August 17, 0425h

	Spud stared numbly at his ceiling, feeling oddly distant from his body.  
He had almost fallen asleep, but he fought his sluggish heaviness, his ears 
straining for any clue about what was happening with Dick.  All he could hear 
were the muffled tones of the three grown ups in the kitchen, made 
indecipherable by the quiet whir of the air conditioning and his half-closed 
bedroom door.
	He didn't want to sleep.  He wanted to stay by Dick, to be there in case 
anything happened.  If he was there then Dick would remember about daddies not 
leaving little boys.  But Dinah said the doctors needed to not worry about Spud 
and Babs had tucked him in and said that Dick would feel bad if he kept Spud up 
all night again and maybe they were both right.  Still, he didn't want to sleep.
	A new sound entered his consciousness, and after a moment he placed it as 
the sound of Babs' workroom door opening.  A moment later he heard Babs' cry, 
"Leslie!" - but then the conversation turned too soft to hear again.
	His heart beat quickened.  He needed to know what was going on!  But his 
limbs felt so heavy...
	Focus, he told himself, summoning up reserves of will.  He fought to a 
sitting position, then slid barefooted onto the floor, motion becoming easier 
once it was begun.  He crept forward purposefully, slipping through the opening 
of his door and sidling down the hallway until he was close enough to the 
kitchen to hear.
	"...reclose some of the wounds," Leslie was saying.
	"And the fever?  Will it stay down?"  Babs' voice.
	"It's down for the moment.  I can't promise we've got the infection under 
control.  We're going to keep a doctor here for now to monitor the situation."
	"You'll stay?"
	There was a pause and a sigh.  "Barbara, right now I'm too tired to think 
straight.  I can't trust myself not to make a mistake, not to be more of danger 
to him than a help.  And the clinic will need me tomorrow -"
	"We understand, Leslie."  Dinah had joined the conversation now.  "I can't 
thank you enough for everything you've done."
	"I'll come back tomorrow evening, or if there's any big change.  Dinah, 
have you talked to Bruce?"
	The question brought a frozen silence to the kitchen before Dinah spoke 
again.  "He has been - working," Dinah said carefully, and in the hallway, Spud 
felt himself frown.  Where was Bruce?  But Babs voice brought him back to the 
moment.
	"Leslie, it's not so bad as that?"  She sounded scared.
	"Barbara, it's been as bad as that.  And I know how Bruce can be.  But if 
anyone can get him here - I know how he'll be if -"
	"Dr. Thompkins, I will endeavor to get Master Bruce to understand the 
situation," Alfred put in.  "And I will also be happy to drive you back to 
Gotham."
	"Thank you, Alfred."
	"Miss Dinah?"
	"I think I'll stay here," came the slow reply.  "If-"
	The rest of her phrase was lost as Spud moved out of range of the kitchen, 
heading for the Oracle room.  Leslie said Bruce needed to come.  She was right.  
Bruce was Dick's second daddy.  Dick needed him.  Like Spud needed Dick after 
Scorch died.  Like Spud needed Dick now.
	He was relieved to find that the heavy door to the workroom wasn't locked, 
although it still took great effort from his tired limbs to open it enough to 
slip through.  He felt his mind trying to wander, and he fought it, focusing his 
concentration.  He had called Bruce before when Dinah was mad at him.  It didn't 
sound like Dinah was mad now, but she sounded like she hadn't talked to him.
	He stared dumbly at the keyboard for a moment or two before he remembered 
how to connect to Batman.  He made himself focus very hard so his fingers would 
hit the right buttons, and then he waited.
	And waited.
	He knew the signal was going out because it made a little ping sound.
	He waited longer.
	No answer.
	With a heavy sigh, he closed the connection and sat for a long moment staring at the monitor.  He felt 
impossibly tired, and his arms and legs were growing more leaden the longer he sat.  He let his head fall onto his arm 
where it rested on the arm of the chair.  His eyelids sank lower, fighting his effort to stay awake, to at least get back to 
his bed where Babs had left him.  It was a losing battle.