August 17, 1238h

	Spud walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.  He 
promised Babs he would try to eat something, even though his stomach had felt 
queasy when he woke up.  Maybe he should fix a plate for her, too, he thought, 
thinking of how tired she looked when he had helped her back into her chair and 
watched her head for the elevator.
	He was surprised to see there was a giant plate of sandwiches in the 
fridge, occupying an entire shelf.  Who had made them, he wondered?  There were 
a half dozen varieties, different meats and cheeses.  Alfred, he realized.
	They looked good, although he knew they would taste like ashes the way 
everything else did, making it hard for him to swallow.  Still, he had promised 
Babs.
	He carefully selected a sandwich half, roast beef with cheese and lettuce 
and tomato.  It looked like it was the first anyone had touched the platter.
	He let the refrigerator door close and walked over to the table, taking a 
seat.  He took a bite of the sandwich, forcing himself to chew.  The tomato 
juice cut through the ashiness, but it was still hard to swallow.  But he had 
promised Babs.
	He felt the mouthful reach his stomach, felt the way his stomach curled 
around the food almost painfully the way it used to when he and Scorch found 
food.  He knew that feeling.  He was glad that it was hard for him to eat, 
because that kind of hungry tummy would throw up if he ate too fast.  That 
happened once, he remembered.  After that, Scorch would never let him have all 
the food they found at once - just let him have a little bit at a time.  He set 
his sandwich down.  He missed Scorch.
	Scorch would know what to do now, he thought, staring emptily at the 
partially eaten sandwich.  Scorch always took care of him.  Like Mommy did.  
Like Dick did.  Like Babs did.
	He should have put the sandwich on a plate, he thought, looking at the 
crumbs on the table.  Alfred would make a comment about not raising young 
ruffians.
	Alfred made the sandwiches.  When did he do that?  This morning?  In the 
middle of the night?  He was tired and worried, too, but he was taking care of 
everybody.  
	Spud picked up the sandwich again, taking another slow bite.  He wondered 
who was taking care of Alfred.
	He finished chewing and swallowed.  He thought about what Babs had said, 
about doing more good by helping behind the scenes.
	He set his sandwich down again and went to get some water.  He remembered 
the night he found out that Dick was Nightwing, how they had talked about not 
having anyone to be mad at but needing to make things better.
	He drank some of his water and returned to the table with his half-full 
cup.  The sandwich half was almost gone.  His tummy felt better.  Leslie said 
that when Dick woke up he would need everyone to be strong for him.
	He took the final bite of sandwich, washing it down with the last of his water.  He knew what he needed to do.