have . . . I should have saved our b-baby!" She shoved her hands through her hair as she hunched over; pulling at it in her rage at herself. "This is my fault," she cried again. "This all my fault!"
Startled, Dick jerked her into his embrace.
"Sh," he crooned into her hair. "This isn't your fault! None of this is your fault! Do you hear me, baby?"
"I'm sorry," she wept into his neck. "I should have been able to protect it. I'm so sorry!"
"No! Elle, listen to me," he pulled away and cupped her face in his hands; forcing her to look at him. "There was nothing you could have done, baby. That guy was a professional. Nothing that Bruce and I showed you could have stopped him. Do you hear me? He does this shit for a fucking living! You didn't stand a chance against him! This isn't your fault!"
Her eyes searched his for the truth. Her face crumpled after a few seconds, but he thought she finally understood. He pulled her back into his arms; rocking them slowly back and forth there on the living room floor.
God! Was this what she had been going through all this time by herself? Why didn't she tell him? His mind thought back to his conversation with Bruce and remembered him saying that Elle had been trying to protect him . . . But from this? It finally made sense of everything he had been getting from her, but he had had no idea the depths of it. How had she been able to hide so much of it from him?
Protecting him . . . When she should have been turning to him!
They were a couple now.
Bondmates . . .
Two souls caught up and bound together for eternity.
Why did it have to be so hard?
But then wasn't everything worth having hard? It was the struggle that gave something its importance. That struggle to obtain and hold onto a treasure that gave it value.
His arms tightened around her.
She had value . . . This had value!
And he was going to hold onto it with both hands!
Hours later, Dick lay awake in their bed. Elle had finally depleted what he had started to believe was a limitless supply of tears and fallen into an exhausted, but peaceful sleep. His fingers played idly with silky strands of her hair as he counted her breaths instead of sheep.
Today hadn't been an easy day. Truthfully, it was nearly as traumatic as the night of the attack. His thoughts were tangled and he struggled to organize them, but they flitted in and out of his head like it was a game of tag.
A baby . . . He had been a father for the briefest time and hadn't even known about it. The thought of that precious life being snuffed out so quickly tore a jagged hole in his heart. Elle admitted to only just learning about the child herself, and look what its loss had done to her. He comforted himself with the reminder that there would be others; each one just as precious as this one . . . The one he never had the chance to know.
A single tear slid from his eye and into his hairline at his temple.
As much as he looked forward to those future children, the loss of this one frightened him. He knew he would be a protective father. He would probably drive them just as crazy as Bruce had him while he had grown up in the manor.
Amazingly enough, however, this pain soothed another . . . Or rather several other long-forgotten pains.
He finally understood Bruce a little better now. Some of those things that had driven a wedge between them as Dick had sought his independence and Bruce had sought only to protect him; to wrap him in cotton . . . Those things no longer angered him. Bruce hadn't been his father in the legal sense during that time, but in his heart? By this time, Bruce had been Dick's father for far longer than John Grayson had. And that place in Dick's heart that Bruce alone held had long ago equaled that place his parents held . . . and if he were honest with himself, had long ago surpassed it.
And the guilt he had harbored over that fact suddenly melted away.
Bruce may not be able to utter the words easily, although at least now he could, his actions declared his love as loudly as any words could.
And as usual another thought intruded . . .
Aiden Hamilton.
Dick couldn't remember if he had ever hated someone to the extent as he did Elle's brother. Elle's arguments had all but convinced him of Aiden's innocence in the hiring of the nameless assassin, but the man still sought to destroy his sister's life.
Tomorrow he and Elle would sit down and go over their options. Maybe he could get Bruce and Leslie's opinion on what actions they could take to counter this move. He knew that Elle hadn't been ignoring the situation. She had told him as much. She had made several appointments with a number of leading psychiatrists from not only Gotham City, but was paying to fly in doctors from New York, Texas, and California.
And then there was still the problem of who had wanted Elle dead so badly that they had hired a top-notch assassin. Whatever else he was, Nameless wasn't cheap. He was also impossible to break. Not a clue had been gleaned as to the hitman's employer so far.
Of course, he hadn't been exactly in the mood to chat either. The results of Elle's impulsive actions that night had left the man a cripple; his right arm useless, the doctors had chosen to amputate it. The nerve damage to his left hand had left it with limited mobility. His days as a world-class assassin had been brought to the end.
But the discovery of the video would see to it that the bastard never breathed the free air again.
Elle sighed and snuggled against him; drawing Dick out of his revelry. All the tension of the past week had fled with her secrets. He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes; praying that the video wouldn't haunt his dreams.
But Elle's warmth was a powerful guard against the nightmares. Now, if he could just do the same for her. He curled around her and allowed the darkness to finally drag him under.
REACTIONS?
Let the healing begin . . .
Really, what were your thoughts and emotions going through this with Dick and Elle?
And where are all those guest reviews? I miss you guys! I do read your reviews and take your suggestions into consideration. (Heck, I had one come close to guessing a plot point near the very beginning of this story that comes into play in the sequel! I hope she continues to read the story for that reason alone - I think she will recognize it when it happens.) Keep check my profile page. I will sometimes answer a question there that I may not want to answer in the story in case it blows open the plot. If I don't answer something - it means you probably got something right, and I don't want to give it away.
As best as I can tell - One more chapter! And watch for the sequel . . . "Second Chances" that will take over from here.