Dinah's disembodied voice filled the quiet air of the
basement lair.  "Leslie, STAR Labs is on line for
you."
	Leslie glanced up from Dick's chart, faintly unnerved
by the speaker-phone-esque arrangement of
communications into the lair.  It was handy, just to
be able to talk as she worked, knowing the
multidirectional mikes throughout the basement would
pick up her voice, but still, it felt odd.  "Go
ahead," she finally acknowledged.
	There was a moment's pause, then STAR Labs came
through. "Dr. Thompkins?"
	"Yes," Leslie answered, her eyes drifting to Spud as
she spoke.  It occurred to her that it might make
sense to take this call on a more traditional line,
but any whispered conversation would only distress the
boy.  And Babs was insistent that there be no secrets
kept from her son.
	"We've processed the specimens you sent up.  Would
you like us to fax down the reports?"
	"Please.  Anything I should know about?"
	"Let's see-" There was a sound like rustling paper
and then a low whistle.  "White blood cell count is
starting to get really high."
	Leslie nodded, her heart sinking.  This only helped
confirm the source of Dick's steadily rising fever. 
"Right," she said in brisk, professional tones. 
"Thanks.  I'll watch for the reports."
	"I'm sending now.  Good-bye."
	"Good-bye," Leslie replied, listening as a click
signaled the termination of the call.
	Babs had wheeled forward during this exchange to be
nearer to Spud.  As the call ended, she looked up at
Leslie, her haggard face creased with worry. 
"Infection?" she asked.
	"Looks like it."  Leslie could not keep a hint of
grimness from her tone.
	Spud's head jerked up, turning to look between the
two women.  "What does that mean?"  His eyes were
alarmed.
	Babs set a steadying hand on his shoulder.  "It means
that there might be bits of dirt or bacteria inside
him that don't belong there and his body is going to
try to get rid of them," she explained.
	"Well, he can do that, right?"  Spud's still
unrelinquished grip on Dick's hand seemed to tighten.
	Leslie tried to make her tone honest but reassuring. 
"I hope so, Spud.  He's going to make his body hotter
to try to make it a place the bacteria don't want to
stay.  It's kind of -"  Leslie looked uncertainly at
Babs.  Spud was frazzled, exhausted.  She didn't want
to scare him.
	"It can be kind of dangerous for him," Babs supplied.
 "Like jump lines.  The timing is really important. 
If he gets too hot, he could really hurt himself, but
if he doesn't get hot enough, the bacteria could
really hurt him."
	Spud closed his eyes and put the side of his face
down on Dick's palm.  "He's already hot," he informed
them.  He stayed with his head down for a long moment.
	The image of the exhausted little boy clinging to his
father was finally too much for Leslie.  He had been
there, compelling the doctors to move around him, ever
since they had brought him in from the warehouse. 
They'd pulled him away for the morning's surgery, when
he'd resumed his post by the curtain wall.  As soon as
they had Dick bandaged, Spud was back, his fingers
twined in Dick's.  "Barbara," she began, "I think it
might be about time to have Spud get some sleep."
	This suggestion brought Spud to attention, his cheeks
flushed red.  "NO!"  he cried.  "Dick needs me here!"
	Babs stroked his back soothingly.  "I know,
sweetheart," she replied, turning a hard glare toward
Leslie.  "He's *fine*, Leslie."
	Leslie shook her head.  "He's *not* fine, Barbara. 
He hasn't slept in at least the last 24 hours.  He's
barely started talking again.  *He watched his father
get cut down*.  You can't just let him stay here until
he collapses."
	"I'm not collapsing!" Spud protested hotly.  "I can't
collapse.  Dick-"
	"Spud," Babs interrupted.  "Leslie, I know what he's
been through.  I've been here, too.  And I'll thank
you to leave him be."
	"Barbara, as your family physician I think I can
fairly insist that you take him off to bed.  He's had
enough trauma in the last 24 hours."
	"Leslie."  Babs' eyes were cold.  "I know the worst
that could happen.  Are you telling me it would be
less traumatic for me to drag him - and I would have
to drag him - to bed and make him stay in his room
while worse things happen?  Force him to sleep only to
wake up... to wake up to..."  Babs paused and
tightened her grip on Spud's shoulder.
	"I had to wake up for last words once," she reminded
Leslie, her eyes still hard but now hinting at tears.
	"Babs?" Spud asked uncertainly, his eyes taking in
her scarcely checked tears.
	"Sorry, Spud," she said softly.  "I was just
remembering my father."
	"James," Spud acknowledged before his eyes suddenly
widened.  "You don't think-?"
	"No.  No, Spud.  Dick's a fighter."
	Now Spud was openly crying.  "So was your daddy.  You
told me -"
	"Barbara," Leslie said pointedly.
	"Dammit, Leslie, leave us alone!" Babs snapped,
wrapping an arm around Spud and drawing him to her. 
Spud's free arm clung to her as fiercely as his other
hand grasped Dick's hand.  "Shh, Spud.  James, shh,"
Babs was comforting, rocking slightly in her chair. 
"You've got him.  I know you won't let him go.  And I
won't make you leave."
	James sniffled noisily, finally releasing Babs to run
his arm over his face and look blearily up at her. 
"You promise?"	
	Babs shot a glare at Leslie before replying.  "I
promise," she agreed, smoothing down his hair.
	Leslie shook her head and held her peace, saving her
energy for what could be a long night.