August 18, 1832h

	Tim stabbed the meat thermometer at the frozen roast and swore as the tip 
glanced off the crust of ice.  He didn't know why the hell he was making a roast 
when most of the people in the house wouldn't even eat soup.  He just knew that 
everyone was underfed and overstressed and a good dose of protein would do 
everyone good.
	He opened the spigot and shoved the handle to the left, heating the water 
coming from the pipes.  He picked the slab of meat up from the broiling pan and 
dumped it unceremoniously in the sink.
	The hot water melted the ice almost immediately and sluiced off the meat 
in pink-tinted streams.
	Tim stared at the lump in the sink.  It almost looked like...  It almost 
reminded him of...
	Tim dropped to his knees, the room suddenly spinning in mad, dizzying 
lights and sounds.  Blood pounded in his ear, reminding him of blood running 
over the rooftop.
	He'd waited.  He'd stayed away, precious seconds, minutes even, waiting 
for Dick to lecture Spud in private.  If he'd only moved sooner.  Gotten there, 
stayed silent through the lecture, he would have been there, he would have been 
able to make things-
	His forehead pressed against the cool linoleum, Tim rolled to his side, 
gasping for air.  He thought of the roast in the sink and heaved, but there was 
nothing to bring up but bile, because he hadn't eaten, either.  A chill screamed 
through him, leaving him shivering.
	"Tim!"
	He knew that voice.  It was a good voice.  If only he could remember.
	He felt like he was floating.  He was in a dream.  Everything was dark.
	Then, something cool and damp touched his face, wiping away some of his 
disorientation.
	Cass.  The voice had been Cass.  She was here.  She was pressing a damp 
cloth against his forehead.
	"I'm-I'm fine," he croaked, barely able to form the words with dry lips.
	Cass shook her head affectionately.  "Stupid Tim."