August 18, 1345h

	Dinah watched the can spin under the firm direction of the can opener and 
stop jerkily as the top of the can fully detached.  Half-heartedly, she dumped 
the can of soup into a waiting saucepan and flipped the stove dial to somewhere 
in the vicinity of medium.  She leaned her forearms on the counter and stared at 
the cold, lumpy soup.  A watched pot never boils, her mother's voice reminded 
her.
	Her mother.  Dinah closed her eyes.  How many times had her mother shrilly 
laid into her about her choice of work?  Dinah Sr. had hated what the superhero 
life had taken from her.  She envisioned the same disasters setting themselves 
upon Dinah Jr. and the Justice League.  In some cases, she was right.  And now, 
dead from a cancer caused by radiation she had been exposed to as a superhero, 
she was calling to her daughter from beyond the grave.
	I told you so.
	Dinah's eyes snapped open.  No.  She wouldn't believe it.  Things would be 
all right.  The worst was over.  Babs was sure of it.  And when Babs was sure of 
something, she was never wrong.  Never.
	But Babs was sure of Dick.
	Deep breath, girl, Dinah reminded herself.  If Dick gets better, Bruce 
will be fine.  Bruce will have to be fine.
	"Hey."
	It was Tim Drake's voice, heavy with fatigue.  Tim had been operating day 
and night, as Robin, as Nightwing, as Tim Drake, junior executive at Wayne 
Enterprises.
	And she was jealous of him.  He could move.  He could work.  He could act. 
And Bruce talked to him.
	"You ok?"
	The voice was closer now.  He was going to touch her.  He was going to lay 
a hand on her shoulder and offer to give her a hug and she was going to break 
into a million pieces.
	"Soup?"
	"She won't eat it."  Babs had barely eaten anything in two days.  It had 
to be Dinah's turn to be the grownup and she didn't want to eat herself.
	So she did the only logical thing.
	She threw the pot.
	"Whoa!"  Tim caught the pot handle in mid-air, cheating Dinah of the 
lovely crash she needed so badly to hear.  He quickly deposited the pot on the 
kitchen table and stepped in close enough to Dinah to avoid the kick she had 
aimed at him.  He quickly and expertly blocked two chops that certainly would 
have disabled him, and then caught her as she slid to the floor, too tired to 
launch any greater offensive.  
	"Dinah."  He stroked his fingers through her silky blonde hair, pulling it 
back from a tear-stained face.  "Shhh."  He settled on the floor, pulling his 
knees up on either side of her and leaning his back against the wooden 
cupboards.
	"Oh god, oh Timmy, I'm so sorry," Dinah apologized, wiping tears away from 
her face with both hands.
	"Shhh, Dinah, don't apologize," he told her, stroking a hand through her 
hair again.  "C'mon. It's ok.  You've held the family together this far. Let 
someone else take a turn."
	"I-I never wanted to be part of this family," Dinah sobbed, remembering 
all her sarcastic opinions on the dysfunctional group of people that made up the 
Bat-Family.  "I just... I just... I hate this!  Bruce... Babs... everyone's 
so... so closed up... I hate it!"
	"Shhh."  Tim pressed a comforting kiss to Dinah's temple.  "Come on.  If 
you hadn't been here, we would be in twice as bad shape as we are.  We owe you a 
big one.  You need to go home and get some sleep.  You owe it to the baby."  He 
paused.  "To Bruce's baby.  He'll come around.  This is what he does in a 
crisis.  It's tough to take, but it's what he thinks is best."
	Dinah nodded against his chest.
	"I'll call for Alfred and you can go home for a few hours."
	"Sir Timmy?"
	"Yeah?"
	"Can I just stay here for a minute?"
	"As long as you want, Lady Dinah.  As long as you want."