August 18, 0605h

	Babs lost track of how long she had been sitting with her head resting 
against the edge of the mattress.  Spud still sat in her lap, sleeping again in 
that exhausted slump that he tended to fall into before the nightmares hit.  She 
took comfort from his presence, wondering not for the first time if she could 
have gotten through this without the need to look out for her son to keep her 
going.  
	His face lay pale and slack against her chest, half covered in the blanket 
that draped around his shoulders.  He had almost broken her heart earlier, as 
she woke him from what was clearly another nightmare.  When his breathing had 
finally settled, his shaking eased, he had quietly asked if she intended to keep 
him if Dick died.
	How could he question that?  Easily, she supposed, remembering his story 
of rejection and loss.  But the thought of possibly losing him - she tightened 
her hold unconsciously on his sleeping form.  He was her family now, with her 
dad gone and Dick -
	She raised her head to look at her husband.  Forty-eight hours, Leslie had 
said.  There should be some sign within 48 hours if he was going to recover.  He 
could still come back after a longer time, but the chances grew slimmer every 
day he remained in his coma.
	Babs reached out a hand to touch that beloved face, so pale, so still!  
How much in the past years had she come to rely on the ready smiles on that face 
to help her through tough days?  She had prided herself on her independence, 
despite all that had happened to her, but now, faced with losing this man?  She 
felt helpless in a way she hadn't since she had first been crippled.  If he 
died?  Could she continue to deal with the superhero community?  She'd been 
through it once before, dealing with folks who were constant reminders of what 
she'd lost.  She'd learned to deal with it - and Dick had helped.  Without him?
	Or if he didn't die, but ended up confined forever to a hospital bed.  
Could she care for him?  Could she deal with the anger and grief and frustration 
that she knew he would feel?
	She ran her fingers through his hair, sweaty and sticky from exertion and 
fever and still some dried blood from two nights ago.    She remembered other 
nights when his hair felt like this, remembered chasing him off to the shower 
after a patrol, some nights getting pulled in with him under the warm spray...  
	She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Maybe never again.  It had 
taken her so long to believe he still saw her as a complete woman, still desired 
her.  She didn't want to be a widow.
	She forced down the thought and made herself open her eyes again.  He was 
here now, still alive.  She could still look at him at least.
	His face was placid, more peaceful looking really than it had been since 
they brought him in.  If she focused only on his eyes, refusing to allow herself 
to see the tube that went down his throat to feed his lungs, she could almost 
believe he was sleeping.  She ran her fingers gently over his eyelids, then 
traced the line of his brow.  She wanted those lids to flutter open, those blue 
eyes to turn to her, tell her everything would be okay.  They didn't.
	His forehead was cool under her hand, but she didn't trust that his fever 
might be gone.  More likely she was fevered from exhaustion.  She felt so 
defeated.  She continued to study his peaceful expression.  It was like he was 
no longer fighting - she froze at the implication of her idle thought.  She 
would NOT believe that Dick had given up.  He would NEVER give up, and neither 
would she.
	With new determination, she slipped her hand into his.  "Dick," she 
whispered, not allowing the tears that threatened to fall.
	She laced his fingers into his and gave his hand a little squeeze - and 
gasped.
	Spud started in her lap.  "Babs?" he asked fearfully, seeing her dissolve 
into tears.  "Babs, what's - is -?"	
	"Spud, it's okay, it's okay."  Her tears sounded almost like laughing.  
"Open a channel to Leslie."
	Spud slipped down from her lap, scared and confused but understanding what 
he needed to do.  He padded across the concrete to the key board, carefully 
entering the code that Babs had shown him for calling Leslie.
	There was a pause as Spud's call went through, then a breathless, "Hello?" 
heavy with sleep and alert with panic.
	"Leslie, it's Barbara," Babs choked out, letting the transmitters in the 
room pick up her voice, unwilling to let go of her husband.
	"Barbara, what is it?  What's happened?"
	Spud watched Babs, trying to read her expression as she took a deep 
breath.
	"Leslie, it's okay.  It's going to be okay.  *He just squeezed my hand*."
	As the words "Oh thank God," breathed over the comlink, Spud stared for a split second at Babs, digesting her 
words.  Then he flew across the floor and into her lap, hugging her tightly as she rubbed his back with her free hand 
and continued to smile through her tears.