August 18, 2230h

	Bruce sat in the car for a long moment after he pulled into Dick and 
Barbara's driveway.  A light burned in the kitchen, but otherwise the house was 
dark and quiet.  The Bentley wasn't there - Alfred must have returned to Gotham, 
perhaps taking Leslie with him.
	He closed his eyes, steeling himself.  That was a mistake.  As had been 
true every time he closed his eyes for the past three days, his head was 
immediately filled with nightmare images of Dick lying still and lifeless on 
that rooftop.  Except they weren't nightmare images.  He only wished they were.
	Again, he found himself tapping the strength of the Bat to make his limbs 
obey him, to open the car door and stand and head for the front door of the 
Grayson home.
	He hesitated on the stoop for the briefest instant, then his fingers 
reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic key.  He had it for 
emergencies, although he made a point of never using it.  He knew that both Dick 
and Barbara would be more than a little annoyed if he just entered their home 
without the niceties of knocking and announcing his presence.  Tonight, he'd 
risk their aggravation.
	He listened as the locks snicked back, then entered the house in perfect 
silence.  He took a second to ensure that all the locks were secured again 
before he went any further.
	Barbara was in the kitchen, but if she noticed him, she gave no sign.  She 
was at the kitchen table, her head pillowed on her arms, and after a moment, 
Bruce realized she was sleeping.  He thought about waking her, then changed his 
mind.  She'd find him there when she found him there.  He'd deal with it then.
	He stuck to the shadows, slipping into the darkened hall.  He paused for a 
moment when he reached the door to Spud's room, listening intently.  The quiet 
was punctuated by the beeping of the cardio monitor in the master bedroom, but 
there was no accompanying hiss from the respirator.  Instead, he could pick out 
murmurs from Spud, the familiar tones of a young boy hovering on the edge of 
nightmare.  Should he wake him?
	No, he decided.  Sometimes exhaustion forced the nightmares back, he knew, 
and if his adopted grandson was finally getting some rest, he would leave him 
be.  There was no excuse to keep him from Dick.
	The door to the master bedroom was ajar, likely so any change in the 
steady heartbeat and the shallow breathing could get an instant response.  He 
suspected that Barbara had the room well monitored - was likely even wearing a 
signaler in her ear to wake her.  The last few days could not have been easy for 
her.  For any of them.
	He took a deep breath and pushed the door open further.
	Dim moonlight filtered into the room from gaps in the curtains, giving 
enough light for his dark-adjusted eyes to see a little.  With the added 
greenish glow from the monitoring equipment, it was not hard to see Dick's quiet 
form on the far side of the king size bed.
	His hearing had been accurate - the respirator was gone.  Bruce pushed 
aside his annoyance that he hadn't been told, relishing a moment of relief.  He 
wasn't sure he could bear to look at Dick's face through tubes and medical tape.  
Seeing him so ungodly still and pale was not particularly easy, but it was 
better.
	 Now, though, Bruce suddenly couldn't bear to be so far away.  He slipped 
around the bed to the chair he knew would be there, pulling it close to the bed.  
He settled quickly and reached out to lift Dick's right hand from where it 
rested on top of the sheets.  He twined his fingers with the younger man's, his 
eyes intent on Dick's face.
	"It's okay, now, chum," he murmured.  "Blockbuster's done in this town.  
And I'm here."
	As if in response, the hand in his tightened its grip.