August 18, 2205h "Breathe for me, Dicky," Leslie coaxed, almost surprised when the young man that she and Alfred supported did exactly that. It was a shuddering breath, turning into a gasp as his expanding rib cage pulled at the stitched muscles and skin of his abdomen, but it was a response. Leslie was glad she had followed her gut and decided to make this trip to Bludhaven. As much as she did not relish another three hour round trip after a full day at the clinic, her heart had told her she needed to be here, and when Dick began fighting the respirator, she was glad to be the one to disconnect him from the machine. "Again, Dicky," she prompted, her stethoscope resting against his back. No response. Had the first reaction been a fluke? She tried again. "Come on, Dicky. I know it hurts, but one more." She was rewarded, although this time the breath was more tentative. Alfred looked to her past Dick's bowed head, his eyes hopeful. Leslie kept herself focused on her work. "Good job, Dicky. Let's get you settled back down..." They lowered him gently back into the pillows, and Leslie noticed relief cross his pinched face. With gentle fingers, she brushed aside tears that were streaming down his cheeks. "Go wake Barbara," she directed Alfred, her eyes never leaving her patient's face. "It's okay, Dicky," she murmured in comforting tones as Alfred exited. She spoke for her own benefit as much as his. Her physician's eye told her that this might be it - might be all the more recovery they could reasonably expect from Dick Grayson, given the massive blood loss and high fevers. There was no telling how much brain damage he might have sustained, and although he was presently responsive to simple stimuli, there was no guarantee he would improve beyond that. Aside from these breaths he had just taken, his reactions had been reflexive or instinctual, no more than one could expect from an infant. Warring against her medical training was a deep bond to the little boy this man had once been. It seemed impossible that Dick Grayson could just be - gone. But searching back, she could not remember ever seeing him cry for pain. Frustration? Yes. Anger? Absolutely. Exhaustion? Heck, she'd joined him in weeping on that count. But pain? Dick's stubborn pride bore every injury in pale-faced stoicism. His tears tonight were surely just a product of the friction of the tube against his throat as she drew it from his trachea, or maybe only reaction to the wholly unexpected stab of what was a very painful and severe injury when he sought to obey Leslie. It was jarring nonetheless - almost more disconcerting than his eerie stillness as machines kept his body alive. She caught his right hand lightly, giving it a little squeeze to be rewarded by a return pressure. What if this were the only communication he ever shared with the world again? She wanted to think that the Dick Grayson she knew was hovering there, beneath the surface, mustering strength that his body was now using to mend itself. For now, they could only wait and see. The door burst open, suddenly, and Babs wheeled in, her face still pillow creased. "Leslie? Dick? Is he -?" "Breathing on his own," Leslie confirmed, making her face into a smile more reassuring than she felt. "Thank god," Babs breathed, pulling in beside the bed into the place Leslie vacated. She put her hand to her husband's face. "Dick..." He nuzzled into her hand, just as he had been reacting to the same stimulus all day. An early, reflexive response, the rooting instinct of a newborn. Leslie tried not to think about it. Babs turned to her, smiling, her eyes a little glassy from tears and lack of sleep. "He'll wake up soon, right? Any minute now -" Leslie put a hand on Babs shoulder and offered her a small, tight smile. Then she leaned over and kissed Dick's forehead in a motherly gesture. "Dicky, Barbara and I are going to let you sleep now, okay, sweetie?" She wanted there to be an answering nod, but there was only a faint relaxing of his features, and she was not entirely convinced she hadn't imagined it. She quietly led Babs from the room. They didn't speak until they reached the kitchen, where Alfred had laid out a small platter of cheese and crackers. Leslie picked up a wheat cracker and a small slice of gouda, eating mechanically as she waited for the inevitable questions. Babs mirrored her gestures woodenly, then looked seriously into her face. "What is it, Leslie?" Leslie sighed. "Barbara-" She stopped and sat down at the table, feeling the stress of the last week pulling at her. Unexpectedly, Babs took her hand, offering a kind of comfort in her firm grip. "Leslie. He's my husband. I need to know." Leslie shook her head. "It's too early to tell anything yet. It's just - I don't think it would be wise to pin your hopes on him waking just yet." "Just yet, or ever?" Babs asked cautiously. "I don't know." The reply was a frighteningly resigned sound. "Barbara!" Leslie snapped, looking the younger woman seriously in the eye. "I don't know. That's not a no. If you would have asked me 9 years ago if Bruce Wayne would have ever walked again, I would have said I didn't know. Or if Tim would have survived the Clench. There are things that are beyond my power as a doctor to predict. But I do know that Dick is a fighter, and he's got Bat in him, and if anyone is likely to recover from what he's just been through - " "But he might not," Babs finished. Leslie studied the downcast face of one of the strongest women she had ever met. "Barbara, you need sleep. You need to be strong for Spud and for Dick - and as much as he is persona non grata around here right now, for Bruce." Babs eyes snapped sharply to Leslie's face, a hint of fury in them. But she only nodded mildly. "You're right." "I'm going to have Alfred take me back to Gotham. You get sleep. You can set your monitors to wake you if his condition changes at all." Babs nodded with a distracted air. "You know you can always call me, and STAR Labs can still send someone via transporter in an emergency. Is someone coming back tomorrow?" "Yeah, Dinah said she'd come by." Leslie reached out to squeeze Babs' hand. "Hang in there. He's stubborn." "Ain't that the truth?" Babs replied with a weak smile. They sat for a long moment, then Leslie stood, nodding toward Alfred who had entered the kitchen. "Miss Barbara," Alfred said softly, "Master James is sleeping soundly for the moment. I will call you in the morning?" "Thanks, Alfred. And Leslie. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Alfred opened the door for Leslie, who paused to say good night. Alfred waited a moment longer, his eyes settling somberly on Babs. "Good night, Miss Barbara." Babs nodded her farewell, and as Alfred closed the door, Leslie thought she saw her lean her head down into her hands on the table. Leslie sighed wearily. "Let's go home, Alfred."