August 19, 0145h

        "NOOOOOOOO!"
        Bruce's head jerked up, startled as much by the tightening of
Dick's hand in his as by the cry.  He looked down at Dick's face, at the
hint of motion beneath his eyelids, and returned the squeeze.  "It's okay,
chum.  I'll cover for you," he murmured, loosening his hold and quickly
crossing the hall to Spud's bedroom.
        Half-forgotten instinct took over when he reached the boy's bedside
and wrapped his arms comfortingly around his adopted grandson.  The
reaction was not what he expected.
        Spud's wild-eyed stare got impossibly wider when he saw Bruce, and
again he cried out, "Noooo!"  He fought against Bruce's hold, kicking his
way back to the far corner of his bed, his attitude one of a frightened
animal.
        "Spud!"
        Babs' voice came from the doorway, and she wheeled forward urgently
with only a glance at Bruce.  Spud rocketed from the bed, giving Bruce wide
berth, and launched himself at Babs, forcing the air from her lungs with an
"oof" as he landed in her lap.  "Spud, it's okay," she soothed, running a
hand over his back.  "Everything's okay."
        "Where's Dick?" Spud demanded tearfully, throwing a thoroughly
frightened look at Bruce.
        "Shh, James," Babs continued evenly.  "He's sleeping in our bed.
You want to see him?"
        Spud nodded, burying his face against Babs' shoulder.  Over his
head, Babs asked, "When did you get here, Bruce?"
        There was less recrimination in her tone than he expected, and
somehow more weariness.  He felt a vague sense of shame.  "A couple of
hours ago," he confessed.  "I didn't want to wake you."
        The excuse sounded lame in his own ears.
        Babs only nodded.  "C'mon, Spud.  Under your own power, potato boy."
        Spud released his hold reluctantly and slid from her lap, his hand
reaching to hold onto the back of her chair.  Babs couldn't hold his hand
and steer herself across the hall, Bruce realized suddenly, wondering why
he hadn't noticed earlier Spud's solution to the problem.  Perhaps because
usually Spud was holding Dick's hand on those rare occasions when his
fierce independence gave way to a desire to be connected to some grown up.
But the gesture was practiced - Spud had allowed himself to be led like
this before.  What other things in the life of this small boy, of his son's
family, had Bruce already missed in the past year?
        He shook off his thoughts to follow mother and son to Dick's
bedside.  Almost as soon as they entered, Spud relinquished his hold on
Babs' chair and ran to Dick.  He turned back to Babs.  "No more breathing
machine?"
        A faint smile showed on Babs' tired face.  "He doesn't need it
anymore," she confirmed, her eyes watching the boy begin to calm himself.
        "I thought -" he looked at Bruce hovering in the doorway - "I
thought that -"
        Babs wheeled beside him.  "Shh, Spud.  I know. It's okay."
        "I'm sorry I scared you, Spud," Bruce said softly, his stomach
churning at Spud's unvoiced thought.
        Spud nodded as if to himself, then walked back around the bed to
approach Bruce.  He stopped a few feet away and studied Bruce, turned to
look at Dick, then back to Bruce.  "I'm glad you're here," he said with the
weight of decision made.
        Then he returned to the bed, this time clamoring up onto the
unoccupied side.  He carefully lay down next to his father, his eyes
focused on Dick's face.  He kept a small gap between Dick's injured side
and his own body, but he stretched out a small hand and rested it on Dick's
bare shoulder.  Had Bruce not been listening so hard, he might have missed
the boy's words:  "It's okay, now, Dick.  Bruce didn't forget you."
        Heart heavy with regret, Bruce could only turn away and hide
himself in the dark.