Archivist Note: This is the first story in the "Spudverse".

Small Potatoes: Coming Home
by Smitty (smittywing@yahoo.com)

***

Prologue:

	Scorch told him to go to sleep, but he wasn’t ready yet.  The big boys 
were talking about Nightwing and Spud wanted to listen.

	“When I saw him, he was all big and dark and he shot fire out of 
his fists!”

	“He was seven feet tall and can walk on his hands *and* his feet!”

	“He flies, too.  I saw him!  No kidding.  He jumped off the big 
building over by the Zee Moors, and halfway down, he flies around the 
building and *disappears* into the shadows.  Poof.  All gone.”

	“He’s Batman’s kid, and everyone knows Batman’s not human.”

	“He bounces off buildings…I bet he can walk up them, too, like in 
the comics!”

	“Aw, shaddup, Kraft.  No one cares ‘bout your dumb books.”

	“Yeah, he was a kid, just like us…”

	“He’s friends with Superman.”

	“…and he died in this street fight…”

	“He beat down Blockbuster, too…that’s why no one ever sees him 
anymore…Nightwing hurt ‘im too bad…”

	“There was this kid a bunch of years ago…”

	“…and Batman brought him back to life and gave him Bat-
Powers…”

	“Nightwing found him breaking into some guys place…”

	“He can disappear, too…”

	“…and the gave the kid a *mom and dad*.”

	A wistful hush fell over the crowd.  Someone chomped on some 
beef jerky that had been swiped from the corner drugstore.

	“I gotta start breaking into more places,” one of the kids mumbled.

	“Yeah,” one of the others said, standing up and kicking a piece of 
plaster that had fallen from the ceiling of the rotted old building.  “Same 
here.”

	Scorch glanced back and saw his younger brother curled up in a 
blanket, just inside the shadows cast by the waning fire.

	“Spud, get back to bed,” he barked.  He was older, so his authority 
over Spud was absolute.  “Whatcha doing back there?  Trying to be 
Nightwing?  Get outta here!”

	Spud scurried back to his corner, his head dancing with the legends 
told around the fire.  Maybe someday…maybe if he was good…maybe 
Nightwing would find him a mom and dad, too.

********************

	Graham Filbert had been a police officer in Blüdhaven for a long 
time.  In many ways, he’d accompanied the city in its dismal decline.  He 
was old, he was fat, and he was slow, but dadgummit, at least he was still 
honest!

	He glanced sideways at his partner as their radios crackled to life.  
Dick Grayson possessed everything Filb used to have:  youth, good looks, 
trim physique, positive outlook…

“*crackle* shots fired *pop* gang shootout on *crackle* 8th and 
Chestnut; advise position.”

	“5423, we’re on it!” Grayson barked into the radio, whipping the 
aging cruiser into a 90-degree turn.

…And so much dad gummed energy! 

	“Thasit,” Filb mumbled.  “I’m driving next time.”

***

	After nearly 20 years as a costumed vigilante, Dick Grayson 
thought he’d seen it all.  He’d seen people die, the Joker’s rictus grin 
plastered on their faces for all eternity.  He’d seen jumpers…too late.  
He’d seen 21 men, their necks twisted 180 degrees and floated down a 
river.  He’d eaten breakfast while watching an autopsy.  He’d seen 
tragedy; he’d seen failure.  He’d never seen the aftermath of 27 boys in 
their early teens shooting each other down in the name of their colors on a 
hot May evening.  And he never, ever guessed that aftermath would 
include being held at gunpoint by a grimy 8-year-old.

	“Get away from my brother!” the kid demanded, his voice pitched 
high with fear.

	“All right…” Dick told him, pitching his own voice low and 
gentle.  “I’m not going to hurt anyone here.  See?  My gun’s right here in 
my holster.  I’m not going to touch it.”

	Filb stood a little ways away, his hand ready on his gun, but not 
drawn.  By all rights, he should shoot the kid and save his partner’s bacon, 
but Grayson wasn’t playing that way, and Filb had seen Grayson remove a 
gun from the hand of a much older man, whose finger was on the trigger, 
all without mussing his hair.  ‘Sides, he was just a little tyke.  Although 
this little tyke could punch holes in his partner, if he wasn’t careful.

	The gun was shaking, Dick noticed.  The kid’s finger wasn’t near 
the trigger.  His chubby little hands could barely hold the heavy weapon.  
Dick could easily kick the gun out of his hand, or take it by force.  He 
didn’t want to do that.  The boy felt frightened and helpless and he didn’t 
want to exacerbate those feelings.

	He squatted down to eye level, his hands held out in front of him.

	“C’mon,” he said, softly.  “Put the gun down so we can go help 
your brother.”

	“No!” the kid cried.  “You’ll take me away from him!  You’ll 
make me go away!”

	No parents.  He hated to lie to the kid, but the most important thing 
right now was to defuse the immediate situation.

	“You can point a gun at me if that happens,” Dick offered.  “But 
right now, we need to help your brother.  That’s all I want to do, right 
now. Honest.”

	“You’re lying!”

	“Listen,” Dick told him, glancing up.  “You can hear the 
ambulances coming.  We’re going to need you to show us where your 
brother is and tell us his name.”

	“And you won’t take me away?” the kid asked, warily.

	“No way,” Dick answered immediately, knowing he was making a 
promise he couldn’t keep.

	The kid carefully laid the gun on the ground and waved to Dick.  
“He’s over here,” he said, kneeling next to the body of a kid no more than 
12 or 13.  “Right here.  His name’s Scorch.”

	Dick looked at “Scorch.”  He was a scrawny kid, with freckles and 
red hair—a painfully familiar shade of auburn.  The setting sun washed 
color across his ashen face, and if it weren’t for the crater in his stomach, 
he might look like he was asleep.  Dick suddenly felt drained.  He wanted 
to sit down and cry and he wanted to jump up and hurt somebody and he 
wanted to be numb, all at the same time.  Instead, he took a deep breath, 
which burned his lungs with the lingering remnants of sulfur and death.  
Closing his eyes, he laid a hand on Scorch’s neck, just to make sure.  The 
body was already starting to cool.  He opened his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he 
said, softly.  “Scorch is dead.”

	“He is *not*,” the kid informed him, jutting his lower lip out.  
“You said you’d help him!  You said I wouldn’t have to leave him!”  

	“I’m sorry, he’s dead—“

	“You *said* you’d help!  You’re not even trying!  You’re not 
doing anything!”

	Dick looked into the boy’s eyes and saw a panic and helplessness 
that he felt deep down in that part of him that was still a little boy, staring 
horrified at his own parents’ broken bodies.  It didn’t take long to make a 
decision.

	Before he even registered moving, he was on his knees next to 
Scorch, hands clasped together, pushing on his chest.  He lifted and tilted 
the breathless head expertly and pushed his own air into the mouth.  Two 
quick breaths and he returned to the strokes to the chest.  The kid, who 
seemed very vulnerable without a gun in front of him, perched next to 
him, watching hopefully.  

	Filb watched them both, shaking his head.  Grayson was wasting 
his time on that kid.  Should be helping anyone who could be saved.  He 
shook his head over the dirty little red head hovering hopefully over his 
brother.  Wasn’t his place.  Besides, the ambulances were already on the 
scene.  Someone would set those kids straight soon enough.  Filb began 
checking the kids left lying in the street, hoping to find one he could still 
help.

	“Why isn’t it working?” the kid asked, his voice rising in panic.  
“Why isn’t he waking up?”

	“Uh…I don’t know,” Dick grunted, pushing on Scorch’s chest 
some more.  

	“We’ll take it,” a female EMS tech snapped appearing out of 
nowhere and  pushing Dick aside.  He rose to his feet and pulled the 
bewildered kid aside.  The boy’s shoulders were shaking.  “This one’s 
gone,” she said, staring at Dick as if to ask why he’d wasted time on a 
cooling body.  She didn’t say anything, though, just moved aside to the 
next body.

	“But…but…”  the kid’s shoulders shook harder as he stared at his 
brother.   

	Dick heard a high-pitched whine and realized it came from the 
very small boy in front of him.  He dropped to his knees and saw the boy’s 
face drain of color.

	“But…she…she was supposed to fix…”  A hiccupping sound 
obliterated the next word.  

	“We tried,” Dick told him, softly.  “But it was too late.”

	“But…but…”  the kid jerked away from him, running to alley and 
falling to his knees.  His small body shook as vomit bubbled forth.

	Dick knelt behind him, shielding him from the eyes of the two 
dozen paramedics and police officers milling about.  He pulled out a 
handkerchief, silently thanking Alfred for always insisting he carried one 
on his person, and held it out to the sobbing child.  After a moment, Dick 
realized he wasn’t going to take it. Instead, the young officer sat down on 
the cooling asphalt, pulled the sobbing boy into his lap, and rocked him 
gently.

***

	Captain Amy Rohrback stepped up behind Filb and put a hand on 
his shoulder.

	“What’s Grayson doing?” she asked, quietly.

	“He’s got a street kid over there,” Filb answered.  “His brother got 
kakked.”

	Amy shook her head and looked over at Dick again.  “How do you 
deal with such a bleeding heart, Filb?”

	“Same way you did, Amy.”  Filb stuck his hands in his pockets.  “I 
watch him and become a better person for it.”

***

	The boy had calmed considerably, and now lay cradled in Dick’s 
arms, staring at nothing.  

	“Hey,” Dick said, nudging him.  “We’re going to need your help, 
you know.  We’re going to take a trip down to Headquarters…we’ll even 
run the lights and sirens, if you want.”

	A shrug.

	Of course, Dick chastised himself.  Who cares about lights and 
sirens when your world’s just ended?  He should know better.

	“Scorch took care of you, huh?” Dick asked, more quietly, relieved 
he was at least getting a response.

	A nod.

	“How long did you live out here?” Dick asked, desperate to break 
through to the little boy he was sure was still in there, in there 
concentrating on keeping him out.

	Another shrug.

	“Grayson.”  His name was a whisper as Filb nudged him and 
pressed something in his hand.  He opened his fist to find a gold cross in 
his palm.  Filb must have taken it off the brother.  

	“Ok, kiddo,” he said, making a decision.  He was *not* going to 
lose this kid to the streets.  His brother was gone but that didn’t have to be 
the end of it.  “It’s time to get going.  You need to wear this and keep it 
safe for Scorch,” he told the boy in his lap, fastening the cross around his 
neck.

	The boy looked it the piece of jewelry and immediately snapped 
into focus.  “It’s Mommy’s.  She gave it to Scorch to keep safe that night.”

	Dick didn’t know what night he was talking about, but he knew it 
probably had something to do with why the boys were living on the streets 
now.  Something about that charm was important to the boy, vital to his 
existence.

	“Now it’s yours,” he told the solemn little boy.  “And it’s your job 
to keep it safe and help me out.”

	“Yes, sir,” he was told with a definitive nod.

	Dick was surprised at the sudden change in temperament.  
Suddenly the boy was all business and ready to go.  Whatever he had 
done, Dick decided.  It must have been a good thing.

	“My name’s Dick,” he said, getting to his feet.

	The boy said nothing, but slipped his hand in Dick’s and planted 
himself at the officer’s side.  Dick squeezed the small hand in his and 
hoped for a miracle.

***

	Nineteen boys dead.  Eight on their way to the hospital with 
gunshot wounds.  The ambulances had gone, leaving only a handful of 
Blüdhaven cops milling around in a search for evidence, and one scared, 
lonely little boy.

	“Yo, Grayson, I got sumpin’,” Filb grunted, leaning over to pick 
up the gun the kid had pointed at Dick earlier.

	“Bag it,” Dick said, automatically, shielding Filb with his body as 
the older cop “accidentally” rubbed the handle, obscuring any possible 
prints.  Dick looked down at his second shadow.  “What’s your name, 
kid?” he asked.  The boy had clung to his side and refused to speak since 
the paramedics had declared his brother dead, zipped him in a body bag, 
and moved on to the next casualty.

	“Spud,” the kid replied, flatly.

	Dick was too tired to even wonder at the sheer absurdity of the 
street name.  “Ok, Spud.  I want you to come down to the station house 
with us.  We need you to tell us what happened, and then we need to find 
you someplace to stay.”

	“You said no one would take me away!” Spud shouted, in a sudden 
display of panic.  

	Out of the corner of his eye, Filb saw several young cops turn 
around and look at the middle of the sidewalk, where the small boy's face 
was quickly flushing red.  Filb fixed his best nasty glare on them and was 
pleased when they all turned back to their duties.

	“Spud, Scorch is dead,” Dick told him, kneeling on the ground.  
“He can’t take care of you anymore.  We have to find you someplace to 
stay, at least for the night.”  Dick paused, pleading silently with the boy to 
calm down.  “Scorch would want you to be safe and warm.”

	“Scorch would want me to go beat up the punks who killed him,” 
Spud snarled.

	“Later, kid,” Filb broke in.  “You can’t fight crime on an empty 
stomach.”  He took hold of Spud’s hand and steered him toward the squad 
car.  Spud tried to protest, but the crusty old cop would have none of it.

***

	An O’Shaughnessy’s burger and an hour of questioning 
with a pair of youth cops took some of the fight out of 
Spud.  Dick and Filb, their paperwork filed, sat in the 
observation room above the interrogation room and watched.  
Filb slurped coffee from a Styrofoam cup.  Dick crossed his 
arms and looked grim.  As the questioning wore on and Dick 
became more and more impatient, Blüdhaven's police chief 
opened the door of the observation room and beckoned them 
outside.

	“They tell me the kid’s not talking,” he said, wiping his glasses on 
his shirttail in a gesture that reminded Dick suddenly of Jim Gordon.  “I 
don’t think he’s got anything to say.”

	At that point, the two youth cops walked out of the room.  Filb 
slurped loudly from his coffee and glared at them.  “What happened?  Kid 
fall asleep?” he asked.

	“Nah,” Wiest, a balding detective, answered around a wad of gum.  
“Kid doesn’t know squat.  Brother made him hide in a dumpster before 
anything started up.  We gotta call Social Services, Chief.  Get someone to 
pick him up.  No parents.  Kids living on the street.”  Wiest shook his head 
as if he’d never heard of it happening before.

	“Let me take him home with me,” Dick offered.  “My wife’ll cook 
him some dinner, he can get some rest, and we’ll call Social Services 
tomorrow.  It’s late and it’ll take him forever to get processed through the 
system.”

	The chief nodded, slowly, as if he was being thoughtful when 
everyone was too tired to be thoughtful.  “You sure your wife’s up to it?” 
he asked, more to feel like he’d covered all his bases than out of any real 
concern.  He’d met Barbara Grayson and knew she was up to just about 
anything.

	“She’ll love him,” Dick answered the chief.

	Addad shrugged.  “Do it.  Might be the only real home the boy 
sees ‘til he’s 18.  Have him back here by noon tomorrow.”

	“Thanks, Chief.”  Dick opened the door to the interrogation room 
and spoke to the little boy who had just laid his head on the table.  “Hey, 
Spud.  C’mon, let’s go get some chow.”

	“Are we going to O’Shaughnessy’s again?” Spud asked, hopefully.

	“Nope,” Dick told him.  “You’re going to spend the night at my 
house.  And my wife’s going to make you dinner.  Let’s move.  We don’t 
want to keep her waiting.”

	Spud slid out of his seat and trailed Dick out to his car.  He had 
nothing with him but a battered old ski jacket and a ratty stocking cap 
smashed over his head.

	“Do you want to stop anywhere?” Dick asked.  “Need to pick 
anything up?”  Spud shook his head ‘no.’  “Ok, then.  Next stop, Castle 
Grayson!”

	The Grayson home was a sprawling ranch house located in the 
Gotham-Blüdhaven corridor.  It was not a castle by any stretch of the 
definition, but it was a beautiful home, understated in its elegance and 
warmed by the love of its occupants.  Spud stared at it in awe when he 
stepped out of the car.

	“Yo, I’m not going in there,” he stated, turning away.  “Your old 
lady’s gonna take one look at me and toss my butt out the back door.”

	“Hold up, there,” Dick replied, catching Spud by the collar.  
“You’re not getting out of this.”  He picked Spud up and tossed him over 
his shoulder.  The boy giggled in spite of himself and kicked his feet half-
heartedly.

	“Babs!” Dick called, pulling open the kitchen door beside the 
driveway.  “Look!  It followed me home!  Can I keep it?”

	“Put him down,” Barbara laughed, wiping her hands on a 
dishtowel.

	“Oh, you’re no fun,” Dick complained, good-naturedly, swinging 
Spud to the floor.

	“I can’t believe you let some broad order you—“  Spud choked to 
a halt when he focused on Barbara Grayson, his mouth frozen open.  
“You…you’re in a wheelchair,” he blurted out, completely oblivious to 
the concept of tact.

	Barbara shrugged. “Yep,” she said, cheerfully.  “If you eat all your 
vegetables, I might even let you take a ride in it, later.”

	“Really?” Spud asked, eyes wide, as Dick leaned over and stage-
whispered, 

	“You don’t have to eat anything with turnips.”

	“Oh, you!”  Barbara teased, snapping him with her towel.  “I didn’t 
make turnips, silly,” she told him, as he leaned down to kiss her hello.

	“Good.  What are we having?”

	“You’ll see.  Now go on and take a shower.  You stink.”  She 
turned to Spud.  “And you, young man…”  She regarded him, 
thoughtfully.  “What’s your name?”

	“Spud,” he informed her.

	“Really?” she asked, skeptically.  “What’s your real name?”

	“Spud IS my real name!”

	Barbara sighed.  She couldn’t really argue a case against code 
names; not in this house.  “Ok, ‘Spud,’” she agreed.  “You’re filthy, too.  
At least go and scrub up to your elbows.  And hurry up and catch Dick 
before he uses up all the hot water!” she called as he scampered down the 
hall after the recently vanished Officer Grayson.  Barbara smiled as he ran 
off and rested her chin in her hand.

	Dick had proposed, knowing full well she couldn’t bear his 
children.  They had discussed surrogates, adoption, and foster care, 
extensively, then agreed to table the discussion until after that traditionally 
difficult first year of marriage.  The subject had not come up again in the 
three years since that first anniversary, but they both thought of it, every 
once in while.  They were both thinking it when he called her that 
afternoon from the station house.  It was very unlikely, given his history, 
that Dick would be content to turn the boy over to Social Services the next 
day.  Spud seemed to be on the brink of changing their lives forever, but 
for some reason, Barbara didn't seem to mind.
.
***

	Dick reappeared in the kitchen wearing jeans and a button-down 
shirt, and smelling like soap and water.  He sniffed the air appreciatively.  
“Mmmm…” he sighed.  “You’re making Italian.”  He leaned down to give 
her a quick kiss.

	“Lasagna,” she affirmed.

	“Smells great.”

	“Thanks.  Hey, Spud,” she said to the boy who had appeared in the 
doorway.

	It was apparent that Dick had made him shower.  His wet hair 
shone dark red and his skin was scrubbed pink.  He wore one of Dick’s 
police academy t-shirts that hung past his knees and a pair of drawstring 
mesh shorts that once belonged to Tim Drake and had no acceptable 
reason for being at the Graysons’ house.

	“I look like a loser!” he announced to the room.

	“Well,” Barbara said, mildly, handing Dick a pair of potholders, 
“I’ll wash up your clothes tonight, and then you can go back to looking 
like an even bigger loser tomorrow.”  Without waiting for an answer, she 
turned to Dick, who was lifting the heavy pan of lasagna from the oven.  
“Is milk ok?” she asked, moving a plate of crispy cheese bread to the 
table.

	“Does a body good,” Dick replied.  When he had called Barbara 
earlier that day, she had warned him that their usual glass of wine with 
dinner would have to be forgone while Spud was eating with them.  Dick 
had readily agreed.

	Barbara poured three glasses of milk and set a crisp green salad on 
the table.

	Spud stood where he was, stunned that Barbara had dissed his 
colors.

	“You eating or what?” Barbara asked him, as she rolled up to the 
table and Dick sat down.  “It’s rude to stand there with your mouth open.”

Spud blinked at her and quickly sat down in the empty seat.

	Barbara reached a hand across to Dick, then, after a brief pause, 
stretched her other one to Spud, who regarded it suspiciously.

	“Are you praying?” he asked, incredulously.

	“Sometimes,” Dick answered, evenly.  “Sometimes we just sit for 
a minute.  We try to take a moment every night to be happy that we can be 
together.  We haven’t always been this lucky.”

	“Oh.”  Reluctantly, Spud took their hands and glanced at them as 
they closed their eyes.  He squeezed his eyes shut, too.  Except that when 
he did, he saw his brother’s body etched in his memory, and the burning 
knowledge that he was alone in the world, except for these two strangers, 
who were holding his hands just for the night.  He jerked away and tucked 
his hands under his arms.

	Barbara opened her eyes and looked at him.  “Do you want to 
pray?” she asked, softly.  “We can pray for your brother and that he’s in a 
safer place, now.”

	“No.”  Spud shook his head, stubbornly.  “I don’t pray.  There’s 
not really anyone listening.”

	“Maybe not,” Barbara agreed, shrugging.  She reached for her 
glass and took a sip of milk.  “But people have been talking for thousands 
of years, and some of them are sure someone is listening to them.  In 
ancient times, the Greeks and Romans had lots of gods they talked to.  
They asked Athena for wisdom and courage in battle, and they asked 
Aphrodite for love and beauty.”

	Spud wrinkled his freckled nose at the mention of love.  “Who are 
all those people?” he asked, watching Dick shovel lasagna from the pan 
with a huge, green-handled scoop that looked more appropriate to 
bricklaying.

	“They were characters in stories,” Barbara told him.  “Long, long 
ago, people believed that the universe created special beings with 
superpowers, who watched over the humans on earth and helped them 
when they had problems.”

	“Like Nightwing?” Spud asked, innocently, stuffing a square of 
lasagna into his mouth.

	“Just like Nightwing,” Barbara assured him, as Dick choked into a 
napkin.

	“Oh.  Why don’t people believe in them anymore?”

	“I don’t know, Spud.  Maybe some of them decided no one really 
was listening, too.  Or maybe they found other things to believe in.”  
Barbara gazed at him for a moment, holding her glass between her hands.  

	“That’s when people started talking about God and Christianity,” 
Dick offered, helpfully.  “They found someone else to ask for help.  
Sometimes that happens.”

	“Oh.”

	Barbara ate a forkful of salad, then set down her utensil, firmly.  
“I’m sorry,” she stated, “but I cannot keep calling you Spud.  Until I call 
Dick Mr. Potatohead, I’m just going to feel silly calling you Spud.  I know 
you must have a real name.  What is it?”

	“She’d love to call me Mr. Potatohead,” Dick whispered. 

	Spud just scowled down at his plate and shoveled in another 
mouthful of food.  Barbara and Dick exchanged concerned glances and 
looked back at their small charge.

	“It’s James,” he grumbled.  “Scorch said Mommy named me 
James.”

	Barbara raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dick, whose eyes were 
filled with compassion and understanding.

	“James was my father’s name,” she said, deliberately stabbing a 
piece of lasagna with her fork and eating it, slowly.  “It’s a very special 
name, and I want you to take good care of it, ok?”  She looked up at the 
freckled little boy, who was staring back at her, his eyes wide with 
astonishment.  It was the first time anyone had ever indicated that he 
possessed something of value.

	“Ok,” he agreed, quietly, turning his attention back to his lasagna, 
where it stayed for an entire three seconds.  “You still have a Daddy?” he 
finally inquired.

	“No,” she admitted, after a moment.  “He died a couple of years 
ago.”

	“Oh,” Spud processed this.  “Do you have a Mommy?”

	“No, she died when I was a little girl.”

	“Oh.”  Spud chewed for a minute, then turned his attention to 
Dick.  “Did your Mommy and Daddy die, too?”

	“Yes, they did,” Dick nodded.  “When I was nine.  But then I went 
to live with someone else, and I got a new father.”

	“You can’t have two fathers,” Spud snorted.

	“Sure you can,” Barbara disagreed.  “Sometimes Mommies and 
Daddies decided not to live together anymore—“

	“It’s called a divorce,” Spud informed her.

	“Thank you.  And sometimes they get remarried to other people-"

	“That’s not a REAL dad.”

	“It’s as real as you make it,” Dick told him.  “Bruce and I aren’t 
related at all, but I’ve though of him as my dad for a long time.”

	“Hmmph.”  Spud dug through his lasagna for a moment, looking 
for, Barbara soon determined, a mouthful of cheese.  “Are you going to try 
to be my mom and dad?” he asked, just before stuffing his mouth full of 
melted mozzarella and ricotta.

	Dick and Babs automatically glanced at each other, then quickly 
turned away.

	“We’ll talk about it later,” Dick told him, just as Babs said,

	“Right now you need to eat up and get some rest before we figure 
that one out.”

	Spud glanced from one to the other and swallowed his mound of 
cheese.  “Nice start,” he mumbled, reaching for his milk glass.

***

	Dick pushed back his chair with a contented sigh and patted his 
full stomach.

	“A man could get fat on your cooking, darling,” he complimented 
the chef.

	The chef was busy trying to convince her young guest to wipe his 
mouth on his napkin, rather than the back of his hand.  “Never you,” she 
replied, smashing a napkin onto Spud’s tomato-decorated face.

	“’Fraid so,” he sighed, pushing away from the table.  “C’mon, kid, 
time to clean up.”

	“Clean up?” Spud echoed.  “Why we gotta do that?”

	“Because we didn’t cook,” Dick told him, with the simplicity of 
someone who had been living under the maxim his entire life.  It was an 
act.  Dick was still in the process of finding the perfect butler.

	“But that’s girl stuff,” Spud complained, wrinkling his nose.

	“Oh, yeah?  Let’s see you cook something, tough guy.”

	“But—“

	“No buts.”  Dick lifted Spud bodily from his seat and stood him on 
the floor.  “Here,” he instructed, handing him a plate.  “Take this to the 
sink.  Break it and you have to glue it back together.”

	“That might be fun,” Spud scoffed, his small chin jutting out 
defiantly.

	“Blindfolded.”

	“Blindfolded?”

	“Until it’s perfect.”

	“That sucks.”

	“Go put it in the sink.”

	With a long-suffering sigh, Spud did as instructed.

	“I’m going to check on Dinah,” Barbara told her husband, with a 
cheery smile.  “You have fun, now.”

	“Roger that,” Dick replied, determination edging his voice.

***

	Barbara rolled into her private study, a room wired from the inside 
out with everything she could ask for to function as Oracle.  It was going 
to be hell to keep Spud out of here, she sighed, knowing she was already 
thinking to a future that may or may not happen.  She signed on and 
activated her link to Black Canary’s communication piece.

	“Black Canary?”

	“Howdy ho, Oracle.”

	“What are you doing right now?” Babs asked, needing to talk to 
her best friend about her current situation, but not wanting to disrupt the 
pursuit the world peace to do so.

	“I’m in my hotel room, lying on the bed with a glass of water, 
waiting for you to tell me how to run my life.”

	Babs smiled.  “I’ll forget you said that, if you forget that I was 
about to do it.”

	“Deal.  What’s up?”

	Barbara opened her mouth, then hesitated.  “I don’t know where to 
start,” she admitted.

	“Just shoot from the hip,” Dinah advised, the background noise 
suddenly reducing as she turned off the television.

	“We’ve got this kid spending the night with us,” Barbara blurted 
out.  “Dick pulled cleanup duty after a bunch of kids shot each other to 
death, and he was the little brother of one of the victims.  Their parents 
were dead and they’d been living on the streets for the last couple of years.  
He brought him home for the night, but he’s got to go to Social Services 
tomorrow; and his name’s James, just like Daddy.”

	“Con—“

	“And we haven’t talked about keeping him, or anything, but Dick 
was stuck in Juvenile Hall for a few days just after his parents died, and I 
know he’s not going to want the poor boy to go back there.”

	“Well, I—“

	“He calls himself Spud.  I guess that was his street name, or 
something, but Dinah’s he’s so cute—he’s got red hair, just like Jason 
Todd did, I guess you didn’t know Jason Todd, and right now Dick has 
him washing up the dishes.

	“Well, congrat—“

	“I mean, Dick and I haven’t talked about this, or anything.  The 
subject of children hasn’t come up in years and I don’t know how he 
feels—well, I’m sure he wants to keep him, but I haven’t even thought 
about it, and I’m just going crazy because I don’t know what I want or 
what I’m supposed to be thinking or feeling.”  Silence.  “Dinah?”

	“Are you done?”

	“Yes.”  Barbara colored.  “Sorry.”

	“As I was saying…congratulations!  It’s a boy!”

***

	“Do you want to wash, or dry?”

	“Neither.”

	“Not an option.  Play in soapy water or get to brandish a dish 
towel.  It’s not really that harsh a deal.”

	“No.”  Spud’s arms were crossed and a frown settled deep into his 
small face.  “I’m not doing no girl stuff.”

	“Buddy, I hate to tell you this, but you don’t have a choice,” Dick 
told him, squatting down to his level.  “That’s the deal ‘round this house.  
If you eat it, you either cook it, or you clean it up.”	

	“I guess cooking’s more girly,” Spud admitted, grudgingly.

	“That’s right,” Dick agreed, tossing him a towel.  “Cooking’s girly.  
But barbeque…now, that’s a man’s job!”

***

	“I don’t understand how a bunch of kids—they were just little kids, 
Babs—could get the firepower to inflict that much damage on each other,” 
Dick was saying, under his breath, so Spud couldn’t hear him.  “Someone 
out there is doing some serious violation of gun registration laws.  Do you 
think someone might have instigated the shootout?”

	“I think that it’s a violent time,” Barbara said, carefully.  “I’m sure 
someone did instigate the shootout…”

	“But who would want a bunch of kids to shoot each other up?” 
Dick interrupted.

	“As I was saying,” Barbara continued, firmly, “I don’t think you 
can put the blame on any one person.  And if there is a person to blame, 
he’s probably either dead or in the hospital right now.”

	“You think one of the kids planned this?” Dick frowned, pushing 
his feet against the ground.  He sat on the porch swing, Barbara on his lap, 
as Spud coasted down the driveway in Babs’ chair.

	“I don’t think there was any planning involved,” Barbara declared.  
“I think one of the kids said ‘Show up here, now’ and all the kids did.”

	“And look what’s left,” Dick muttered, as Spud whizzed down the 
driveway.

	“Are you going on patrol, tonight?” Babs asked, ruffling his hair.

	“Thought I’d stay in, tonight,” Dick said, watching Spud.  
“Sometimes…sometimes little boys have nightmares on their first night 
away from home.”

***

	Later that night, after Spud had been tucked into bed with a 
minimum of “stupid mushy stuff”, Babs and Dick lay together in bed, 
heads nestled inches apart on the same pillow.

	“So what time do you have to take Spud back to the station?” 
Barbara asked, quietly.  

	“My shift starts at noon,” Dick replied.  “Barbara…”

	“You know, I’m making burgers tomorrow night for dinner,” she 
interrupted.  “If there’s anyway they would let you bring him home 
tomorrow night, I think he’d really like that.”

	“There…there might be some paperwork involved in that,” Dick 
said, carefully.  “If there is, do you want me to—“

	“Yes,” Barbara nodded.  “Sign whatever you need to.”

	“You know,” Dick said, softly.  “This is a big change for us.”

	“Yeah,” Barbara agreed, brushing his cowlick away from his 
forehead.  “But it’s one we need.”

***	

	Barbara opened her eyes and couldn’t figure out what was going 
on.  What were those sounds?  Spud!  She sat up and instantly transferred 
herself to her chair.  Dick’s side of the bed was empty already.  She 
wheeled across the hall to the little guest room.  The light inside was 
blazing, and Dick sat on the bed, a blanket-tangled Spud on his lap.  Dick 
was rocking back and forth, ever so gently, and Barbara couldn’t hear 
what he was saying.  Unsure of what to do, and unwilling to interrupt, 
Barbara stayed in the doorway, watching the little drama play out before 
her.  She bit her lip as Spud buried his head in Dick’s shoulder and wished 
she had something to say or do that would make everything better.  But 
she didn’t.  At long last, Dick raised his head to meet her eyes.  Go on to 
bed, they told her.  There’s nothing you can do here.  And then he lowered 
his head again.  But she didn’t leave.

***

	Promptly at noon the next day, Officer Dick Grayson and his 
junior partner walked into Blüdhaven PD Headquarters.  

	“Social Services chick is waiting in Interrogation 3,” Filb warned 
him on his way to the coffee machine.

	“Thanks,” Dick called back to him, walking Spud to his desk.  He 
took off his light jacket and slung it around the back of the chair.  He 
swung Spud up to sit on the desk and sat down in the chair.  Spud watched 
as Dick fiddled around in the desk, straightening up things that didn’t need 
straightening and piling papers in random stacks.

	“You ready to go?” Dick asked the boy, finding himself clean out 
of ways to procrastinate.

	“I’m gonna get a raw deal, ain’t I?” Spud asked from his vantage 
point, swinging his legs.

	Dick regarded him seriously.  “You might have to live in a home 
for kids without parents.”

	“What if I don’t want to?” Spud challenged him.  “What if I run 
away, huh?  What are you gonna do about that?”

	“If I have to, I’ll come find you and bring you back,” Dick told 
him, seriously.  “But I don’t want you to do that.  Spud…”  Dick sat down 
in his chair so they could talk eye-to-eye.  “If I can swing it, do you want 
to stay with me and Babs?”

	Spud raised one eyebrow.  “What’s the catch?”

	“No running away.  No giving Babs any trouble.  You have to go 
to school, and you have to help around the house.”

	“School?” Spud wrinkled his freckled nose.

	“You’d have to go to school, no matter where you go,” Dick told 
him.

	“Right.  So what’s the real catch?”

	“I already told you.”

	“No, the real catch—what’s in it for you?  I know you don’t want 
me just so you don’t have to do dishes by yourself.”

	“I’m a grownup who needs a kid.  You’re a kid who needs a 
grownup.”  Dick crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, balancing 
carefully as not to tip himself into the middle of the floor.  “I want you as 
my kid.  Do you want me as your grownup?”

	Spud stared at his sneakers and wiggled around on the desk.

	“Spud, watch—“  Dick winced as Spud’s squirming knocked a 
very large, very grotesque sandstone paperweight onto the floor, where it 
shattered, drawing the attention of several of the passing cops in the 
squadroom.

	"Thank God that thing's gone," someone muttered within Dick's 
earshot.

	“Whoops,” Spud said, not sounding all that upset.

	“Spud, Dinah gave that to us for our second annivers—“  Dick 
frowned at the pile of dust on the floor.  “That was a really ugly 
paperweight,” he mused.  So ugly, in fact, that Babs had refused to keep it 
in the house and convinced Dick to take it to work with him.  “I think this 
is a sign,” he said to Spud, lifting his eyes from the carnage to the boy.

	“Officer Grayson?”  The hand on his shoulder was slim and tan 
and the voice was familiar and impatient.

	“Hi, Steph,” he said, with a sigh.

	With a criminal mastermind for a father and a mother who popped 
pills, Stephanie Brown felt she was duly qualified by the School of Hard 
Knocks—and Gotham University—to survive as a social services worker.  
She was just starting to figure out that there was something very wrong 
with that reasoning.

	"I'm afraid to even ask what regs you're trying to bend this time, 
Grayson," she frowned.  "You ready to move this party into a room with a 
door or do you want to waste more of my time?"

"We're coming, Steph," Dick told her, standing up and holding the 
chair for Spud to use as a step on his way down.  He'd run afoul of By-the-
Book-Brown more than once in his career—official and otherwise.  

A few minutes later, Dick and Spud were sitting along one side of 
the table in a free interrogation room and Stephanie was sitting across 
them, rubbing the bridge of her nose and scribbling notes on her pad.  
Spud matter-of-factly told his horrifying tale of a life on the streets with 
Scorch; a life that ended with a nightmare of gunfire.

	She had his file.  The cops who had interrogated him had given her 
his full name, and she wasn’t surprised to find the name already on record.

	“All right,” she said tiredly, when he was done.  “You’ve been to 
the Children’s Home before, so you know the drill-“

	“Actually,” Dick interrupted her, “you can skip all that.  Babs and I 
want Spud to live with us.”

	Stephanie stopped and stared at him.  “Ok, then,” she said 
carefully.  “But Spud still has to go to the Home while we do the 
paperwork.”

	“No!” Spud burst out.  “I won’t go back there!  I won’t stay!”

	“Spud, let me handle this,” Dick told him quietly, making the boy 
meet his eyes.  “I’ll do everything I can, ok?  I can’t make any promises, 
but let me talk to her.”

	“I’m not going back,” Spud warned him, his chin jutting out 
stubbornly.

	“Dick, I need to talk to you--alone,” Stephanie interrupted.

	Dick let out a harsh sigh of frustration.  He felt like he was losing 
from all sides.

	“Spud, can you do me a favor and sit on the bench outside for a 
couple minutes?  Ms. Brown wants to talk to me for a little bit.”

	Spud muttered something that most certainly would have Barbara 
washing his mouth out with soap and left the room.

	“What are you doing, Dick?” Stephanie asked before the door was 
even fully closed.  “Are you trying to be Bruce, Jr.?  Trying to adopt your 
own little sidekick?  And you think I’m going to let you *do* that?”

	“I’m not—“

	“I can not let you ruin this kid’s life!”

	“I’m not going to turn him into my sidekick!” Dick shot back 
before Stephanie could open her mouth again.  “Look where it got me and 
Bruce!  Bucketloads of pain and regret, and I’m not going to do that to this 
kid.”

	“Sure you aren’t.”  Stephanie crossed her arms and studied him 
intently.  

	“Look, Steph, the courts weren’t about to let the circus adopt 
me…if Bruce hadn’t-“

	“This boy isn’t *you* Dick,” Stephanie told him, pushing away 
from the wall to lean forward on the table.  “Look at his file.”  She shoved 
the folder across the desk at him.  “Father unknown.  Ditto on his dead 
brother.  The mother took care of them in this tiny little apartment until 
she was strangled by a john when Spud was six.  Social Services split 
them up, but they kept running away from their placement homes.  They 
ran away from the state home over a year ago.  Over a year, Dick.  That 
boy’s been on the street for over a year.  You can’t think that a week with 
Alfred will whip him into shape?”

	“So what do you want me to do?” Dick shot back.  “Give up on 
him?  Leave him to your precious system that’s going to bounce him from 
foster home to foster home until he’s 18?”

	“He’s not a toy, Dick…you can’t give him back!”

	“Don’t you think I can keep a promise?”

	Those words were spoken quietly and coldly.  Stephanie froze, her 
face flushing red as her eyes burned into Dick's.

	“All right, then,” she said, quietly, every syllable controlled.  “I’ll 
start the paperwork and I’ll rush your interview with the director.  Can you 
stop in today?”  Dick watched her hand shake as she hastily gathered up 
her papers.  

	“Absolutely.”

	“Fine.”  Stephanie stalked the door and yanked it open.  “Good 
luck with your new toy!” she spat back at him bitterly.

	Dick sat in the cold metal chair and sadly watched her retreat.  
Spud peeked around the corner.

	“Well, that went well,” he observed.

***

	Filb leaned against the wall, coffee cup in hand, listening to 
Grayson pitch his sell to the director of Social Services.  The boy had been 
in there for over an hour, going over family history, financial statements, 
employment records, and of all things, medical history.  Dick’s medical, 
psychological and background checks for his police academy entrance 
requirements helped fill in a lot of the necessary information.  Filb was 
just waiting for the reference issue to come up so he could storm the room 
and offer up every good thing he could think of to say about Dick and 
Barbara Grayson.  He glanced up from his coffee cup to see a pair of wide 
hazel eyes studying him critically.

	“What?” he finally asked.  “You need more cocoa?”

	“Nope.”  Spud examined Filb a little closer.  “You’re awful fat for 
a cop.”

	Filb patted his girth proudly.  “Son, this is seventeen years of 
doughnuts and greasy Chinese food stakeouts.  This is a gut to be proud 
of.”

	Spud tilted his head and raised his eyebrow in a skeptical look.  
“What if you have to chase someone?”

	“I leave the running to Grayson.  I just call for backup.”

	“What if he gets tired?”

	“Grayson?  Get tired?  Ain’t gonna happen.  That boy’s got more 
energy than Superman.”

	“Really?”

	Filb nodded confidently.  “Really.”

***

	Dick Grayson was tired.  And mad.  His entire life, minus his 
nocturnal activities, was spread out on the desk in front of him, being 
carefully mulled over by one elderly Dr. Kramer, who kept adjusting his 
glasses.

	“Your wife is in a wheelchair?” Dr. Kramer asked, squinting at the 
paperwork in front of him.

	“Yes, sir,” Dick answered, holding onto his temper with both 
hands and quite possibly one foot.  Why was this taking so long?

	“And she works at home?”

	“Yes, sir.  She’s a research librarian for the Gotham City Library 
and she compiles databases for the Gotham City PD.”

	“I see…” Dr. Kramer nodded.  “And you’re a police officer?”

	I’m standing right here in my blues, Dick thought, annoyed.  “Yes, 
sir, I am, and have been for the past five years.”

	“Dangerous job you got there.”

	Immediately, Dick saw what he was getting at.  “I know, sir, and 
so does my wife.  Her father was killed in the line of duty.  But I feel that 
it’s an honorable job and someone has to do it.  I don’t take unnecessary 
risks and I follow the rules.”  There might have been a little white lie 
somewhere in that speech, but he ignored the little tug on his conscience.  

	“You were taken in as a ward of the state when you were nine 
years old?”	

	“Yes, sir.  My parents were trapeze artists.  They died during a 
show.  I spent a few days in the Juvenile Detention Center because they 
were out of beds in the Children’s Home.  That’s why it’s so important to 
me that Spud…James…not be taken away from me.  I’ve been with him 
since his brother died, and I know from experience that it’s important for 
grieving children to have a consistent support figure from the moment of 
the incident.”

	Dr. Kramer arched an eyebrow, but the inquisitive effect was 
ruined when his glasses slid down his nose and he was forced to push 
them back up.

	“I see.  And then you became the ward of Mr. Bruce Wayne.”

	“Yes.”

	“And how did you like that?”

	“Um…it was nice…”  Nice?  Dick frantically wracked his mind 
for something better to say.  “It was a big house—I’d never lived in a 
house before, and never dreamed one could be so big.  Alfred—Bruce’s 
valet—cooked and cleaned everything and kept me in line.”

	“I see…was Mr. Wayne around much?”

	“He always made time to play with me when I was little.  As I got 
older, he got busier and we spent less time together.  We’ve gotten back 
into talking lately…I like to think of him as a friend.”

	“Mmmhmm.  Did he ever try to adopt you?”

	Dick flinched.  He couldn’t help it.  And he knew Dr. Kramer saw 
it.  “No,” he said, carefully.  “He was a good guy, always helping people 
out, but he was a little absent-minded and by the time he realized he’d 
never tried, I was almost too old anyway.”

	“And did Mr. Wayne ever act inappropriately toward you?  Did he 
ever touch you in a suggestive manner?”

	Dick's eyes hardened, meeting Dr. Kramer's gaze.

	“Bruce was like a second father to me," he ground out between 
clenched teeth.  "He never ‘acted inappropriately’ or abused me in any 
way, shape or form.”  Except maybe letting me wear those awful green 
shorts, he noted gloomily to himself.

***

	“I don’t know anything yet,” Barbara lamented to Dinah through 
their commlink.  “Dick promised he’d call as soon as he knew something, 
but I haven’t heard from him since he left the house.”

	“Well, you know,” Dinah said practically, as she applied her boot 
to a burly guard’s posterior, “it’s only been a couple hours.”  She took the 
second guard out with a quick chop to a certain pressure point and looked 
around for more guards.  “And after all, it’s not the end of the world if the 
kid has to cool his heels with the state for a couple of nights.”

	“Maybe not to us, but Dick’s not going to be able to sit still until 
he’s here,” Barbara said, tracing patterns in the rice on her lunch plate.  
“He…he was placed with the state after his parents died, but they had to 
keep him in juvie…”  She shook her, head, smashing the rice patterns with 
her fork.

	“Dick doesn’t seem to be the only one who can’t sit still,” Dinah 
commented mildly as she infiltrated the laboratory Babs had pinpointed as 
a major heroin distribution center.

	Barbara sighed.  “I know.  I’m restless, too.  He’s…I just know it, 
Dinah.  He’s our little boy.  I love him already.”

	“I am with you, babe,” Dinah assured her, scrambling up the 
rickety ladder to a catwalk.  “I mean, I’m not with you, I’m just…well, 
you know what I mean.”
	
***
 
	“Well.”  

	Dick almost dove across the desk and strangled Dr. Kramer.  
‘Well’?  ‘Well’?  After an hour and a half of ridiculously rigorous 
questioning about subjects the man did not need to know about all he had 
to say was ‘well’?

	“I think I’d like to speak to Mr. Scranton.”

	“Who?”

	Dr. Kramer gave him a hard look…or as hard a look as a white-
haired old man whose glasses kept sliding down his nose could manage.  
“Spud,” he clarified.  “James Scranton.”

	“Oh.  Right.”  Spud has a last name?  Of course he does, Grayson! 
Dick chastised himself.    “I’ll go get him.”

	“That won’t be necessary.  You stay here.”

	“Ok.”  Dick blinked at his own instantaneous agreement.  There 
was just something about Kramer that told him the little doctor was not 
someone to mess with.

***

	Dr. Karl Kramer walked into the hall and saw a little red-headed 
boy sitting cross-legged on the floor, clutching a nearly empty Styrofoam 
cup of hot cocoa.  His hair was shiny and rumpled in half-formed curls, 
and his clothes were old, but clean.  An overweight cop stood across from 
him, slurping some vile brew from an identical cup.

	“Spud?”

	“Yeah?” the kid’s eyes instantly narrowed as he looked at the old 
man suspiciously.  

	“I’m Dr. Kramer.  Do you remember me?  I have to ask you a few 
questions.”

	“Is this for Dick?”

	“For Dick, for you…whoever.  Mind I if I sit down?”

	Spud shrugged and looked doubtfully at the floor beside him.

	“You must be Officer Filbert,” Dr. Kramer said to the cop.

	“That’s me, they—“

	“Please go in my office with Officer Grayson for the time being.  I 
assume you want to tell me how stable he and his wife are and how they 
would provide a wonderful homelife for Spud, here?”

	Filb studied Kramer for a moment and then nodded.  “Yep, pretty 
much.”

	“Wonderful.  Now, if you’ll run along?”

	Filb looked at Spud and shrugged.

	Spud shrugged back at him.

	Filb went into Kramer’s office.

	“Now,” Kramer said, sitting down next to Spud and imitating the 
boy’s pose--not an easy feat for a man his age, but one he’d kept in 
practice in his many years of looking out for children.  “How are you 
today?  You had a rough day yesterday, I know.”

	“Yeah,” Spud admitted, looking into his cup.  “Scorch died.”

	“That’s what they tell me.  I’ll bet you miss him.”

	“Yeah.”  Spud didn’t seem inclined to offer up further information.

	“You look pretty scrubbed up.  Did you get a bath somewhere?”

	“Dick’s house.  His old lady keeps making me wash up.”

	“Why do you think she does that?”

	“Hell, have you seen their place?  It’s all clean and fancy and 
stuff…she probably doesn’t want me making a mess all over the place.”

	“Clean’s usually considered a good thing.”

	“Yeah, I guess.  She cooks good, too.”

	“Oh yeah?  What’d she make?”

	“Uh…I dunno.  Something with cheese and noodles and stuff.  
And she let me have as much as I wanted.”

	“She sounds pretty nice.”

	Spud shrugged.  “I guess.  She let me ride in her chair.”

	“Oh?”  Dr. Kramer raised an eyebrow.

	“Yeah, she can’t walk, so she’s got this wheelchair.”

	“No kidding.”

	“Yep.  She’s got all kinds of stuff though. You know, so she can 
do stuff.”

	“Stuff?”

	“You know…stuff.”

	“Ok.  What about Dick?”

	“He’s cool.”

	“Yeah?”

	“Yeah.  He found the cross for me.”  Spud dug it out of his shirt 
and showed it to Dr. Kramer.  “Remember when we were here the first 
time and Scorch bit that lady who tried to make him take it off to get in the 
showers?”

	“Unfortunately,” Kramer agreed.

	“Yeah…he told me he used to be in a circus.  But then his parents 
died and he had to leave.”

	“I see.  Did he help you wash up last night?”

	“Nah, he just pointed me to the bathroom and found me some stuff 
to wear.  I looked like a big dork.”

	“Sounds like he’s not a bad guy, though.”

	Spud wrinkled up his nose.  “I guess not.  He did make do dishes 
though.”

	“Heaven forbid.”

	“He said I had to cook or clean and since Babs already had it all 
made I got stuck drying dishes.”

	“Well, you can live with that, right?”

	“I guess.”

	“Anything else you want to tell me?”

	“Nah.  It was pretty neat.  I got to sleep in a room without anyone 
else.  That was weird.”

	“I would imagine so.”  Kramer made some notes on his pad, then 
looked directly at Spud.  “Would you like me to tell Dick that it’s all right 
for you to live there for a while?”

	Spud scrunched up his face. 

	“If you want me to tell him no, I can do that, too.”

	“No,” Spud said, finally.  “I want to go live with him.”

	“All right.  I’ll tell him.  But you have to do me a favor, too.”

	“I do?”

	“It’s not a tough one.”

	“I’ll try…”

	“I want you to remember that if something is wrong or if you feel 
like you can’t stay there, that you can always call me or Ms. Brown and 
we’ll come get you.  You don’t have to stay there if you don’t like it.  But 
you can’t just run away.  All right?”

	“No running away.”  Spud nodded.  “Sure.”

***

	“You suck at this patience thing, Grayson,” Filb informed him.

	“I know,” Dick agreed absently as he watched an old man and a 
little boy sit on the floor and choose a future.  He rested his forehead on 
the glass that separated them, blocking the sound.

	“You know, long as it don’t bother you or nothing.”

	“I know.”

	“Grayson?”

	“I know.”

	Filb just shook his head.

***

	"I just love the sight of burning heroin," Dinah sighed happily as 
she watched the warehouse go up in flames.

	"I love the thought of burning heroin," Babs replied, eyeing new 
information that had come across her screen.  "Are you up to a quick stop 
in Rheelasia before you come home?"

	"Sure," Dinah agreed.  "Although I'll have to cancel my dinner 
plans."

	"I'm sure Bruce will understand."  Babs smiled as she said this, 
awaiting the standard reaction.

	"I'm *not* sleeping with Bruce!"

	"In that case, you might want to turn your throat mike off the next 
time you go to the mansion."

	An indignant gasp echoed from South America.

	"'Cause Alfred announcing tea is a general tip that you're not at 
your apartment," Babs finished, teasing her friend.

	"You're not funny," Dinah grumbled.

	"I'm a riot," Babs returned.  "You've been sleeping with the guy for 
five years, Dinah.  EVERYBODY knows."

	"That's not true.  Tim doesn't know."

	"How does Tim not know?"

	"Mr. Clueless is up to his eyeballs in being Lucius Fox's protégé, 
and between working on his Master's and taking care of that little brother 
of his, his time in the Batcave consists of picking up new Batarangs and 
swiping cookies from Alfred."

	"Poor guy," Babs mused.  "We'll have to have him over for dinner 
one of these nights and pump him for information.  Hey," she added, her 
lightning-fast brain putting two and two together.  "You know an awful lot 
for not spending any time at the Manor."

	"Oh, shut up."

***

	"Officer Grayson?"

	"Yes, sir?"

	Dr. Kramer's eyes crinkled at the corners.  "There's no need for 
that, young man.  I'm not going to make you do pushups."  He had Spud's 
hand enclosed in his own, and he nudged the youngster forward.  "You put 
up with a hellacious amount of questions without losing your temper and 
this little tyke seems to want to go home with you…"

	A thousand kilowatt grin broke out on Dick's face as he looked 
down at Spud, who was pointedly not looking at him.

	"…so the state is granting you and Mrs. Grayson temporary 
custody of Mr. James Scranton, age eight.  Ms. Brown will be handling 
your case.  You'll need to see her on the way out, and she'll be keeping an 
eye on things for a while."

	"Thank you, Doctor, you have no idea—" Dick started excitedly.

	"I have seven children, Office Grayson.  Not one of them from 
birth."

	Dick found himself nodding.  "You *do* understand," he started.

	"Now, get out of here," Kramer interrupted, pushing Spud toward 
Dick.  "Not you, Officer Filbert.  I need you to write up your glowing 
recommendation, now."

	"Sure thing, Doc."

	Dick looked at Spud, who was still studying the wall.  "Ready to 
go home, chum?"

	Spud finally turned serious hazel eyes on Dick.  "Promise never to 
call me that again, and we have a deal."

***

	"They're home!"  Babs' voice was so loud, Dinah winced and 
cupped a hand over one earring.

	"Easy on the ears," she requested.  "So what's the word?"

	Her reply was a click and silence.

	"Babs?  Aren't you going to tell me?"  Dinah rolled her eyes when 
she didn't get an answer.  "Ok, fine," she decided, pulling a small cellular 
phone from her hip and punching in a number.

	"Hi, Alfred!" she greeted the man who answered.  "I'm not going 
to make it to dinner tonight—I have to go to Rheelasia.  Can you tell 
Bruce for me?"  She smiled at the older man's answer.  "You're such a 
sweetie.  Hey, Alfred?  Have you spoken to Dick or Babs in the last 
couple days?  No?  Oh, Alfred, have I got some gossip for you!"

***

	Dark.  Warm.  Soft.  Smells like vanilla.

	CRASH!

	"Yo, you two are still in bed."  Spud sounded disappointed in 
them.

	"We work nights," Dick informed him, his face still buried in 
Barbara's hair.  "We sleep mornings.  At least until sunrise.  And as long 
as the door is closed, you need to knock before coming in.  Go out and try 
again.  Knock this time."

	Spud hesitated, frowning at the twin lumps in the bed.  Finally, 
sensing no movement from either, he stomped out, slamming the door.

	A pause.

	Three knocks.

	CRASH!

	"There.  I knocked."

	"We didn't say come in," Barbara spoke up this time, her voice 
muffled by her pillow.  "Go out, knock, *wait for us to say ok* and then 
you can come in."

	With an aggravated sigh, Spud left the room once more.  The 
knocks on the door were louder, with a pointed pause in between each 
one.

	"Come in," Barbara called more sweetly than Dick could have 
managed.

	This time, though, the door didn't slam open.

	"Is this what rich people do?" Spud asked in disgust.  "Lay around 
in bed all day?"

	"Nope," Dick answered, without opening his eyes.  "We lay around 
for half the day and then we stay up all night long.  You wanna come up 
here with us?"

	Spud eyed the soft bed and it's two inhabitants and frowned.

	"No," he replied.

	"Ok, then.  You can get some cereal from the kitchen and watch 
some cartoons."  Dick finally rolled onto his back and sat up with a grunt.  
"C'mon.  I'll show you where they are."  He kicked himself free of the 
bedclothes and shrugged on a robe over his pajama bottoms, glad he'd put 
them on a few hours before.  "Let's go," he said, stumbling out to the 
kitchen.  Babs had been up until nearly four in the morning helping Dinah 
blow up parts of Rheelasia.  He was happy to let her sleep a little longer.

	"Don't you people do anything?" Spud wanted to know, following 
Dick out to the kitchen.

	"Sure.  We do lots of stuff," Dick told him around a yawn.  "But 
my shift doesn't start until noon and Babs can work whatever hours she 
wants.  She was up 'til four this morning.  That was hours after you went 
to bed."

	"Can I stay up 'til four?"

	"Sure.  When you get a job that makes you."  Dick opened a 
cupboard and pulled out two boxes of cereal.  "You want corn flakes or 
granola?"

	"Like a granola bar?"

	"Only mashed up."

	"Ok."

	"Great."  Dick poured a bowl of granola and a bowl of corn flakes 
and splashed some milk on both.  He pulled a quart of orange juice from 
the fridge and resisted the urge to take a swig right from the container.  
Instead, he rummaged through another cabinet until he found two glasses 
and poured the juice into them.

	"Am I gonna have to do dishes 'cause you're doing all that stuff?" 
Spud asked warily.

	"I'll help," Dick said, setting a bowl and a glass on the table for 
him.  He got his own food and two spoons and went to sit with Spud.

	"We only do the hand-holding thing at dinner?"

	"Usually.  Unless you want to do it now."  Dick looked up at him.  
"Do you?"

	"No."  

	"Ok."

The two ate in silence for a few minutes.

	"I've gotta go to work later," Dick said, breaking the quiet.  "Think 
you and Babs can find something to do?"

	Spud looked at him, blankly.  Dick sighed.  

	"Maybe you two can go shopping," he suggested.  "You can get 
some new clothes or something."

	"'Kay."  Spud stuffed some more cereal in his mouth.

	Dick got the distinct feeling that clothes shopping wasn't exactly 
on the top of Spud's list of fun things to do.  It was usually pretty close to 
last on his own list of fun things to do.  Spud needed more clothes, though.  
He only had the jeans he was wearing, which appeared to be at least two 
sizes too big for him, and an assortment of shirts he wore all at the same 
time, layered from thinnest to a thick red sweatshirt that clashed horribly 
with his hair.  Babs had suggested taking him to Dr. Leslie, too.  His arms 
were so skinny they looked like sticks.  Filb had mentioned that Spud 
looked small for his age, and though Dick didn’t have a clue what size a 
normal 8-year-old should be, he could easily believe Spud wasn't there 
yet.  

	Noticing that Spud had finished his granola in record time, Dick 
started to take his bowl.  He noticed Spud's gaze shift to Dick's own half-
finished bowl, and then back to the empty bowl that Dick was aiming for 
the sink.

	"How 'bout I get you some more?" Dick suggested, reaching in the 
cabinet for more cereal.

	"Really?"  Spud's face lit up.

	"Sure.  You're still hungry, right?"

	Spud nodded enthusiastically and watched eagerly as Dick refilled 
the bowl.

	Good grief, Dick thought as he replaced the cereal and returned the 
bowl to Spud.  That kid sure can pack it away.  I couldn’t possibly have 
eaten that much when *I* was a kid.

***

	"Who's investigating the shootout?" Dick asked as he sat down at 
his desk.

	Filb raised an eyebrow at his partner's obvious lack of civil 
greeting.  "No one," he replied.  "It's a random act of violence.  Bunch of 
kids fired on another bunch of kids.  Couple of the detectives went out and 
talked to the neighborhood folk yesterday and came up with nothing.  It's a 
closed case."

	"A closed case?"  Dick stared at Filb in incomprehension.  "You're 
kidding me.  Twenty-some kids shot each other to death and no one's to 
blame?"

	Filb leaned back in his chair, knowing what was coming.

	"I'm gonna look into this."

	"You're going to make Amy mad."

	"I've made her mad before."

	"This is not a good idea."

***

	"Hey, kiddo."

	Spud didn't look over his shoulder.  He knew it was Babs.   

	"Hey."

	"You ready to go on a little trip?  Dick and I thought you might 
want to get some new stuff."

	Spud shrugged, then paused.

	"You can drive?"

	"Yup," Babs replied with a grin.  "I have a special car and 
everything.  You want to see it?"

	It took Spud all of a second and a half to decide that a car that held 
a wheelchair had to be neatest thing ever. He was off the couch in half that 
time and on his way to the garage.

	Barbara grinned at her temporary victory and followed him.

***

	"Yo, Wiest!"

	"Grayson?"  The balding youth cop looked up from a frighteningly 
tilted pile of paperwork as Dick leaned into the hole-in-the-wall Wiest and 
his partner Conrad called an office.

	Dick had heard that Wiest was amazingly good with kids and 
visited chronically ill children in Rabe Memorial on the weekends, dressed 
as Winky the Clown.  But on this morning, as he slouched in the cracked 
leather chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose, with a coffee stain already set 
proudly in his white shirt, Wiest just looked like a tired old cop.

	"Yeah, mind if I come in?"

	"Sure, get in here."  Wiest waved a file folder at him absently.  
"Move something and sit down."

	Dick walked through the door and instantly found himself at the 
desks, which were pushed head to head so their occupants could face each 
other.  He shoved a pile of papers and a huge water gun to the side and 
hitched his hip on Conrad's desk.

	"I hear the gang shooting case got closed," Dick said casually.  Or 
he thought it was casual.

	"I heard you got custody of one of the kids," Wiest returned.  

	"Yeah."  Dick nodded slowly.  It was subtle, but it was clear.  
Wiest knew what was up on this case.  Dick did not.  "My parents died 
when I was about his age."

	Wiest didn’t touch that one.  He just nodded and directed the 
conversation back to its more professional aspects.  "We got hold of as 
many of the guns as we could.  Tracked them all, traced the serial 
numbers, fun stuff like that.  Talked to their last owners.  People break all 
kinds of laws out there, Grayson, but this was a case of one kid was 
sleeping with another kid's girl or insulted another kid's mother or 
something else asinine and a fight started, a gun came out  and then 
everyone who was carrying was shooting."  Wiest sounded disgusted.  
"Your kid didn't shoot no one…spent the whole thing in the dumpster.  
We got a couple of them on the street—hard to hide with no gang.  And 
we got the rest of 'em in the hospital.  Case closed."

	"I was thinking," Dick started, "I'd like to look into it a little 
bit…y'know, so if Spud starts asking questions, I can tell him what 
happened."

	Wiest studied him hard, decided he was blowing smoke and picked 
up a file anyway.  "Here," he said shortly.  "You got five minutes.  When I 
get back from my coffee run, it better be back on my desk, with nothing 
missing, got it?"

	"No problem," Dick agreed, taking the folder.

	Wiest picked up his now-empty cup and headed for the coffee 
machine down the hall.  Dick sat down at his desk and quickly skimmed 
the file.  He had five minutes and he decided to focus on the guns.  He 
found the list of serial numbers, their descriptions and their origins and set 
to work committing them to memory before Wiest returned.

***

	Babs used her remote to activate the car's lift.  Spud was 
enthralled.  She let him stand on the platform and ride it up and into the 
car.  Depositing Spud in the front seat, she lowered the platform again, 
backing her wheelchair onto the platform and letting it lift her into the car. 
She turned, settling herself behind the wheel and looked to see if Spud was 
buckled in.

	"Wow, look!" Spud exclaimed, reaching for a control.  "All the 
stuff's up here!"

	"Don't touch that!" Babs exclaimed, raising her hand to block his.

	She was shocked when he shrank away, his face closing up.

	"I just meant--" she started, then realized what he had thought.  "I 
wasn't going to hit you!  I just—"  She stopped and looked sadly at Spud, 
who was now staring out the window.  "I just didn’t want you to touch 
that," she finished.

	Spud didn’t reply.  Babs watched him for a few more moments, 
then opened the garage and started the car.

***

	"Time's up, kid."  Wiest was back.

	"You know," Dick started.

	"Don’t try it," Wiest returned.  "The case is closed."

	"Ok," Dick agreed.  "But what could it hurt to poke around just a 
little longer?  You never know what might turn up in a day or so that got 
missed with all the rush."

	"Give it up, Grayson," the older cop told Dick with a  shake of his 
balding head.  "You're not going to find nothing.  Now scram."

	Dick scrammed.

***

	"Grayson!"

	"I told you that you were gonna make Amy mad."

	Dick shot a glare at Filb and looked up carefully into the flashing 
eyes of Capt. Amy Rohrbach.  "Hi, Captain," he said, shooting her a 
charming smile.

	"Don't 'Hi, Captain' me, rookie."

	Filb winced.  Amy was breaking out the 'rookie' full-force.

	"Now, that's not fair, Amy," Dick tried to reason.  "I've been on the 
force for six years…"

	"And you're still being a bonehead.  Didn't I teach you anything?"

	"Everything I know about being a cop," Dick started.

	"What are you doing, rookie?  Selling out your Academy 
instructors?  Don't give me that."

	Filb had been right.  Dick had made Amy mad.  The old cop leaned 
back in his chair to enjoy the show.

	"I *know* what you were doing with Wiest and Conrad and the 
answer is NO, Grayson.  Do you hear me?  NO.  You are not reopening 
this case.  You are not going to obsess over it and beat it to death.  You are 
not going to waste the taxpayers' money going after a non-existent 
supervillain, got me?"

	"Amy, you know me—"

	"Oh, I know you, all right, Grayson."  Amy was wearing a smile 
that was starting to  worry Filb.  "You wouldn't believe how well I know 
you."

***	

	TWEET!

	"You know this is all your fault, Grayson," Filb told Dick 
conversationally.

	"Yeah, I know," Dick replied, more annoyed that Amy had 
temporarily thwarted his investigation than the actual traffic duty itself.  
He backed up and waved a Volvo through the intersection.  The Volvo 
was being piloted by a student who floored the gas after passing Dick, 
heaving the car up to a full 45 miles per hour and spewing exhaust into 
Dick's face.  He coughed and turned his head, blinking a few times.  He 
started to glance back at the hiccoughing car to catch the number on its 
license plate when a neon sign caught his attention.

	Rook's Pawn Shop.

	Dick's analytical mind flashed back to the list he'd seen on Wiest's 
desk.  Rook's Pawn Shop had been listed as the last registered owner of 
one of the guns confiscated at the scene of the shootout.  With a little 
concentration he remembered the make and model, and then he was off at 
a jog.

	"Hey, Filb!" 

	Filb turned to see his partner running off down the street.

	"Cover for me," Dick requested, still moving away.  "I gotta check 
something out."

	Filb frowned as his partner disappeared into the seedy pawn shop.

	"Amy's gonna eat that boy for lunch," Filb declared, then barely 
jumped out of way as a MAC truck barreled down the street where he had 
been standing.  "Hey!  You get back here!" he barked belligerently at the 
back end of the truck.  He growled.  "Wait 'til I get my hands on that guy."

***

	"Mickey Rook!"

	Officer Richard Grayson sauntered into the small, dark, pawn 
shop, a nasty smile on his face.  

	The gangly, dark-haired man at the register lifted his hands and 
backed away from the counter.

	"Yo, Officer G, I ain't done nothin' wrong."

	"You sure about that, Mickey?" Dick asked, leaning on the glass 
counter.

	"Uh…?"  Mickey shifted his glassy eyes as he thought back over 
the last few days.  "Pretty sure…"

	"Let's talk about a gun, Mickey," Dick suggested icily.  "A Smith 
and Wesson .38 with a plastic handle.  A gun that *should* still be in your 
possession."

	"Look, Officer, I told that other guy—"

	"WHAT other guy, Mickey?"

	"The other cop…the one that came in here yesterday!"

	"Yeah, and what did you tell him, Mickey?"

	"I-I-I told him I sold it to Moira…Moira Finnegan.  I let her have it 
before the waiting period was over, 'cause she thought her old man was 
going to kill her or her kid.  I told the other cop that, honest!  He told me 
he'd have to let people know, but he wasn't gonna fry me this time."

	Dick felt like turning away and sighing.  This was common 
enough.  The kid probably took the gun.

	"So how come we found it on the street?" he growled, instead.  
"How come it killed a kid?  Maybe a bunch of 'em?"

	Mickey was shaking.  "I dunno, man.  I guess her brat took it.  I 
heard he was one of the kids who got killed."

	"Great," Dick said disgustedly.  He started to turn away but then 
turned and latched his hand into Mickey's collar, pulling him up to the 
counter.

	Mickey Rook suddenly found himself cheek to cheek with a rather 
angry Officer Grayson.

	"Mickey, listen to me," Grayson growled in his ear.  "If I ever, and 
I mean *ever* catch you doing sketchy things with gun sales again, I can 
promise you that my next visit won't be nearly as friendly.  You got me?"

	Mickey tried to nod but was unable to do anything more than 
twitch.

	"Y-yessir," he babbled.  "I gotcha."

	"Good."  Dick released him and stalked out of the store.  He felt 
dirty and the bright sunlight only made it seem more obvious.

	"Yo, you ready for lunch?" Filb asked, appearing beside him.  

	Dick looked down the street and realized the broken light had been 
repaired.

	"Nah," he muttered.  "I'm not hungry."

***

	"There's too much room in the crotch," Barbara lamented.  "Try on 
this pair."

	Spud rolled his eyes.  "They're *supposed* to be big," he informed 
her.

	"Not *this* big," she protested.  "Try on this pair.  I'm afraid the 
other ones are going to fall down."

	Spud grudgingly took the jeans and stomped back to the dressing 
room.  "This sucks!" he announced from behind the closed door.  

***

	Forty-five minutes later, Barbara and Spud left Gotham's largest 
department store with five new pairs of jeans (a little too big for Barbara's 
taste) and an assortment of t-shirt, a couple packages of socks, and to 
Spud's acute embarrassment--underwear.

	"Do you want to go get some lunch?" Barbara asked.  "There's a 
little luncheonette across the street."

	"Sure," Spud shrugged, still smarting from the clothes ordeal but 
never willing to turn down food.

	They crossed the street at the crosswalk, Barbara holding back 
Spud from running through when there was a lapse in traffic.

	"Wait for the light to change," she instructed him.  "Gotham is a 
little bigger than Blüdhaven."

	Spud blew air out his nose.  Didn't she *know* he used to live on 
his own?  Certainly he could cross the streets by himself!

	They crossed to the corner where O.A.F. Weiss, the giant toy store, 
attracted children of all ages.  Babs started rolling toward the little 
luncheonette next to it.  Spud kept up with her, but she didn't miss his eyes 
dart back to window of the store, which was crowded with animatronic 
toys, stuffed animals, and multiple train sets.

	He didn't say a word during lunch, munching on his tuna sandwich 
thoughtfully and eating all his potato chips.  

	"So," Babs asked casually as they exited the small café.  "Do you 
want to look around the toy store?"

	"Yeah!"  The word erupted from Spud's mouth and he was already 
pushing on the revolving door as she laughed at his response.  She went 
through the automatic door to the left of the revolving door and met a 
somewhat dizzy Spud on the other side.

	"Tell you what," she grinned.  "You were really good at the store 
today.  Pick out something you want and you can take it home with you."

	"Really?" Spud asked, awestruck.

	"Really," Barbara confirmed with a smile.  

	Spud looked amazed but undertook his task seriously.  He walked 
each aisle slowly, examining every toy on every shelf.  He picked up 
trucks, considered stuffed animals, and, with Babs' assurance, jumped on 
the floor piano.  He compared building sets, played with plastic toys and 
studied action figures.	

	And then he found the bargain bin.

	"Is this one ok?" he asked hesitantly, clutching a floppy fabric 
horse.

	"Of course it's ok," Barbara assured him immediately, studying the 
toy.  It was a cloth horse with wide eyes and stiff, tubular legs.  It was part 
of an Old West set that had been popular several years back.  "But don't 
you want something newer?"

	"No," Spud said immediately.  "I want this one."

	"Ok," Babs agreed.  "Let's try to find the rest of the set."

	"No.  Just this one."  Spud's eyes were solemn but his chin was set 
stubbornly.

	"Just that one?"

	"Just this one."

***

	"Where *is* that thing?"

"Yo," Dick greeted his household, tossing his duffel bag on a 
nearby chair.

	"Hey there, former Boy Wonder," Babs greeted him, searching her 
utensil drawer.  "How was work?"

	"Frustrating," Dick admitted, leaning down to kiss her.  "I'll tell 
you all about it later.  How's Spud?"

	"Good," Babs replied with a smile.  "We went out and got him 
some new clothes, we went out to lunch *and*," she paused dramatically, 
"we even went to the toy store."

	Dick grinned.  "Sounds like a great day.  Sorry I missed it."

	"You should be.  We bought a toy."

	"You did?"

	"Yep."  Babs grinned at him.  "He's been in his room playing with 
it all afternoon.  Go see."

	"Sure thing."  Dick kissed her on the forehead and started down the 
hall.

	"Take your bag," Babs called after him.  "And see if he knows 
what happened to my wooden spoon."

	Dick scooped up his bag and headed back to the bedrooms.

	After a few minutes, Babs gave up on her search for the spoon and 
decided to wait for Dick to return.  He didn't, so she went down the hall.

	She found her husband leaning against the wall, looking into 
Spud's room.  

	Dick caught sight of Babs and crooked one finger at her, holding 
another to his mouth in the universal demand for silence.  She rolled 
cautiously to his side and followed his nod to Spud's room.  She peered 
through the doorway.

	Spud sat in the middle of the room, running his new horse around 
Barbara's wooden spoon.  The spoon was wearing a Kleenex as a cape and 
had a Magic Marker mustache drawn across the bowl.

	Babs and Dick watched as Spud's horse tackled the spoon and 
pinned it to the floor, making growly horse sounds.

	"Grrrr.  Take that Evil Spoon!  The good guys ALWAYS win!"

***

	Filb blinked.  This was not possible.  He scrubbed his fists across 
his eyelids and looked at the desks pushed head-to-head in the middle of 
the squadroom.  His desk was right—a little paper, a little clutter, picture 
of Marina, taken the summer before she died, picture of his niece and her 
brats out in Montana, his stapler, his paper clip jar and his pencil cup.  It 
was the other desk that worried him.

	Dick Grayson was already in his chair, the surrounding area neat as 
a pin.  He was poring over some papers.

	"Morning," he mumbled distractedly, his eyes never leaving the 
documents.  "Are we off traffic duty, yet?"

	"Far's I know," Filb told him carefully.  He checked the clock 
again.  Quarter of.  Could it be that Officer Dick Grayson was 
actually…early?  No.  "M'I late?" Filb finally asked his suddenly studious 
partner.

	"No, why?" Dick asked, looking up at last and glancing at the 
clock.

	"'Cause you ain't flying in two seconds 'fore Amy shows up at your 
desk," Filb reminded him.  Grayson was always on time—but he was 
never early.

	"Hey, if you had a wife that looked like mine—" Dick started.  
Then he remembered the photo of Marina sitting less than a foot away 
from him and stopped.  "Oh, man, I'm—"

	"Nah."  Filb waved a beefy hand to cut off Dick's words.  "I was 
late a few times myself, back in my day.  Heh."

	The two men were quiet for a moment, then Dick broke the silence 
with, "Hey.  Babs said to tell you that she's making ribs for dinner and 
she's setting a place for you."

	"Guess I don't have much choice but t'show up," Filb grumbled, 
secretly touched that the Graysons included him in their family.

	"Not unless you want to tangle with Babs," Dick warned.

	Filb shook his head decisively.  "Not no way, not no how," he 
declared.  "I'll just suck it up and force down them ribs."  He took his seat 
opposite Dick.  "So what's in that pile of dead tree that's more interesting 
than your gorgeous wife?"

	"It's the gun list.  Somewhere in here, I have the make, model and 
owner of the gun that killed Scorch."

	"Don't give them names, Grayson," Filb said tiredly.  It was 
something he'd told his younger partner time and again with the exactly 
same results every time—none.  "And," he couldn’t help adding.  "Amy's 
gonna have my hide for letting you be stupid."

	"He's Spud's brother," Dick responded, never lifting his eyes from 
the paper.  "And I'll take care of Amy."

	Filb eyed him and sighed.

	"Where we going first?"

***

	"Where did you get that cable?" 

	Spud was calmly tying up a bottle of dish soap with a printer cord.  
The Evil Spoon was leaning against the couch near his knee.  The horse 
sat in his lap.

	"The big room with the heavy door," he told Babs, looking up at 
her.

	Babs tried not to sigh too audibly.  Apparently Dick hadn't set the 
locking device when he came in the night before.

	"All right, sweetie," she told him.  "But that's my special work 
room, ok?  It's probably going to be locked up most of the time."

	Spud shrugged.  "Ok."

	Babs sighed and watched him play.  "I'm going to take a shower 
and then we're going back into Gotham."

	"Again?"  Spud's nose wrinkled. "Do we have to buy more stupid 
clothes?"

	"No, we're going to see an old friend of ours, Dr. Thompkins.  
She's a very nice lady and I think you'll like her."

	"A doctor?"

	Babs froze.  She hadn't thought of his reaction to being dragged to 
a doctor.  What if he refused?  Would she have to call Dick?  Cancel the 
appointment?  Surely she couldn't drag him along herself?  Maybe once 
upon a time, but now…

	Spud shrugged.  "You guys are lousy parents.  You're supposed to 
take me the second you get me so you can see if I'm diseased or 
something."

	Babs almost shouted with relieved laughter.  "No, Spud," she 
grinned instead.  "We don't think you're diseased, we just want to know 
what we're supposed to feed you."

	The reference was lost on Spud, but his eyes lit up.  "I liked the 
noodle stuff.  You can feed me that."

	"Oh yeah?" Babs asked, recalling the mess he'd made with lasagna.  
"In that case, you're gonna love what we're having tonight."

***

	"Amy is going to—" Filb started with an almost gleeful undertone 
to his rough voice as he trudged up the stairs of a dilapidated brownstone.

	"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dick agreed, leaning across him to punch the 
doorbell.  "But if you don't tell her—"

	"Yes?"  A small woman with limp hair and a thin, haggard face 
was peering out at them from the crack the chain allowed her.

	"Blüdhaven PD, ma'am," Dick said crisply.  "We have a few 
questions."

	"I—"  Her eyes filled with tears.  "Please come in.  I'll get my 
husband."  She shut the door and Dick could hear the clink of the chain 
being unlatched.  The door opened again, swinging inward to show a drab, 
shabby living room with a few small bouquets of flowers grouped on a 
table.  Dick crossed the room to them and looked at the card.  Sympathy 
arrangements.

	"You aren't the guys who were here yesterday."

	Dick dropped the card and turned to see the meek little woman 
leading a tall, beefy man into the room.  He wore a white undershirt and 
ratty blue jeans and sported a bushy mustache on a weathered face.

	"I'm Officer Grayson," he introduced himself.  "This is Officer 
Filbert."  Filb nodded to the man.  "We wanted to ask you a few 
questions."

	"Fellas here yesterday asked us questions," the man rumbled.  
"You want more?"

	"Just a few," Dick assured him.

	"Siddown," the man told him, heaving himself onto the couch.  
The woman sat next to him, folding her hands in her lap.

	"I wanted to offer my condolences about your son," Dick started.  
The little woman started to weep.  The beefy man put an arm around her.  
"Uh, do you mind if I ask a few questions about him?"

	"Get it over with," the man commanded.

	"Had he been acting up before this week?"

	"Acting up?"  The man looked at Dick as if he were crazy.  "Kid 
ignored me, talked back to his mother, was never home. He was out of 
control.  I told the last bunch of cops that.  None of those kids he ran with 
were any good.  Half of them didn't have homes anyway."

	"I see.  Did you try to enforce discipline?"

	"What is this?  My kid gets…you guys are gonna come give me 
shit about my parenting skills?"

	"We're just trying to find some motivation, maybe some common 
link that would give us a little more information," Dick said soothingly.

	"I'll give you a link.  Damn kid gangs.  We work for a living, 
y'know?  Kids run off when we leave, get themselves in trouble.  Kids are 
dumb and you guys just ignore them 'til they shoot themselves up," the 
man blustered.  He removed his arm from his wife's shoulders and leaned 
forward, hands on his knees.  His wife ran to the kitchen. 

	Dick tried not to watch her retreat.  "I'm mostly concerned about 
where he got the gun.  The one we think he was using was unregistered 
and the serial number was rubbed out—"

	"The last guys asked that, too," the man snarled.  "I told them and 
I'm telling you.  I don' t know where the got the gun.  I got a gun and it's 
locked up next to my bed.  I keep it loaded and I keep the key on me.  It's 
still there.  The other guys checked.  You wanna check, too?"

	"No, sir," Dick replied, trying to keep his frustration in check.  
"That'll be all."  

	"Good," the man spat back.  

	The woman reappeared to lead Dick and Filb to the door as the 
husband stormed back to the bedrooms.  Her face was tearstained but 
composed.  Dick wanted to offer her something; some kind of hope, but he 
was coming up empty.  So he just wished her a good day and followed 
Filb down to where they had parked the cruiser.  

	"I feel like crud," Filb announced when they'd settled in the car and 
closed the doors.  "You?"

	Dick leaned his head briefly against the headrest, then reached out 
and started the car.  "I'll feel like crud later," he said.  "We've got work to 
do."

***

	Spud looked around the waiting room.  In the corner, a pregnant 
woman with a small boy beside her looked at her watch.  A girl slightly 
older than Spud with a runny nose curled miserably in a seat, all alone.  A 
boy with his arm hanging at an angle was pacing.  There was a pile of 
battered magazines and books in a basket and a few durable plastic toys 
under a chair.  Spud stuck close to Babs, who seemed quite comfortable 
there.

	"Don't you guys have rich-people doctors or something?" he asked, 
hunkering down next to her chair.

	Babs smiled at his perception of the Graysons' lifestyle.

	"Dr. Leslie is the best," she told him quietly.  "And she's an old 
family friend."

	Spud cast a look at the pregnant woman.

	"I bet her kids don't have a daddy," he stated.

	"Spud, hush!  You shouldn't go around saying things like that!"

	Across the room, the woman stood up and hustled her boy into the 
bathroom.

	"Spud!" Barbara cried in embarrassment.  "Look at what—"  She 
trailed off when she realized Spud's attention was elsewhere.

	The far door had opened and Dr. Leslie Thompkins emerged in her 
white coat, stethoscope slung around her neck.  She surveyed the room 
quickly.

	"Jeff, again?" she asked the boy with the broken arm.  At his nod, 
she continued, "When that heals, I'm going to take you out and teach you 
how to catch yourself *correctly* when you fall while rollerblading."

	"You have rollerblades, Doc?" Jeff asked excitedly.  

	"Of course I do.  Had to see what all the fuss was about.  Now, run 
along with Carol and get me some pictures of that arm, ok?"  Jeff 
obediently followed the nurse who was waiting to take X-rays of his 
broken limb.  "Barbara, darling, it's wonderful to see you again.  And this 
must be Spud?"

	"Sure is," Babs smiled, nudging Spud forward. 

	Stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, Spud resisted, preferring 
instead to hang near the back of Babs' chair.  

	"Spud, I'm Doctor Leslie, and if you don't mind holding on for a 
few minutes," Leslie peeked over at Barbara as she thought of their earlier 
phone conversation.  "I'll tell you all about Bruce, Dick's second daddy, 
when you come in, ok?"

	"He's not a real daddy," Spud informed her, face darkening.

	Leslie shrugged.  "Try telling that to them," she suggested.  "In 
fact," she continued, her eyes sliding to the door, "speak of the devil…"

	"Was someone talking about me?" Bruce Wayne asked with his 
best heartbreaker smile.

	Barbara wished for a hole to crawl into.

	Spud just looked at him curiously.

	Leslie smiled.

	"Barbara!"  Bruce's direct stare let her know that her attempt to 
blend into the wall had failed.  Miserably.  "What are you—oh."  Bruce 
cut himself off when he saw Spud peering out from behind Babs' chair.

	"Are these my supplies?" Leslie asked, swooping down on the 
package in Bruce's arms.

	"Yes," Bruce said, not taking his eyes from Spud's freckled face.  
"Alfred said—"  Suddenly his gaze was pinning Leslie to the wall.  
"Alfred said that you needed them before lunch and that I should drop 
them by around eleven."

	Leslie beamed.

	"That Alfred," she said, shaking her head.  "He's certainly 
dependable, isn't he?"

	"That's one word for it."

	Leslie smiled brightly at her glowering surrogate son.  "You ready 
to come on back, Spud?" she asked cheerfully, taking the boy by the hand.
He followed her reluctantly, his eyes fixed on Bruce as Leslie steered him 
toward the exam room.  

	Bruce's eyes tracked them through the doorway as he waited for 
the door to close.  Once they were gone, he fixed his glare on Barbara.

	"You want to tell me what's going on here?" Bruce asked Barbara 
evenly.

	Barbara sighed.  "Honestly?" she said, peering up at him, "you're 
asking the wrong person."

	"I take it this…" Bruce's eyes followed the sniffly little girl as she 
was being led away by a sympathetic nurse, "boy…has been living with 
you and Dick?"

	"Don't say it like he's a dog we dragged off the street," Barbara 
snapped.

	Bruce blinked, slightly taken aback, but didn't apologize.  "How 
long?" he asked instead.

	"Three days."

	"Three days?  You've been housing a…what is he?  Six years old?  
You've been housing this boy for three days and no one saw fit to tell 
me?"

	"He's eight, and someone must have seen fit to tell you," Barbara 
snapped back, "since you're here right now!"

	"You know as well as I do that Alfred and Leslie set this up," 
Bruce growled.

	"How did Alfred—oh no."

	"Your partner, no doubt."

	"The one you're not sleeping with?"

	The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked upward.

	"Yeah, that one."

	Barbara offered a conciliatory smile of her own.  

	Bruce sat down in the seat next to her chair.  He slumped 
marginally against the wall and tilted his head back.

	"This was Dick's idea, wasn't it?" he sighed.

	"Says the man who brought home an orphaned circus boy to his 
*butler*," Babs chided back.

	Bruce shrugged.  "I needed a sidekick," he muttered under his 
breath.  Hearing those words issue from his lips made Bruce sit up and 
fasten his gaze on Barbara.  "Is that what he thinks he's doing?" he asked.  
"Picking up a sidekick?  In *that* scrawny kid?"

	"No, Bruce," Babs interrupted, fixing him with a stare of her own.  
"He thinks he's picking up a son."

***

	"Who is that guy?" Spud asked as he swung his feet against the 
exam table.

	"That's Bruce Wayne," Leslie replied, ripping open a disposable 
thermometer.  "Dick went to live with him after his parents died."

	"Oh."  Spud tried not to sound too curious.  "So he's Dick's second 
daddy?"

	"I thought you didn't believe in second daddies?" Leslie asked, 
offering him the thermometer.  

	Spud took the thermometer from her and held it for a moment.  "I 
don't," he assured her, before popping the instrument in his mouth.  

	"Really?" Leslie asked, leaning her elbows on the table.  "I think 
Dick and Barbara are going to be pretty disappointed to hear that."  She 
caught Spud's mouth before the thermometer fell out.  "Careful.  Got 
another minute to go."

***

	"I don't like this."

	"When do you ever like a situation?"

	Bruce's mouth tightened.  "There's a lot at stake here," he said 
tightly.  "When I took in Dick, there was only myself and Alfred to worry 
about.  Now there's you, Tim, Cassandra…how much does this boy 
know?"

	"Right now?  Nothing.  He's been in my computer room but he 
doesn’t know enough to know it's unusual.  Dick and I usually keep it 
locked."

	"I don't like this."

	"Of course you don't.  It was fine when you did it, but Dick and I 
don't need a son, right?"

	Bruce remained impassive.  "I just meant…"  He paused.  "Does 
this make me a grandfather?"

	Barbara grinned.  "I'm starting to think you might like that idea."

	They fell into companionable silence as the pregnant woman 
emerged from the restroom with her little boy in tow.

	Barbara and Bruce exchanged rueful looks.

	Not much later, the far door opened and Leslie emerged, Spud's 
hand clasped firmly in hers.  

	"Oh, good" she said with a smile.  "Everyone's still here.  Spud, 
why don't you go say hi to Bruce while I talk to Barbara for a minute, all 
right?"

	"Ok."  Spud swaggered up to Bruce, his earlier shyness forgotten, 
and stuck out his hand.  "Hi, I'm Spud."

	It was one thing, Bruce reflected, to be able to calculate the risks 
involved with impetuously taking in a young boy and deeming it a poor 
tactical move.  It was quite another to look that young boy in the face and 
feel the same way.                           

	"Well, Spud," he replied, taking the small, grubby hand gingerly.  
"I'm Bruce.  And I'm very pleased to meet you."

	Spud beamed.

***

	"You be the good cop, I'll be the bad cop," Dick suggested, 
bouncing on his toes like a boxer waiting for the bell to ring.

	Filb cast him a sidelong glance.  "If you say so," he agreed.  

	Dick strode purposefully up the steps, taking them two at a time.  
Filb followed with a little less enthusiasm, squinting into the low light of 
the bar.

	Dick headed straight to the bartender, talking in low tones.  Filb 
surveyed the bar and its occupants.  Most of them peered at him over 
drafts; some of them nodded in recognition.  'Old Man Filbert' had walked 
that beat many years before and made it his business to be on top of all the 
news.  With a sigh pulled from his toes, he crossed the room and straddled 
a chair next to a kid who was probably only just barely 21.  

	"Darius Johnson," Filb declared.  "Your job let you out this early?"

	"Aw, man, Filb…" Darius whined.  "Don't be raggin' on me…"

	"I'll rag on you if you need it," Filb informed him sternly.  "But I 
need something from you, now."

	Darius looked around at the rest of the bar's occupants.  It wouldn't 
be good for his reputation to be seen talking to a cop…but is *was* Old 
Man Filbert.  Darius remembered Filb coaching his Little League team 
and eating cookies afterward with the gruff officer's pretty wife.  Darius 
owed him.  

	"We're looking for Robert Watson," Filb explained, watching his 
partner at the bar.  "His kid brother caught a slug in the neck.  No trouble, 
just want to talk."

	"Back room," Darius said into his beer.  "Rob-Dub ain't gonna 
much like you nosing 'round.  And it was his half-brother."

	Filb nodded and started to rise.  "You're a good kid, Darius.  
Always looked forward to you coming up to bat.  Go back to work."

	He sauntered over to the bar and clapped a hand on his partner's 
shoulder.  Apparently the "bad cop" act wasn't getting him too much of 
anywhere.  "Let's take a look in the back," Filb suggested quietly.

	Dick's eyes immediately shifted toward him.  "Sounds good to 
me," the younger man agreed.  Ignoring the bartender, Dick and Filb made 
their way to the back room.

	Dick opened the door to a pool table and half a dozen men fell 
silent, not one over thirty, all standing around the table with various 
brands of beer clutched around pool cues and cigarettes.  Half a dozen 
pairs of suspicious eyes turned toward them.

	"All right," Dick barked. "Which one of you is Robert Watson?"

	"We got a few questions," Filb explained loudly.  "'Bout 'is kid 
brother."

	"Yo."  One of the young men detached himself from the group.  
"What you got on the kid?"

	Dick sized him up and sidled a bit closer.  "He was in a…skirmish 
day before last."

	"Yeah, and got his ass shot up," Robert Watson informed them.  
"What you care?  He was just a little black kid from the ghetto."

	"We care," Dick informed him flatly.  "And we're looking to figure 
out where he or any of the other kids might have gotten a gun.  You know 
anything about that?"

	"Hey man, I didn't give him no gun," the youth insisted.  

	"Not saying you did," Filb said mildly.  "Just looking for a name of 
someone who might have."

	Robert Watson thought on that for a minute.  "I might have 
something like that," he finally said.

	"Aw man, don't go giving shit away," a voice piped up from the 
back of the group.

	He was ignored.  "What'm I getting for it?"

	Dick and Filb exchanged glances.  "We're going to find whoever 
set this thing up," Dick told him.  "And we're going to make him pay."

	Robert Watson looked back at his friends.  And they laughed.

***	

	Leslie hitched her hip on the edge of a worn waiting room chair as 
Bruce distracted Spud.

	"What's the verdict?" Barbara asked, glancing over at her charge.

	"Malnourished for sure," Leslie diagnosed.  "Underdeveloped.  
You can tell he's small for his age."  She followed Babs' gaze to the large 
man and the little boy regarding each other.  Babs looked back and Leslie 
met her steady gaze.  "Nothing life-threatening, though," the doctor 
assured Babs with a smile.  "Lots of milk, a good multi-vitamin and 
feeding him the way you feed your husband will get him back on track in 
no time."

	"That's it?" Barbara asked, raising an eyebrow.

	"That's it," Leslie confirmed.  "Whole milk is best, because he can 
afford the extra fat right now, but skim won't hurt him any.  I've written a 
prescription for multi-vitamins and calcium chews," she added, pulling a 
slip of paper from her pocket.  "They look and taste like candy, but make 
sure he knows they're not.  The calcium chews won't hurt him, but a lot of 
kids accidentally OD on vitamins  because they don't know any better.  
You'll have to get him to open the child-proof lid, because you won't be 
able to.  No adult is.  Try to get plenty of vegetables into him and keep his 
meals as balanced as possible."  She gave Barbara a speculative appraisal.  
"And no daring young Spud on the flying trapeze until he's bigger, ok?  Or 
at least until I'm more confident about his bone density."

	Barbara nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.  "Not 
a problem," she assured Leslie, wondering how long she was going to be 
able to keep that promise.

	"Right," Leslie nodded, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

	"Leslie, thank you," Barbara started to say, when she felt a weight 
on her chair.  

	"Hey Babs," Spud prodded, hanging on the arm of her wheelchair, 
"Bruce said that if you said it was ok, we could go get ice cream!"

	Before Barbara could glance at Leslie, the older woman replied, 
"Ice cream sounds like a fine idea!  Just what the doctor ordered!"  
Barbara smiled in relief as Bruce boosted Spud onto his broad shoulders 
and held the door for her to wheel onto the sidewalk.  It wasn't until much 
later that she realized Spud had called her by name for the first time.

***

	"You think we could skip the station house?" Dick mused, staring 
idly out the window of the parked police cruiser.  "Just fly a paper airplane 
with all our paperwork into Amy's office and run like hell?"

	"Yer getting grouchy," Filb pointed out, crunching on an apple.  
"And we don't have any paperwork, 'member?  We've been doing stuff 
Amy told us not to.  All day."

	Dick growled.

	"'Sides," Filb added, "Babs'll kill us if we show up smelling like a 
couple of raccoons.  And I ain't sharing a shower with you."

	Dick wrinkled his nose and passed a weary hand over his face.  "I 
feel like I’m missing something," he said, almost to himself.

	"Like perspective?" Filb asked good-humoredly, but not without 
meaning.

	Dick sighed and stared out the window of the cruiser.  "Babs is 
telling me the same thing…when I see her."

	Filb nodded slowly.  "You were in early this morning."

	"Yeah."

	"You think this guy's gonna show?"

	"Not a chance."

	"Let's go."

***

	It was like looking through the old photo albums Alfred had so 
carefully collected and assembled over the years.

	The boy had the mischief and enthusiasm of Dick at nearly the 
same age and the determined scowl and smart mouth of Jason Todd.  And 
suddenly, painfully, Bruce wanted those days back.

	"You've got ice cream on your nose," Barbara commented from 
next to Spud's stool.  She took a delicate bite from her small scoop of 
vanilla frozen yogurt.  

	Spud swiped at his face with a sleeve and Barbara smiled.

	"Not you," she told him.  She nodded.  "Bruce."

	"Huh?"  Bruce grinned and dabbed at his nose with a napkin.  
"Wonder where my mind was."

	Barbara shook her head.

	Bruce looked down at the small boy who was looking up at him 
with an openly mischievous grin on his face.  "Go ahead and laugh," he 
told Spud.  "You're gonna be messy, too."  Bruce tapped his spoon against 
Spud's nose, leaving a dab of ice cream and fudge sauce.

	Spud's eyes widened in surprise and crossed as he tried to see what 
Bruce had done to him.

	Bruce chuckled.  "Dick used to get that same look on his face," he 
declared.  "Hey, ever try this?"  He brought his spoon to his own nose, 
balancing it carefully against the tip.

	Spud immediately tried to imitate him, but the spoon fell back into 
his bowl with a clatter.

	"You kind of have to wrinkle your nose," Bruce instructed, picking 
up Spud's spoon to let him try again.

	"I'm going to take pictures and show Dinah," Babs threatened, 
leaning her cheek on her fist to watch the two boys with her.

	"Who's Dinah?" Spud wanted to know.

	Bruce shrugged.  "Some friend of Babs'."

	Babs rolled her eyes.

	Bruce grinned at her.

	And Babs had her second revelation of the day.

***

	"Yo, Grayson!"  Filb pounded on the shower door.

	"What?"  Dick closed his eyes against the hot water, scrubbing at 
his arm with the soap.  

	"Yer using up all the hot water and some of the guys are gonna 
come after ya."  Filb paused.  "I'm heading out."

	"What about dinner?  Babs is gonna take it out of my hide if you 
don't show," Dick called back.

	"I'll show," Filb promised.  "Just got some errands."

	"Don't be late."

	Dick heard Filb's fist hit the shower door in a parting shot.  
Masked by the cloud of steam, he leaned heavily against the wall of the 
cubicle and tilted his head against the wall.  Then, he dialed the water 
hotter and attacked himself with the soap again.                                                                                                

***

	Babs looked up as she heard the kitchen door swing open.  Dick 
trudged in, looking impossibly tired.

	"You look like hell, Former Boy Wonder," she said worriedly.  
Mentally, she put aside her decision to convince him to call Bruce 
immediately.  "Bad day?"

	Dick answered with a groan.

	"Want to tell me about it?"

	"Later, maybe," Dick sighed, walking up to her chair and wrapping 
his arms around her shoulders.  He buried his face in the cloud of red hair 
and sighed blissfully.

	"I love you," he said quietly, kissing her forehead.

	"If you love me so much, go fire up the grill," Babs suggested with 
a faint flush.  "And let Spud know you're home.  He's tried to be a perfect 
terror all day."

	"Dr. Leslie beat him, didn't she?" Dick asked, claiming the grilling 
utensils.

	"I've never seen a woman whip a kid into shape faster than she 
did."

	"You're jealous, aren't you?"

	"Horribly."

	"I'll go find him."  Dick planted a kiss on the top of her head and 
took off down the hall.

	Babs smiled to herself and set about placing the gooey ribs on a 
foil-lined tray for Dick to take out to the grill.

	A rap on the lower half of the kitchen door startled her into 
dropping one rack back into the sauce and she looked up to see Filb 
grinning at her.  She waved him in and had to laugh as she saw the pint-
sized cowboy hat perched precariously on Filb's rather large head.

	"You like the new headgear?" Filb asked, leaning down to kiss 
Barbara's cheek.

	"It's very becoming," Babs joked back.  "I guess Dick told you 
about our little cowboy?"

	"That he did," Filb declared, steadying the hat.  "Figured I'd 
contribute to the collection."

	"He'll love it," Babs assured him.  "Thank you, Filb.  It's really 
sweet of you to think of him.

	"Nah," Filb replied gruffly.  "Sweet of you to feed an old man."

	"Filb, you're family, you know that," Barbara chided him.  She 
started to say something else, but she was interrupted by her husband, 
storming the kitchen with an eight-year-old on his shoulders.

	Filb and Babs looked at the duo, then back at each other, sympathy 
for each other echoing loudly.

	"You got meat for me, Babs?" Dick asked, eyeing the ribs.  "Filb, 
'bout time you got here.  Come help me teach Spud how REAL meat is 
cooked."

	Filb glanced up at the boy on Dick's shoulders.  "Hey, there, 
pardner," he drawled.  "Don't suppose you remember me?"

	Spud nodded silently, his wide eyes transfixed on Filb's hat.  

	"Hear you got a new toy."

	Spud nodded again.  Dick cast his eyes up, trying to see Spud's 
face.

	"So happens I like cowboys pretty much myself.  What say we 
play a bit after dinner?"

	"Really?" he asked, face lighting up.

	"Sure thing."

	Dick swung Spud down to the ground.  The boy immediately 
attached himself to Filb's side.

	"You've got a pretty sweet hat there," Spud pointed out.  

	"That I do," Filb agreed.  "Picked it up this afternoon.  Figured it 
would come in handy for playing cowboy, doncha think?"

	"It's a *good* cowboy hat," Spud agreed.  He took Filb's hand and 
pulled the older man out to the patio where Dick had just turned on the gas 
grill and was prepping the racks of ribs.  Barbara leaned on her hand and 
smiled.

***

	Dick's attempts at indoctrinating Spud in the ways of flame-broiled 
beef ground to a halt when it became obvious that Filb and his undersized 
hat held infinitely more interest.  Silently conceding defeat, Dick used a 
pair of tongs to turn the meat as he listened to the chatter between the 
older man and the little boy.

	"This is Evil Spoon," Spud explained to Filb.  "And this is Susie 
Suds.  And the horse is going to save her."

	"Doesn't your horse have a name?" Barbara asked, wheeling 
herself onto the patio with a bowl of cole slaw.  

	"No," Spud replied as if slightly confused.  "Does it need one?"

	"No harm in having a name," Filb drawled.  "The way I figure it, 
you'll need to know what to yell if he gets lost."

	"He won't get lost," Spud responded instantly.  "I'll take good care 
of him."

	Babs and Dick exchanged a puzzled glance at Spud's fierce 
devotion to keeping the toy safe.  Dick shrugged and turned back to the 
grill just in time to prevent one of the racks of ribs from bursting into 
flame.

	"Sure you will, little buddy," Filb agreed.  "But horses wander off 
all the time.  A name might even make him feel a little more cheerful."

	Spud studied his toy and considered Filb's words.  "How about 
Dick?"

	Filb managed to swallow a guffaw and pretended to think on the 
matter.

	"Spud," Dick protested.  "*I* don't even like the name Dick.  Why 
would you want to name your horse after me?"

	"Now here's a thought," Filb said, ignoring Dick.  "If you name the 
horse Dick, you might get him mixed up with Dick, here."

	"He's a horse," Spud pointed out, gesturing to his horse.  "And he's 
a person," he noted, nodding at Dick.

	"Doesn't miss a trick," Babs murmured under her breath.

	"But what if one of them were lost?" Filb reasoned.  "If you yelled 
'Dick!' then they wouldn't know which one they were looking for."

	Spud thought a moment.  "I guess," he agreed reluctantly.  "But I 
don't know what I *should* call him."

	"How about Buckshot?" Babs suggested, naming the sobriquet 
given by the toy company.

	"Ok," Spud agreed.  He turned to Filb.  "Can Buckshot wear your 
hat?"

	"No problem little buddy," Filb assured him, clapping the hat over 
the entire horse.  "Not a problem."

***

	"We're not doing the hand-holding thing?" Spud asked accusingly 
as Barbara passed Filb the platter of dripping ribs.

	"We don't usually do that when Filb's over," Dick explained, 
glancing apologetically at his partner.

	"S'no problem," Filb declared, setting the plate down without 
taking any.  "I'll hold hands.  'Specially if I get to hold hands with 
Barbara."  He winked at Spud and offered a beefy paw.  Spud squeezed a 
small hand over Filb's palm and reached his other hand out to Dick.  
Barbara reached for Filb and Dick, smiling at Spud.

	"Spud, you want to explain this to Filb, since he hasn't done it 
before?"

	"We hold hands," Spud said, as if talking to someone very slow.

	"Spud…" Dick warned, raising an eyebrow at him.

	"And we think about being glad to be here," Spud finished.  "Are 
you glad to be here?"

	Filb smiled sadly.  "I sure am.  I don't have anyone to hold hands 
with at home."

	"You don’t have a kid?"

	"I have lots of kids," Filb said.  "But they all belong to other 
people."  He smiled and explained his cryptic comment.  "I coach Little 
League, Spud, so kids can play baseball.  But my wife and I couldn't have 
our own kids to take home with us."

	"Oh.  Where's your wife?"

	Suddenly the table seemed very quiet.

	"She got very sick and…she died, son."

	"Oh."  Spud studied Filb hard.  "Like Scorch?"

	Filb nodded slowly.  "A little bit different.  But I miss her just as 
much as you miss Scorch."

	Barbara shook her hand from Dick's grasp and brushed at a tear 
sliding down her face.  Dick reached over and cupped her cheek in his 
hand.  He squeezed Spud's hand on his other side.

	"See, buddy?" he asked softly.  "Everyone has someone they miss.  
That's why we hold hands and remember them and then we go on and do 
things that would make them proud of us.  Now c'mon, let's do this so we 
can eat some ribs!"

	Not sure what ribs really were, but motivated by the delicious 
aroma to find out, Spud ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut until 
he heard the rest of the table's occupants lift their own heads and start 
moving.

	"Now," Filb proclaimed, dumping a heap of ribs on his plate and 
doing the same to Spud's, "I'm going to teach you to eat ribs right.  I'd 
leave it up to Grayson here, but that boy leaves meat on the bones!"

"I do not," Dick protested to deaf ears.

"A crying shame I tell you," Filb continued as if Dick had not said 
a word, "a crying shame.  Sleeves up?"
	
Hanging on to Filb's every word, Spud dutifully pushed his sleeves 
above the elbow.  One promptly slid back down.

	"We gotta fix this," Filb informed him, "or we ain't getting 
nowhere."  He reached over to roll up Spud's sleeve and was surprised 
when a vicious little set of teeth clamped into his hand.  "Hey!"

	"Spud!"  The dual cry from Dick and Babs made him release 
immediately.

	"What's the matter with you?" Dick asked, starting to rise.  "I 
thought you liked Filb!"

	"Siddown," Filb said mildly, waving Dick back.  "You're lucky, 
boy," he said to Spud.  "Didn't break the skin.  'Fraid I was gonna take 
your food?"

	Spud's head rolled down and his knees came up under his chin 
until he was sitting on the seat in a little ball.  "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

	"Hey."  Filb's large hand nearly covered Spud's back.  "You don't 
have to fight for your food here.  Just r'member that next time you're 
thinking 'bout chomping on my hand, hear?"

	Spud nodded solemnly.

	"Ok, then.  Get that sleeve rolled up and we'll eat some ribs."

	Spud scrambled onto his knees and held out his arm to Filb, who 
carefully folded the red sweatshirt sleeve up to his elbow.

	"Ok, you ready?" Filb asked when Spud was poised in front of his 
plate.  At Spud's nod, the older man continued, "First thing,  you take one 
end in each hand like so." 

	Spud looked at the messy ribs and smiled as he picked one up, 
sauce squishing deliciously between his fingers.

	"Now you want to start on one end, here, like this," Filb instructed, 
lifting one end of the rib.

	"No, no, no," Dick interrupted.  "You want to turn the curve 
outward and just chomp the middle.  Like this."  He dove greedily into the 
middle of his piece of meat and came up chewing happily, sauce smearing 
his cheeks.

	"That's disgusting," Babs informed him archly, tearing away a strip 
of meat and popping it in her mouth.  

	"And you're setting a bad example," Filb added sternly.  "Now, 
Spud, we're going to start at this corner and bite inward.  Tear as little as 
possible."

	Keeping on eye on his new mentor, Spud bit into the rib and 
gnawed on it curiously.

	"Good," Filb congratulated him.  "Now, you gotta make sure 
you—huh."  

	Spud's technique had changed. 

	"That was fast," Filb commented.

	"That was messy," Barbara commented with a wrinkle of her nose.

	"That's my boy."  Dick nodded assuredly.

	Spud looked up at the three adults staring at him, sauce ringing his 
mouth, dotting his nose and making its way down his chin.

	"What?"

***

	"Hold on a minute," Babs insisted, scrubbing Spud's chin with a 
dishcloth.  "How did you get sauce all the way up here?" she wondered to 
herself as she spied a blob on his ear.

	"Ow," Spud protested, trying to wriggle away.  "That's cold."

	"Sorry," Babs apologized, passing the rag back to the sink for re-
wetting—with warm water this time.

	Free from her grasp, Spud took off down the hall to get his toys.

	"Spud!"

	"He's clean enough, " Filb shrugged, donning the mini cowboy hat  
he'd taken off for dinner.  "Ya gotta let some things go."

	Barbara sighed and tossed her dishrag into the sink.

	By this point, Spud was back, arms overflowing with Buckshot the 
Horse, the Evil Spoon, the bottle of dish soap, the printer cord and a few 
other household items Babs hadn't had a chance to miss.

	"C'mon, Filb!" he cried, dashing through the kitchen.  "Let's go 
play!"

	"If ya'll will excuse me," Filb drawled, "my presence's bein' 
r'quested in the other room."  He tipped his little hat to Dick and Babs and 
moseyed into the living room.

	"He's great with Spud," Dick commented, swishing his towel 
around a plate.

	"Great," Barbara muttered under her breath.  "Maybe *he* should 
have taken Spud home."

***

	"Ok, now I'll be the horse and you be the cowboy," Spud 
instructed.  

	"Don't you want to be the cowboy?" Filb asked, tipping his hat 
back and scratching his head.

	"Nah, I'm a shrimpkin so I have to be the horse," Spud insisted 
solemnly. 

	"Now where did you get that idea?" Filb demanded.  His voice was 
gentle but it was clear he'd take no guff.

	"When we still lived with Mommy and I went to school," Spud 
explained, playing with the horse's felt foot, "we had a horsey like this and 
a cowboy and a dog and I had to be the horse 'cuz Ronnie said I was too 
little to be the hero.  'Sides," he added with a shrug, apparently fascinated 
with the horse's foot, "you have a hat.  Gotta have a hat to be a cowboy."

	"Well."   Filb regarded his young friend carefully. "I'll reckon 
you're a bit bigger than you were when that went on.  Probably right ready 
to be a hero."  He took off the hat and plopped it on Spud's head.

	Spud quickly looked up into kindly blue eyes.

	"I got another one at home," Filb assured him.  "And I don't think 
this one fits so well anymore."

***

	"What did you say?" Dick asked, leaning across to shut off the 
running water.

	"Nothing," Babs told him, shaking her head and becoming intent 
on the dishes.

	Dick studied her carefully.  

	Barbara sighed.  "I was just thinking that it was a shame Filb and 
Marina never had any kids."

	"Yeah," Dick agreed, nodding slowly.  "But I think they were 
pretty happy with what they had."

	"Of course they were." Barbara smiled brightly.

	Dick wasn't entirely sure he'd gotten to the bottom of things, but at 
the moment, it didn't seem worth the effort.

	"Let's make some coffee," he suggested instead.  

	Silently, Barbara opened the cabinet door that held the filters and 
coffee grounds and Dick filled the carafe with water.  In a few well-
coordinated minutes, the coffee was cheerfully dripping into the pot and 
Dick was searching out milk and sugar.

	"I've got…rumblings," Dick confessed when they were sitting at 
the table with their steaming mugs of coffee.  "A rumor here, a thought 
there.  Mostly nothing."

	Barbara shook her head, frustrated to be back on this topic, but 
glad she'd escaped her unfortunately slip of tongue.  "Dick, sometimes 
things don't happen in big, elaborate evil plans.  Sometimes bad things 
happen and they just…happen."

	"I know," Dick returned quickly.  "But it's just SO big, you know?  
I'm just sure I’m missing something."

	"Dick," Barbara scolded him, looking over her mug.  "You're 
almost as—"

	"So how did today go?" Dick interrupted, obviously skipping over 
his problem to a topic more immediate.  "How was Spud at Dr. Leslie's?"

	"He was…"  Babs couldn't bring herself to actually say, 'bad'.  "He 
was a handful."

	"What'd Leslie say?"

	Oh.  Barbara wanted to go back to the behavior problems but…  
"She said he's malnourished.  He needs good food, vitamins, calcium 
chews.  We got a prescription filled for the vitamins and picked up a  box 
of the chews at the drugstore.  He seems to like them."

	"That's good," Dick replied absently.  "Shouldn't be a problem 
then."

	Right.  For just a moment, Barbara despaired, having so much to 
say and having no idea how to get it out.  For the first time in a long time, 
she felt like she was sitting across the table from a stranger.  She suddenly 
didn't know how to tell him what was going through her mind and how he 
was going to react.  It was a strange, alien feeling, and it scared her.

	"Are you and Spud getting along all right?"  Dick looked 
concerned.  "I'm not around all day and if he's giving you trouble…"

	"I…"  This was her chance.  This was when she should confess all 
the uncertainty and anxiety of the morning, the embarrassment from the 
clinic…her complete and utter fear that she would fail at this, would fail 
Spud.  But she didn't.  "He's tough sometimes," she said instead.  "But…I 
mean, if we could have had our own child, we'd have to take what we got, 
right?  I mean, we couldn’t exactly give him back or anything."  Her chin 
set determinedly.  "And we're not giving back Spud."

	Dick blinked at her.  "I wasn't suggesting we should," he said in 
surprise.

	Barbara's bravado from a single minute earlier evaporated and the 
fear came back, making her bite her lip against the conflicting feelings 
within her.  She was taking a deep breath, preparing an explanation of her 
feelings when the sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted her 
thoughts.

	She and Dick both looked up to see Filb cradling a sleeping Spud 
against his shoulder.  The cowboy hat was sitting on Spud's head.  Filb 
grinned at them both.

	"I think this belongs to you."

***

	When Spud was tucked in and Filb thanked profusely and seen to 
the door, Dick went downstairs to change and Barbara settled into her spot 
in front of the computer banks.  How could she be so tired when her real 
work was just beginning?  She easily found Robin and Batgirl, close to the 
beginning of the clover leaf pattern they used to sweep Gotham.  Dinah, 
bless her, was cheerfully en route to Cordova, her third detour of the trip.  
She was being surprisingly quiet and Babs hoped her partner was 
managing to catch a few minutes of sleep before she went into her next 
job.  

Batman was…  Babs smiled to herself, remembering Bruce in the 
diner that afternoon.  And it *was* Bruce.  It was the intelligent, funny, 
caring man she'd had her first teenage crush on.  The warm, patient, 
affectionate person who'd helped Dick through the loss of his parents and 
the turmoil of his early teens.  She hadn't seen him in so long.  When she 
talked to the man, it was nearly always the Batman, and it was even the 
Batman who wore the blankly confused mask of Brucie Wayne, playboy 
socialite.  She missed the old Bruce.  And she knew Dick did, too.  Not 
that Batman couldn't be dealt with.  He could even be warm on occasion.  
But even a warm Batman—was that an oxymoron?--wasn't *Bruce*.  Not 
the Bruce who had gone into hiding in fear of being taken by surprise by 
another disaster.  Not the Bruce she'd suddenly seen again today.

It was a revelation she wished she could share with Dick.  But 
Bruce had asked.  Not ordered, but asked.  Asked her not to mention the 
visit to Dick.  Asked Spud to make a secret pact to surprise Dick.  And 
then he'd asked her one more thing…
	
"Bruce called," Barbara told Dick as he stepped out of the elevator.  
"He was all cryptic and goofy and annoying.  And  he wants you to call 
him back."  She felt a little guilty over the deception Bruce had asked her 
to assist.  But not much.

	"Later," Dick promised, tugging on his gauntlets.  If he talked to 
Bruce, he'd have to tell him about Spud and Dick just wasn’t ready for that 
step quite yet.

	"Don't put it off too long," Babs warned.  "You know how he 
gets."

	Dick grimaced.  "Yeah, I know."  He leaned down to give Barbara  
quick kiss goodbye—the only ritual that brought him to the ground floor 
in costume—and went back down the elevator to the sub-basement where 
he'd stashed the WingCycle.  Why did Bruce have to butt in *now*?

	Bruce was sure to disapprove.  Bruce would say he had been too 
impetuous, too spontaneous.  Bruce would warn him of the troubles kids 
growing up on the streets face.  Bruce would never, ever mention Jason, 
but he would be the first thing on both their minds.

	Dick wasn't ready to talk to Bruce just yet.  So he flew.  First on 
the Wing Cycle, up to the warehouse, then to the jumplines, throwing 
himself to the air currents of Blüdhaven, letting them carry him from 
building to building.  A hard series of building-to-building acrobatics took 
him swiftly through his city, a quick patrol to get out of the way before he 
got down to his real business.  He landed on top of the Zee Moores, 
reeling in his line and letting his mouth fall into a grin.  He was breathing 
slightly hard, the race through the city bringing adrenaline to the blood 
pumping in his ear.  The air felt crisp and cool, still absent of the 
mugginess summer would bring.  It felt *good*.

***

	Luis Fernandez swaggered into 'his' alley and stuck a cigarette in 
the corner of his mouth.  He scraped a match against the brick wall and 
cupped his hand around the tiny flame.  It flickered and died.  Luis 
frowned.  There was no wind that night.  He glanced to his right, then to 
his left, digging another match from his pocket.  He lit it against the wall.  
This time, he felt the breeze when the light died.  It came from above.  He 
looked up and immediately wished he hadn't.  White beams in a swath of 
black cut through him as a hand grabbed his jacket and pulled him up, 
onto the wall.  Luis struggled against the fist pinning him to the side of the 
alley.  He could still breathe, but it hurt and he couldn't reach his piece or 
the stiletto he kept in his boot.

	"Don't even try it," a raspy voice growled.

	Luis felt the rough brick scrape against his neck as he struggled.  
His feet were several feet from the ground, and he realized, his eyes 
widening in horror, that his attacker came from above.  He shifted his eyes 
upward, taking in the dark shadow suspended from—from what, Luis 
couldn't tell.  Looked like the guy was floating there.  Luis swallowed.  
This had to be the Nightwing all the kids jawed on about.  The one he'd 
scoffed at for years.  Suddenly the street legend didn't seem so far away 
and Luis was remembering huddling in an alley as a young teenager, a 
younger kid running up to tell him about the bogeyman who spit fire and 
had knocked out three of Blockbuster's goon squad.  Luis had laughed.

	Luis was no longer laughing.

***

	Barbara opened her eyes to the ceiling of her bedroom.  She felt 
confused.  She heard these sounds…

	Spud!  More nightmares.  She glanced over to Dick's side of the 
bed, expecting to see the covers rumpled and abandoned.  Instead, they 
were drawn up under the pillow, warped only where they'd been dragged 
down by her own side of the blankets.  Dick wasn't home yet.

	She grabbed a robe and hauled herself into her chair.  The 
movement reminded her how exhausted she was.  Unused to dealing with 
a hyperactive 8-year-old all day, she had collapsed into bed shortly after 
tucking Spud in and seeing Dick off.

	Now she wheeled quietly to the little boy's room, turning on the 
lights as she passed.

	"Spud, wake up," she urged hesitantly.  She wasn't used to this.  
She glanced at the bed.  She could get on it but she wasn't sure she could 
get back to her chair later.  She sidled up to the mattress and placed her 
hand on Spud's shoulder.  "Honey, wake up," she whispered.

	Spud came awake with a cry.

	"Spud, it's me, it's Babs," she offered, feeling awkward.  "Come 
here."  She held out her arms to him.

	He shrank back.  "Where's Dick?"

	Babs blinked.  She hadn’t expected those words to sting so badly.

	"He's…"  Out?  In the middle of the night?  "He had to go to work 
for a little bit."

	"With Filb?" Spud wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

	Barbara offered him a tissue from the box on the bedside table.  He 
took it, but he didn't use it.

	"Yep," she confirmed.  "He's with Filb."

	"Ok," Spud said slowly.  "When's he coming home?"

	"Soon, kiddo," Babs replied, glancing uselessly toward the door.  
"I hope."

***	

	"Mmm."  Barbara Gordon Grayson blinked a few times and 
opened her eyes to the sunlight streaming in her bedroom window.  

	"Dick?"  He hadn't woken her when he came in.  Probably wanted 
her to sleep.  She stretched an arm to the other side of the bed, feeling for 
his solid shoulder.  Instead, her hand slid along the quilted cotton of the 
comforter, stopping only when her arm was fully extended and still had 
met no resistance.  

	"Dick?"  She turned her head toward her husband's side of the bed.  
The covers were still pulled up to the head, marred only where she'd 
pulled her own side down.  

	Dick Grayson hadn't come home last night.

***

	"Where's your partner?"

	"Mornin' t'you, too, Amy," Filb greeted his former rookie.  He took 
a deep drag from the cup of coffee in his hand and looked up at Amy as he 
set it down.  "What are you looking at me for?" he asked.  "You know as 
well as me that Grayson comes flying in right when we're ready to kill 
him."

	"He's already here," Amy informed him, walking around to the 
other desk and picking up Dick's uniform hat.  "Peanut butter, too," she 
added, lifting a paper sack between two fingers.  "So where is he?  If he's 
in the evidence room, so help me—"

	"Hey Filb, howdy Amy," Dick Grayson greeted his fellow officers 
as he sauntered up to the desk.  "You after my lunch?" he asked the 
scowling captain.  "I wouldn't recommend it; made it myself since Babs 
was still asleep."

	"Grayson."  The look on Amy's face was deadly serious.  "My 
office.  Right now."  She dropped his hat and his lunchbag on his desk and 
walked back to her office.  

	Dick and Filb exchanged concerned glances.  Around him, Dick 
could hear the squad room murmuring.  A public smackdown from 
Captain Rohrback to Sergeant Grayson was SOP when Dick was pressing 
the limits, but this office stuff was nearly unheard of.

	"Well, into the lion's den I go," Dick announced with a falsely 
cavalier smile plastered on his face.

	Filb moved around the desk, ostensibly going for a refill from the 
coffee pot, and clapped a hand on his partner's shoulder as he walked by.  

	"Don't get eaten," he suggested.

	Dick nodded, and with a deep breath, headed for Amy's office.

***

	"I'm going to kill him," Babs muttered, pulling herself into her 
chair.  Ignoring her matted hair and wrinkled nightclothes, she quickly 
wheeled out to the living room.  No one was there, but she heard noises in 
the kitchen.

	Spud was sitting at the table, eating toast and jelly with Buckshot 
the horse.

	"Where's Dick?" Babs asked immediately. 

	Spud looked up at her with wide eyes and offered a clueless shrug.  
"At work, I guess," he answered.  "He made toast."

	Barbara breathed out a sigh of relief.  At least Dick had been 
home.  She rolled over to the telephone and picked up the receiver.  Dick's 
work number was in the memory.  Barbara tapped her fingernails on the 
table as she waited for someone to pick up the line.

	"Blüdhaven PD, this is Officer Filbert."

	"Filb, it's Barbara."

	"Well, howdy, ma'am!  Did I ever tell you  how happy your ribs 
make a man?"

	"Filb, that sounds almost dirty," Barbara couldn't help saying, 
sending the man on the other end of the line into peals of laughter.  "But I 
was actually calling for Dick.  Have you seen him yet?"

	Filb immediately quieted down.  "He's here, Barb, but he's in 
Amy's office now.  Think they're talking 'bout your munchkin.  Need him 
to give you ring when he gets back?"

	"If he has time," Barbara said with a sigh.  "I didn't hear him get up 
this morning and I was worried."

	"No problem, m'dear.  I'll pass the message along."

	"Thanks Filb."  Barbara set her teeth as she hung up the phone.  
Didn't hear him get up indeed.  He'd never been to bed.  When she got her 
hands on him…

	"Can I have more toast?"

	Babs sighed.  "Sure."  She pulled out the loaf of bread and dropped 
two more slices in the toaster.  "Did Dick say anything when he was in 
here this morning?"

	Spud looked at her blankly.  "He said good morning.  And he 
asked if I wanted some toast.  He said he was going to work to find 
who…"  Spud trailed off and turned his full attention back to his toast.

	"Great," Babs muttered.  "Nice move, Dick."

***

	"Close the door."

	Dick closed the door behind him with a bit of trepidation.  Amy 
never closed her office door.  Just the fact he'd been ordered in was bad 
enough.  He turned back to face her, standing at attention.

	She didn't tell him to relax.

	Instead, she leaned her fists on the desk, hunching her shoulders.  
She blew air out through her teeth and directed her eyes up at him.

	"You know what that is?" she asked, cocking her head at a single 
sheet of paper lying in front of her.

	Dick couldn't see the paper so he barked out a crisp, "No, ma'am."

	Amy straightened and plucked the paper from her desk.

	"It's a formal reprimand," she informed him, her eyes boring into 
his face.  "For failing to follow orders."

	Dick stared past her, processing this information.  A formal 
reprimand would go in his service jacket.  

	It would be pulled whenever he came up for promotion.

	It would be pulled if a complaint was filed against him.

	It would be pulled if he came up for a commendation.

	He felt ill.  How would he tell Babs?  Bruce?  And with all the 
crooked cops who *deserved* such a damaging piece of paper, why was 
he coming under fire?

	"No one else has seen it," Amy continued.  "I'd like to tear it up.  
But that depends on you."

	He dared to glance at her.  She was watching him steadily, leaning 
on the desk again, her palms flat on the surface this time.

	"You're *off* this case, Grayson.  I don't want to see you talking to 
another witness, looking at another piece of evidence or following up on 
another imaginary lead.  You do that for me and this piece of paper will be 
in my fireplace tonight.  You run off on another wild goose chase and it'll 
be the first thing Addad sees when he walks into his office tomorrow 
morning.  Got it?"

	Dick nodded once.  "Yes, ma'am," he replied, his temper boiling 
just below the surface.  

	"Good.  You're dismissed."

	Dick spun on his heel and snatched the door open.  How *dare* 
Amy do this to him!  She should *know* by now that things aren't always 
as they appeared at first glance!  *She* wasn't the one who had spent the 
last twenty years learning that there was always something worse when 
you turned the corner.  *She* wasn't the one who had a kid waking up 
with nightmares every night!  *She* wasn't the one who had to fix things 
for him!

	Filb raised his head from his paperwork as Dick stormed up to the 
desks.

	"Let's go," Dick said shortly.

	"Barbara called," Filb said mildly, ignoring Dick's display of 
temper.  "Asked if you would call her back."

	"I'll call her back later," Dick mumbled, picking up  his cap.  "Let's 
get out of here."  He took off for the door before Filb had even pushed 
back his chair.

	Filb shook his head.  "Not good," he mumbled under his breath.  
"Not good at all."

***

	"Get your sweatshirt," Babs ordered.  "We can't wait around for 
Dick to call.  I have to get to physical therapy."

	"We have to go somewhere else?" Spud asked, annoyed at having 
to be separated from his toys.

	"Yes, so hurry up.  We're going to be late.  Go get your 
sweatshirt."

	"It's hot."

	"So don't go get it; I don't care.  Get something to do, bring your 
horse or a book or something," Babs instructed.  Only after the words had 
left her mouth did she realize that Spud didn't have any books.  Well, 
they'd have to fix that, she decided.  What were kids his age reading now?  
The books about the wizard kid?

	Babs hustled Spud into the car.  Fortunately, the outpatient branch 
of Rabe Memorial Hospital's physical therapy clinic was only minutes 
away.  It was one of the reasons the Graysons had chosen Avalon Hill for 
their home.

	"Hi Barb," one of the technicians greeted her as they entered.  "Got 
a friend?"

	"Just this time," Babs replied, figuring maybe she could get Cass to 
watch Spud next time—no, Cass worked full-time at WE, now.  Dinah?  
Maybe if she wasn't out saving the world that day.  Perhaps it was time to 
make friends with the neighbors.

	"We don't have a childcare station," the technician said doubtfully.  
"Maybe upstairs—"

	"He'll be good," Babs assured her.  "Right Spud?  Go sit down 
somewhere and play with your horse."

	Spud nodded, squeezing Buckshot tightly.

	The tech smiled weakly at him.  This was not good, she thought.  
Not good at all.

***

	SPLASH!

	"What was that?" Babs asked anxiously.  She struggled to sit up as 
her leg was bent toward her chest.

	Cindy, her usual therapist, looked over her shoulder.  "Sounds like 
someone slipped in the pool," she commented as she straightened 
Barbara's leg and put a steadying hand behind her back.

	"Oh no," Babs moaned, peering around Cindy in time to see a 
burly nurse pull Spud out of the water by the leg of his jeans.  For a 
moment, she had a vision of Spud slipping right out of the sloppily large 
pants.  "Spud!" she called across the room.

	"This little guy belong to you, ma'am?" the nurse asked, grinning, 
as he slung Spud over his shoulder and walked across the room.  "Looks 
like he was trying for swimming lessons."  He swung Spud down on the 
floor and handed him the still-dry horse.  "Look before you leap, little 
buddy," he said cheerfully and winked at Babs.

	"Spud!  Didn't I tell you to just sit still and be quiet?"

	"I was being quiet," Spud defended himself.  "I just wanted to see 
why the water was running in a circle."

	Babs glared at him, trying to be angry.  She wasn't doing a very 
good job.  Although her ears still felt hot from the embarrassment of 
having the entire room's attention, the proclamation of curiosity had 
reminded of another little boy who used to be her responsibility.  A little 
boy with dark curls, blue eyes and an irrepressible penchant for sliding 
down banisters.  

	"Let's save the science experiments for home, ok?" she asked 
finally.

	"Ok."  Spud nodded solemnly.  "What's an esspiriment," he asked 
quizzically.

	"A kind of gum," Babs joked in response to his mispronunciation.  
"It's actually a scientific process to determine the feasibility of…."  She 
broke off when she saw that Spud looked completely blank.

	"It's when you find out things by trying them," Cindy volunteered.  
She took hold of his arm.  "Let's do an experiment to see which way your 
elbow goes," she suggested.  She folded his forearm forward, bending his 
arm at the elbow.  "See, that experiment worked," she said.  She reversed 
the pressure, straightening his arm and pushing gently.  "But I can't get it 
to bend that way.  So my experiment didn't work.  But now I know which 
way I can bend your arm—and you know how far you can lean over the 
pool until you fall in."

	"Yeah," Spud commented dryly.  "Not very."
	
***

	The keys landed smartly in Filb's hand.  He looked up at his 
partner.
	"I get to drive?"  He raised an eyebrow.  "T'what bug up your ass 
do I owe this pleasure?"

	Dick yanked open the passenger side door of the police cruiser and 
leaned on it.

	"Amy's got a reprimand in there with my name on it," he told Filb 
bitterly.  "Said if I don't forget about the shooting case, she's sending it up.  
Put it in *my* hands."  His voice held his contempt.

	Filb looked at him worriedly.  "She's being right decent about it," 
he said slowly, realizing that Amy hadn't taken any official action yet.

	"Decent?  She's making me choose between—"  Dick broke off 
and turned away, lifting his cap to shove a hand through his hair.  "You're 
driving because I don't want to do anything stupid before I make a 
decision," he said without finishing his first thought.

	"Hey."  Filb's voice held an edge Dick rarely heard.  "We're going 
out on those streets today.  They're mean and they're dangerous.  And I'm 
not going out there with a partner who's thinking 'bout what he's gonna do 
with himself.  I don't care how good you are.  Your head's in the game or 
none of you is."

	Dick cast his eyes down, burning with shame at a lecture he'd been 
familiar with since he was nine.

	Filb watched Dick's face and noticed the dark rings under his 
partner's eyes.  "But hey," Filb said lightly, scratching one eyebrow, "since 
I'm driving, that means we can go get some real coffee 'stead of that 
sludge Riley made.  You with me?"

	Dick raised his head, eyes firm and focused once more.  "I'm with 
you."

***

	Spud shifted uncomfortably on his plastic bag.  Babs had insisted 
he sit on a garbage bag she'd scrounged up from somewhere to protect the 
car's upholstery from his wet clothes.  He looked up hopefully as Babs 
turned the car up the driveway.

	"So why *does* the water move in a circle?" Spud asked, trying to 
distract himself from the fact that he was sitting in very large, very wet 
jeans.

	"Well," Barbara said mildly, maneuvering into the garage, "the 
circle you see is actually suction created by the torque of opposing—"  
She turned off the engine and glanced over at Spud, whose eyes were 
glazing over.  "It's what happens when the water is being pushed two 
different ways," she amended.  "It doesn't know what to do so it just lets 
itself get pushed around into a circle.  We could make one in the bathtub 
later."

	"We can?" Spud's face lit up as he jumped from the car.  "Let's 
go!"

	"Not now, kiddo.  I'm way behind on my work.  You get changed 
out of those wet clothes and find something to do for a while.  Maybe I 
can play with you when I've caught up a little."

	"Ok," Spud agreed quietly, leading the way into the house.  He 
went back to his room to find something dry in his new wardrobe while 
Barbara retreated to her workroom.  He squirmed out of the dripping 
clothes and into a dry pair of jeans and t-shirt.  He looked doubtfully at the 
pile of wet things.  Babs didn't tell him where to put them and he didn't 
want to bother her, so he scooped them up and took them to the bathroom.  
Dick had shown him a hamper hidden in the closet where he was supposed 
to throw his dirty clothes.  He wasn't sure these clothes counted, since they 
*were* wet and hadn't been worn for an entire day anyway, but it couldn't 
hurt.  Dick and Babs seemed to be big fans of *clean*.

***

	Babs shut the door of the computer room behind her and basked in 
the peace and quiet.  She closed her eyes, hearing the happy hum of her 
computer and the faint repeating tone that indicated an incoming message.  

	Babs' eyes flew open.  Dinah!  In her ire over Dick, she'd forgotten 
to check in with her partner that morning.  She moved urgently to the 
computer.  She cleared away the screen saver and donned her headphones, 
waiting for the click signaling a successful connection.

	"Canary?" she asked tentatively when she heard it.  

	"Not home, leave a message," came the airy reply.  "Hey you!  
How's it going with your newest Boy Wonder?"

	Babs sighed in relief.  If BC was asking about Spud, she must not 
be to upset about being abandoned for so long.

	"He's being so…rotten!" Barbara moaned.  "I don't know what I'm 
supposed to do with him!"

	"I was a horrible kid," Dinah told her cheerfully.  "I only listened 
to my dad.  Speaking of the devil, where's Dick?"

	"Work.  24-7.  He comes home to eat and be adored."

	"Ouch.  This sounds like a job for Alfred!"

	And Babs remembered that she was mad at Dinah.

	"Speaking of Alfred…"  

Dinah grunted.

"…I ran into Bruce yesterday."
	
"Oh?" Dinah asked neutrally.

	"Been gossiping with the butler again, have we?"

	"Alfred told him?"

	"Alfred?  Be indiscreet?  Never.  He just arranged to have Bruce 
show up at Leslie's clinic while Spud and I were sitting there."

	"Bruce was being a bastard, wasn't he?"

	"No, actually Bruce was remarkably well behaved," Babs 
admitted, wondering about sharing her revelation with her best friend.  
"He was at his Brucie-best."

***

	The Graysons' house was considerably less exciting without the 
Graysons themselves.  Spud was used to entertaining himself, but it would 
have been nice if someone had been around.  Without any human 
playmates, he decided to go looking for a fiendish plot device for Evil 
Spoon.

***

	Dinah snorted delicately into the receiver.  "Brucie-best, eh?  That 
must have been a trip."

	"Actually…"  Babs paused again.  "I'm not entirely sure he was 
playing."

	There was an awkward silence over the line.  

	"Well," Dinah finally said lightly, "I'm not sleeping with Batman 
or Brucie, so be sure to let me know if you find another one in there."  

	Barbara smiled fondly to herself for a moment, then frowned when 
she heard a male voice in the background.

	"Hold that thought," Dinah instructed.  "I have to play sick so I can 
get one of those guys to come in here."

	"Come in where?"

	"My cell.  I kinda forgot to tell you I got captured."

	"You got—what?  You forgot to tell—Dinah!"

	"Shh.  They might hear you."

	"Hear me?  They might hear *you* if you don't shut up and fast!"

	Dinah made a sound that clearly indicated her lack of concern.

	"So how long have you been in that cell anyway?" Babs asked, 
suddenly feeling guilty.  "And why didn't you tell me right away?  I could 
have sent someone…or done something…"

	Dinah whimpered.

	Babs blinked.  

	"That's pitiful," she told her partner.

	"I'm sick."

	"Not arguing, but you sound more like a constipated cat."

	A truly heart-rending moan filled her ears.

	"Stop!  I'm sorry!  I'll shut up!"

	Dinah mewled again, and the next sound Babs heard was the 
thump of a body hitting the wall.

	At least *some* things were back to normal.

***

	Toothpaste is as good a toy as any, when you're eight years old.  
Armed with a tube of toothpaste and comb from his own bathroom, Spud 
peeked into Dick and Barbara's.  Mommy had had lots of things in the 
bathroom that Spud never used.  Maybe Babs had them, too.  The counters 
were low, he liked that.  Made it easier to climb on.  

	There was a little basket on the counter.  Chapstick, some cotton 
balls and a brush.   Well, that didn't do him much good.  Spud turned his 
attention to the mirrored medicine cabinet.  Maybe there was something 
good in there.  Some orange bottles.  Spud shook them and grinned when 
he heard something rattle.  Deadly gas pellets!  He grabbed the bottle and 
ran back to the living room.  Now the Evil Spoon would wreak havoc!  

***

	"I'm sorry, ma'am, this room is filled to its maximum capacity."

	"But my daughter has to *go*!"

	"I'm really sorry."  

	Dick really was.  He looked down into the desperate face of a five-
year-old who Had To Go.  He glanced across the walkway at Filb, was 
who similarly guarding the door to the Men's Room.  He glanced toward 
the exit of the facilities.  He glanced back down.

	"Ok," he relented.  "Go ahead.  Someone's probably just washing 
their hands."  He paused as the woman grabbed her child's hand and 
rushed to the entrance.  "Just…boot someone out, wouldja?"  He received 
no answer.

	He sighed and looked across the way.

	"Filb?" he called.  "How did we get this job?"

	"We volunteered!" Filb informed him gleefully.

	"Why did we volunteer?"

	"Because we're keeping you out of trouble."

	"Ri-ight.  We couldn’t have kept me out of trouble on a detail 
*inside* the stadium?"

	"We volunteered too late."

	"Ri-ight."

***

	The problem with the Graysons, Spud decided, was that they fed 
him too well.  It made him actively hungry all the time.  While he could 
have dealt with the usual feeling of dull emptiness, eating so much was 
making his stomach growl whenever he went for more than a few hours 
without food.  Babs always made him really good stuff, usually before he 
ever asked.

	But it was past the time she usually made a second meal and 
Spud's stomach was confirming that fact.  Maybe he should remind her.  
But she had said that she was Behind and Needed to Do a Lot of Work.

	Spud had known that she meant she was behind because she had 
spent the last few days taking him places instead of going to work.  He had 
been surprised to find out that her job was right in the house.  At least it 
did have its own room—the one with all the machines—and he wasn't 
allowed to go in there.

	But he was *awfully* hungry.  Maybe if he knocked.  Maybe she 
wouldn't mind if he just knocked and said hi.  Maybe she'd forgotten about 
cooking and she'd remember again if she saw him. 

	That decided, he got up from his carefully constructed playset in 
the living room and headed into the room Dick called the "den".  The door 
to the room with the machines was in there.  In fact, the "den" was 
probably where he was supposed to play, since it looked kind of messy 
and comfy, but the living room had a table with a long skirt, and the 
furniture had swirly things cut into the legs—swirly things where Evil 
Spoon could slide the gas pellets!

	Spud stood before the door uncertainly.  What if Babs didn't want 
to be disturbed?  Maybe she would be mad.  He'd knock softly.  That way, 
if she didn't want to hear him, she wouldn’t have to.  He lifted his little fist 
and tapped timidly on the big oak door.  He knocked three times.  

There was no answer.

***

	Babs winced as the sound of gunfire echoed in her headphones.  
As long as she could still hear Dinah's footfalls and the sound of air 
rushing past, she knew everything was fine.  It was just when Dinah 
stopped moving that she had to worry.

	A cracking noise and the cacophony was down by one gun.

	"Ouch," Babs commented, glancing on the blueprints she had 
pulled up on the wide screen.  She liked to be able to track where Dinah 
was going.  If she was reading the sketchy lines correctly, Dinah was on 
her way to the  vast labs in the building's basement.

Babs hated this part and loved it at the same time.  Everything 
rested on Dinah now, and Babs had nothing to do.  But if she closed her 
eyes, she could almost smell the smoke and feel her heart pound as the 
shots echoed around her.  It was almost like charging warehouses in 
Gotham again.  Almost.

	She opened her eyes again when she realized the background noise 
had vanished.  Black Canary must have evaded her pursuers.

	"How you doing over there?"

	"I'm clear, but Babs, there are too many people in here," Dinah 
fretted.  "I need to get the workers out before I can blow the inventory."

	"Can you get out and wait 'til this evening?" Babs asked.  "Or hide 
out somewhere until they go home?"

	"They're in shifts," Dinah reported.  "If we could work a diversion 
during the shift change, maybe we can get them all out without 
endangering anyone."

	"Ok, when's the next shift change?"

	"In a couple hours.  I'll hunker down and wait this out.  Talk to you 
in a bit?"

	"Ok.  Call me when you need me."

	"Roger that."

	Babs smiled as Dinah went offline.  They were still the best team 
ever.  She was confident in that.  

	But now she had other things to do.  And one of them, she realized, 
was to find Spud.  It was long past their regularly scheduled eating time, 
and if she was hungry, then he was sure to be famished.  She minimized 
the blueprints on her screen and brought the house cameras on line.  

	Not in the master bedroom, but then she didn't expect him to be.  
Not in the guest room or his own room.  She hit a button to skip the main 
bathroom.  She wasn't about to oversee *that*!  Living room—toys all 
over, but no Spud.  She frowned as the camera view switched to the 
kitchen.

	"Oh no!"  

***

	When he'd gotten no answer from Babs, Spud decided that it was 
time for drastic measures.  

	He was going to make lunch himself.  

	It was past five o'clock and he and Babs usually ate at four-thirty.  
They'd eat dinner when Dick got home, but that wouldn't be for ages—not 
until eight-thirty or nine!—and Spud just couldn't wait that long.

	It couldn't be all that hard.  Scorch used to make him sandwiches 
when Mommy wasn't home.  They were kinda lousy sandwiches, 
compared to the ones Mommy or Babs made, but they were food.  And 
that was certainly better than no food.  

	But Spud was still a little fuzzy on how to actually make the 
sandwich.  He knew it had bread.  So he had to find the bread.  

	Dick had made toast for breakfast that morning and then made a 
sandwich to take to work.  He'd gotten the bread from a wooden box on 
the counter.  The counter was low enough for Spud to reach, but the box 
was pushed all the way back to the wall.  Fortunately, Spud was a very 
good climber.  He opened the door of the cabinet below the counter and 
put his foot on the bottom shelf.  And he would have been able to 
scramble up to the counter with no problem, except…

	Except his flailing foot came in contact with a box of crispy rice 
cereal, knocking it to the ground.

	"Uh oh."  Spud peered down at the sea of crisped rice masking the 
floor.  He'd have to clean that up.  Deciding that since he was on the 
counter, he might as well get his bread first, he crawled to the box and 
pulled out the loaf of honey-wheat.  Carefully, he unwound the twist tie 
and removed two slices from the bag.  Just as carefully, he replaced the 
twist-tie, making sure he pushed all the air out of the package first.  He 
looked down at the cereal again, knowing it would make a bigger mess if 
he jumped on it.  He crawled around the side of the counter, trying to get 
around the mess, and accidentally bumped a fruit bowl sitting on the 
counter.  He managed to grab it before it fell and noticed a banana sitting 
inside.  Dick had put banana on his peanut butter sandwich before he'd left 
that morning.  Maybe Spud would try the same thing.  He jumped down, 
holding the banana and his two slices of bread.

	His next stop was the fridge.  Every peanut butter sandwich had to 
have jelly on it, right?  He didn't see Dick put any on his, but it must have 
been there.  He found the jelly jar in the refrigerator, but it wasn't the 
plastic purple kind Mommy used to buy.  This was a heavy glass jar, and 
the jelly looked kind of red.  Spud pulled it off the door shelf of the fridge 
and tried to kick the door closed.  It was heavier than he thought and as he 
hopped around trying to hold onto his armful of supplies and kick the door 
harder, his foot hit some cereal and slid out from under  him.  The jelly jar 
hit with a loud crash, dark red jelly exploding everywhere.  Spud blinked.

	"SPUD!"  

	Babs!  She was out of her room!  She'd fix this!  

	But…oh no!

	Too late, Spud glanced back at the mess.  He couldn't let Babs see 
the pile of goop on the floor.  Looking around frantically, he saw a dish 
towel hanging on a rack and quickly tried to cover the mess with the small 
piece of cloth.  

	His efforts were in vain.

	"What *happened* in here?"  Babs looked distressed, holding her 
hands to her head.  "This is a disaster!"

	"I…tried to make a sandwich," Spud offered, trying to nudge more 
of the mess under the towel with the toe of his shoe.

	Babs covered her eyes with her hands.  

	Spud stood fearful for a moment, until she removed her hands and 
looked at him.  

	"You couldn't have waited for me?" she asked with a sigh.  "Or at 
least come to get me?"

	"I was  hungry," Spud said defensively.  "And I did knock, and you 
didn't answer."

	"Ok, ok.  How about I make us some sandwiches and you…go sit 
at the table or something.  Stay out of trouble."

	"But I can do it by myself," Spud said stubbornly.  "And I was 
gonna clean it up, too.  I know how to use a broom and not get cut."

"That's great.  You go use the broom and I'll make us something to 
eat."  Babs opened a closet door and extracted a broom, tossing it to him.  

He ducked.  The broom fell in the gook on the floor.
	
Babs sighed.  They had their work cut out for them.

***

	Two turkey-and-swiss sandwiches piled high with lettuce, tomato 
and mustard later, Babs and Spud were back where they belonged.  At 
least one of them was.

	"Spud?"  Babs blinked at her monitor.  

	Not in the living room.  

	Not in the den.

	Not in the kitchen.

	Not in any of the bedrooms.

	She waited a minute and then ran the scan again.  Maybe he had 
gone to the bathroom.  Nothing.

	Then she started to get nervous.

***

	Captain Amy Rohrbach was mulling over a case of arson.  One she 
was thinking of committing.  On her desk.  

	*I should be on my way home now,* she thought dejectedly, 
looking over the stacks of paperwork before her.

	Then, just to add insult to injury, the phone rang.  Amy promised 
herself that if it was another complaint against Grayson, she'd hurl the 
phone through the plate glass of her door.

	"Rohrbach," she answered, at least trying to sound professional.

	"Captain, Grayson's wife is on the phone," the desk sergeant told 
her crisply.  "He's not answering at his desk."

	"Patch her through," Amy instructed.  Barbara Grayson wasn't the 
kind of wife to call her husband at work on a whim.   Amy pulled a pencil 
out from behind her ear and tossed it on top of her paper stack.  "Hi Barb," 
she said when she heard the line click over.  "It's Amy.  Dick's on the road.  
Something I can help you with?"

	"Hi Amy."  The other woman sounded distracted and worried—
something Amy had never heard from Barbara.  "Is there any way I can 
get ahold of Dick?  Spud…he's disappeared and I don't know where to 
even start looking for him."

	"Sure, hold on," Amy said calmly.  "Let me see where he is.  I'll be 
right back."

	Amy put Barbara on hold and dialed the dispatcher.

	"Can you give me a location on unit 478?" she requested.

	"Sure can," he replied cheerfully.  "Try the stadium.  Policing the 
johns.  Need a patch?"

	Amy considered this for a moment.  The stadium was about as far 
away from Avalon Hill as one could get.  The station was much closer.  
"Not yet," she said finally, "but hold on to that thought."

	"Roger that!"

	"Barb?" she asked after switching back to her first line.

	"Right here."  Barbara sounded anxious, but, Amy reasoned, so 
would she if she were missing an eight-year-old.

	"Dick's down by the stadium.  I'm just getting off and I'd be happy 
to drive by and take a look around."

	"Would you?"  Barbara asked, sounding incredibly grateful.  "I'd 
really appreciate it."

	"No problem," Amy assured her, tossing a smug look at the 
paperwork looming on her desk.  "I'll be there in a few minutes."  She 
hung up the phone and grabbed her police issue windbreaker and her keys.

	"Don't miss me," she called to Coombs, the desk sergeant, who 
replied with a jaunty salute.

***

	Amy pulled her Jeep up to the curb in front of the Graysons' house.  
Killing the engine, she did a quick visual scan of the quiet neighborhood.  
A few older girls were sitting under a tree in the front yard of another 
house while several young boys ran their scooters up and down the street.  
Snatching her keys from the ignition, Amy hopped to the ground, ready to 
go Spud-hunting.  

	"Hi."  The voice came from behind the open car door.

	Amy peered over the door to see a small boy with unruly red curls 
and a freckled face, wearing jeans that seemed a few sizes too large and 
sneakers.  

	"Are you one of Dick's friends?" the boy inquired.

	"Yes, I am," Amy told him, the corners of her mouth turning up.  
She closed the door of her vehicle and looked down at him.  "And you 
must be Spud?"

	"Yup!"  Spud offered her a wide grin.  He was missing a baby 
tooth, Amy noted.

	"You know, Babs is pretty worried about you," she said, keeping 
her eyes on him as she walked past him, starting up the driveway.  

	"'Cuz I fell in the pool?" Spud asked, confused.  He quickly caught 
up to Amy as she took the driveway in long strides.

	"No," Amy told him affectionately.  "If I had to guess, I'd say it's 
because you're out *here*…and not in *there*."  She nodded at the house.

	"Babs didn't say I had to stay in," Spud protested.

	"Did you tell her you were going outside?" Amy asked, pausing at 
the kitchen door.

	"Did I have to?"

	Amy considered this.  "It might have been nice."

	"Amy!"  

	The police captain looked into the house through the screen 
stretched across the top of the door to see Barbara entering the kitchen.

	"Hey," Amy replied, trying the door and finding it unlocked.  Spud 
must have used it to get out, she reasoned, knowing Barbara was very 
careful with the doors.  She pulled the door open to show Spud standing 
next to her.  "Looking for this little guy?"

	"Spud!" Babs cried out in relief.  "Where *were* you?"

	"Outside."

	"I was worried sick," Babs continued, not listening.

	"But I was outside…"

	"Well, since everyone's home and safe," Amy suggested, "I'm 
going to head out.  If I run into Dick, I'll let him know he should call 
home."
	"Amy, I can't thank you enough for coming out here," Babs said, 
turning her attention to the other woman.

	"Any time," Amy told her breezily.  "I'm only a phone call away."

	"I really appreciate it," Babs told her again, obviously a little 
embarrassed about her overreaction.

	"My pleasure.  I'm out of here, kid.  Tell Babs where you're going 
from now on, ok?"  Amy winked at Spud and ruffled his hair.  She smiled 
brightly at Babs and started back down the driveway.  

	Behind her she could hear,

	"Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

	Amy smiled to herself.  That kid was in big trouble…

***

	"You are in so much trouble, young man," Barbara warned Spud.

	"But I didn't *do* anything," he argued, jutting out his chin.

	"How am I supposed to know where you are?" Babs answered 
angrily.  "Go out and walk around?"

	Spud shrugged.  "I woulda came back," he insisted.

	"Would have *come* back," Babs corrected.  "And what if you'd 
gotten hurt or lost?  How would I know?"

	Spud looked at her in confusion.  Where did she think she was?  
Downtown?

***

	"Hey, rookie!" Amy greeted Dick cheerfully as she walked into the 
station.  "You need to call your wife."

	"Dispatcher said you were looking for me," Dick replied, ignoring 
her advice as he followed her around the front desk.  He hadn't forgotten 
the morning's incident.

	"Spud decided to go exploring," Amy told him, "and forgot to tell 
Barbara."

	Dick pressed a hand to his head.

	"You think you need a few days off, Grayson?  Get used to your 
new…situation?"  Amy raised her eyebrows at the pained look on Dick's 
face.

	"I'm off tomorrow," he replied.  "I'll give you a call and let you 
know if I need more time."

	"Talk about it with Barbara," Amy suggested.  "Maybe we can 
give you paternity leave or something."

	"Great," Dick muttered, not finding the same humor in the 
situation that Amy apparently did.  Without bothering to change or shower 
he grabbed the keys to his motorcycle and took off for home.

***

	"Go to your room, young man!"

	Barbara wanted to wince at the words she heard coming from her 
mouth.  But she was too angry and too scared.  What had she been 
thinking, agreeing to help raise this boy?  What made her think she could 
handle something like this?

	Spud's face turned stormy as he glared up at her, arms crossed 
stiffly across his chest.

	"Well?" she asked.  "What are you waiting for?"

	He didn't answer, but turned on his heel and stamped off down the 
hall.  

	Babs shook her head and rolled out of the kitchen and into the 
living room.  She'd obviously spent far too much time in her computer 
sanctuary for one day.  It was time to pay some attention to the rest of the 
house and see what else Spud had left lying around.

	It didn't take long.

	The wheel of her chair hit something as she reached for Evil 
Spoon.  She looked down to see Susie Suds pouring into the little throw 
rug that spread under the coffee table.  And she saw what else was on the 
floor.

	"SPUD!"

***

	Damn Volvo.  The car in front of Dick was moving much too 
slowly for his taste and there was no way he could change lanes without 
getting creamed.  With an impatient sigh, he checked over his shoulder 
and slid over onto the shoulder.  He passed the Volvo on the right-hand 
side, pouring on the gas.  Not the safest move, he admitted grudgingly, but 
it sent him flying ahead of the rest of the traffic.  He darted back into the 
right lane and barely glanced over his shoulder before easing his way 
between two cars in the left lane.  The car immediately in front of him got 
off on the exit to the central business district and Dick roared ahead, 
satisfied to be on his way home at last.

***

	"What'd I do now?"

	"What are you doing with these?"  Babs hand shook as she pointed 
at the strategically placed pills on the floor.

	"I was pretending they're—"

	"Spud, those are *pills*.  That's *medicine*.  And it's dangerous!  I 
can't believe you were using them as toys!  Those could be poisonous if 
you ate them!"

	"I wasn't going to eat them," Spud protested, screwing up his face 
in disgust.  "They're explosive gas pellets.  No one eats explosive gas 
pellets."

	"Spud, those are muscle relaxants," Babs explained, shaking the 
bottle at him.  It had been sitting on the coffee table so she'd been able to 
identify the pills, but she couldn't reach the medicine on the floor.  "Do 
you know they could *do* to you?"

	"Relax my muscles?"

	"Don’t talk back to me!  Go to your room, right now!"

	"I was already there," Spud protested hotly.  "You want me to go 
back just so you can drag me back out here to get yelled at?"

	"I said don't talk back to me," Babs warned.  "Now, go to your 
room until Dick gets home.  I mean it!"

	"I can't *wait* 'til Dick gets home," Spud yelled back, sticking out 
his lower lip.  "He's nice to me.  You're nothing but mean!"  He turned and 
raced to his room, slamming the door hard enough to shake the pictures on 
the wall.  

	Barbara burst into tears.

***

	"Oracle?  Hello?"

	Dinah Lance's voice echoed through the empty room.

	"Anybody home?  Um, now would be a good time…"

***

	Dick yanked open the kitchen door and rushed into the house.  He 
heard a door slam and walked into the living room in time to see Babs 
burst into tears.

	"Babs!  Honey, what's going on?" Dick asked, sinking to his knees 
in front of Babs and reaching for her hands.  He glanced around the living 
room, belatedly realizing the mess that he'd walked into.  Toys were 
strewn over the couch and on the floor in front of it and something green 
and gooey had spilled on the rug.  A handful of pills littered the area.  
Dick paled in realization.  "Babs, where's Spud?  Where's Spud; is he ok?"

	Babs nodded, her tears subsiding into anger.  "He got into my 
muscle relaxants," she sniffed.  "Decided to use them as toys.  Scared me 
to death."

	Dick took the sketchy information he had of the day and put it 
together in an ugly picture.  He rose to his feet and reached Spud's door in 
a few long strides.  He rapped loudly twice and opened the door himself.

	Spud was sitting on the floor, sniffling angrily into his sleeve.  His 
horse was tucked securely in the crook of his arm.

	"We don't slam doors around here," was the first thing to come out 
of Dick's mouth.  "So you're losing yours until you can respect it."  He 
whipped his pocket knife out and thumbed open the screwdriver section.  
Spud watched wide-eyed as Dick deftly removed the screws from the 
hinges and set the door in the hall.  

	"But…"

	"Show me you're mature enough to have a door and I'll put it 
back," Dick promised.  "But first we need to talk about a few other 
things."  He sat down on the bed and plucked Spud off the floor and 
plopped him on the bed next to him.  "Look, buddy, this is a two-way 
street.  We're all learning stuff here.  Babs has a lot of stuff to do with her 
computers, I have work, and well, neither of us can spend as much time 
with you as we want.  So I need you to be extra good when Babs is busy.  
It's ok to go outside, but you have to let her know where you are and when 
you're going.  We don’t want her to get worried, right?"

	"But—"

	"But nothing.  House rules.  Got it?"

	"Got it," Spud agreed gloomily.

	"Good."  Dick quirked a half-smile and tousled Spud's already 
rumpled hair.  Spud squirmed and watched Dick leave.

	"What the hell was that?"

	Dick sighed.  He'd taken barely two steps from the room.  Babs 
was hovering in the hall and from the look on her face, he could tell he 
was in trouble.  "What did I do wrong?" he asked wearily.

	"What did you do wrong?"  Babs looked at him incredulously.  
"Nothing by your 'little buddy'.  Everything's fine as long as he loves you!  
Why do I have to be the villain?  Yeah, you can't have fun because Babs 
can't walk?  Is that how it is?"  Her face stormy, Barbara spun her chair 
away from him, wheeling into their bedroom and slamming the door 
behind her.  

	Dick winced.  His body ached with bone-deep tiredness and every 
assault on his senses took a little bit more out of him.

	"Are you going to take her door off, too?" 

	Not this.  Dick turned to look at the small red head staring up at 
him.  He was being tested.  He knew it and he hated it, because he knew 
what he had to do.  He opened the door to the room he shared with 
Barbara and pulled out his pocket screwdriver again.

	"You are *not* doing what I think you're doing," Barbara protested 
hotly.  She spun her chair around to face him.

	"Unfortunately," Dick growled.

	"I can't believe this," Babs exclaimed.  "Dick, who's the kid here?"

	"Spud is," Dick affirmed.  "And he needs to understand that rules 
mean something.  To everyone," he added pointedly as he pulled out the 
last screw and moved the door away from the hinges.  

	"And how am I supposed to change?"

	"We have a private bathroom."

	"I can't believe you're doing this."

	"Neither can I," Dick told her, setting the door down.  "And now 
I'm going out."

	"You haven't eaten yet."

	"I need to get out of here.  I can't handle any more of this."

	"Oh, that's fine," Babs shot back.  "I deal with this all day and you 
walk in for five minutes and decide it's too much for you!  Maybe if you 
showed up at home once in a while, you'd have some idea what went on 
here!"

	Shaking his head, Dick walked away from her, heading to the 
computer room and the elevator that would take him down to the basement 
room that housed his costume and equipment.

	Once underground, he pulled on the Nightwing suit he'd taken off  
only twelve hours before, checking the compartments in the boots and 
gloves to see what needed restocking.  He decided against going back 
upstairs to kiss Babs goodbye and was headed for the WingCycle when he 
heard the communications device signal him.  He paused for a moment, 
deciding whether he wanted to answer the call.  It could be important.  But 
more likely, it was Babs or Batman.  He'd nearly decided not to answer it 
when the decision was made for him.

	The screen cleared in a priority transmission, showing Batman's 
stony face.

	"Dick.  I asked you to call me yesterday."

	"I was busy," Dick countered, his tone hostile.

	"This is important."

	Here it comes, Dick thought angrily.  How did he find out so fast?

	"You've brought a *child* into your house."

	"It's none of your business what Babs and I do in our house."

	"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?"

	"We weren't trying to hide it," Dick snapped back.  "We just didn't 
feel the need to ask permission."

	"You think I would have told you no?"

	"You would have said it was a bad idea.  You would have said that 
I was being impetuous and irresponsible; that I didn't think it through, that 
it was a security risk…"

	Dick was so involved in rattling off Batman's anticipated remarks, 
he missed the telltale muscle twitch at the corner of Bruce's mouth.  

	"True."

	Dick blinked, then hardened his face into a mask of grimness.

	"Except the first one."

	Dick blinked again, this time trying to remember what the first 
point in his rant had been.  After a moment, Bruce took pity on him.

	"Even if it is impetuous, irresponsible, not thought through, and a 
security risk…I would be a hypocrite if I told you that bringing a child 
into your home is a bad idea."

	Dick looked up, startled.  The cowl had been pulled back and 
Bruce met his eyes evenly.  

	"I—"  Dick looked away.  When he looked back, the cowl was 
back on.  "You need to start sleeping over Dinah's," he said with a half-
smile.  "She's getting too chummy with your butler."

	"I'm not sleeping with Dinah," Bruce said automatically. 

	"Oh really?" Dick asked with a fiendishly arched eyebrow.  "Then 
why—"

	"I ran into your wife and Spud at Leslie's clinic, where I was 
delivering supplies as per Alfred's instructions," Bruce replied grimly.

	"You ran into them?  And they didn't tell me?"

	"I asked them not to.  I wanted to give you grief."

	"Consider your grief given," Dick growled.  "Now, I gotta go."

	"Dick."

	Dick turned back to the monitor, adjusting the Nightwing mask 
across the bridge of his nose.

	"Don't be stupid out there."

	Batman signed off.

	"Now what was that supposed to mean?" Nightwing wondered 
aloud.

***

	"Three days!"

	Babs winced as Dinah's strident voice cut through the police 
dispatch warbling in her ear.  "What's three days?"

	"The next flight out of this place!  Three days!  I'm stuck here three 
days!  And I'm very sorry to say that the people here are not appreciative 
of my destroying the only economy they know.  True, I'd be sorrier if I 
*hadn't* blown the place, since I'd still *be* in there…"

	Babs sighed and leaned forward onto her worktable.  "I'm sorry, 
Dinah," she said sincerely.  "I didn't check the flight schedule before I sent 
you in.  That was sloppy on my part.  And I'm sorry I wasn't online when 
you needed me."

	"Babs?"  Dinah's voice was concerned.  "Are you ok?"

	"Yeah, just tired," Barbara told her, covering her sore eyes with 
one hand.  "And I really am sorry."

	"Yeah, I can tell…you're actually apologizing."  Dinah sounded 
puzzled.  "Hey, don't worry about me.  I'm going to go hide out in a barn 
or something.  You should, y'know, unplug.  Take a Soder break or 
something."

	Babs heard another beep in her ear and realized the house phone 
was ringing.  "Dinah, can you hang on a minute?  I gotta get something."

	"I'm outta here, babe," Dinah assured her.  "Gonna go mingle with 
the natives and get some shut-eye.  You go get what you gotta get and I'll 
talk to you in the morning."

	"Ok," Babs agreed with a tired smile.  "Thanks, Dinah.  Talk to 
you tomorrow."  She broke her connection with Dinah and switched to the 
phone line.  

	"Hello?" she asked brightly, as if she'd just been watching 
television.

	"Hey, Barbara, it's Filb."

	"Filb!  How are you doing?  Is everything ok?"

	"Oh, doing fine," he assured her.  "I'm sorry to bother you so late.  
Is Grayson there?"

	"Hey, we're night owls," Babs told him cheerfully.  "Comes with 
the shift.  Dick's working out right now.  Can I give him a message?"

	"Sure.  One of the kids in the hospital woke up.  He's giving a 
statement to Amy and a couple of youth cops right now."

	"Really?"  Babs felt numb.  Had Dick been right?  "Any word?"

	"Not yet," Filb said neutrally.  "I'll let you know if I hear more."

	"Thanks, Filb," Babs said, almost in a daze.  "Have a good night."

	"You, too, Barbara."  

	Barbara disconnected the line and sat for a moment staring at the 
screen.  What did this mean?  After a moment, she shook her personal 
musings and connected to Nightwing's communicator.  

	"Oracle to Nightwing.  Come in, Nightwing."

	"Nightwing here."  His voice was cold and flat.  

	"Nightwing, Filb reports one of the kids at Rabe woke up and is 
giving a statement.  Thought you'd be interested."

	Silence.  

	"Thanks, Oracle."  

	That was it.  The connection was cut.  

	Fine, Babs thought furiously, ripping off her headset.  She'd do it 
her way.  She easily hacked her way into Blüdhaven PD's files and set up 
a hidden link.  When someone typed up that report, it would be fed 
immediately into her databanks.  Just as a precaution, she used her 
monitors to assure herself that Spud was still safely in his room.  She'd 
cooked up some macaroni and cheese after Dick left, but Spud had only 
picked at it.  Now, however, he was running Buckshot up the bedspread 
and didn't seem at all inclined to go exploring.  Satisfied with that little 
bit, 
she pulled herself close to the desk and began working through her 
backlog.

***

	Rabe Memorial Hospital had lousy security.  It took under a 
minute for Nightwing to slip undetected through a third floor window and 
melt into the shadows.  The drama was wasted on the quiet room.  The 
room had two occupants--one unconscious, one asleep--and the steady 
beeping of the various machines was the only noise Nightwing's ears 
could detect.  He crossed the room on cat feet, glancing at the charts 
through his Star-Lite lenses.  It was the kid closest to the door.  Nightwing 
squatted by his bed and touched his shoulder gently.  The kid had gotten 
hit in the femoral artery and had been unconscious from shock and blood 
loss for that past four days.  He'd given a statement to the police earlier 
that evening.  He was about to give another one.

	"Wake up, Johnny.  Wake up," Nightwing murmured quietly.

	"Wha-huh?"  The kid blinked sleepily in the dark room.

	"Shh."

	Johnny's eyes widened and he jerked up when he saw the dark 
figure by his bed.

	"Are you Nightwing?" he blurted out.

	"Shhh."  Nightwing waved his hand, indicating Johnny should 
lower his voice.  "Quiet."

	"Are you Nightwing?" Johnny whispered, eyes wide.

	"Yes.  I need to ask you some questions."

	"O-ok."

	"First of all, where did you get the gun you had?"

	"I--I didn't have one.  I got shaked down by the cops a few days 
ago and had to throw it away."

	"Where did you get that one?"

	"Uh…some guy Bowser knew.  I dunno."

	"How was this guy dressed?  Expensive?"

	"No.  Jeans.  T-shirt.  Like everyone."

	"Anything special about him?"

	Johnny shook his head bewilderedly.  "No.  I don't think so."

	Nightwing's face didn't change.  "Tell me what happened that day."

	"You mean what started stuff?"  Johnny looked into the darkness 
for a minute.  "I think it started with Ruckman and Meyers.  Ruck heard 
Meyers done his girl and they started getting mad about it.  And then 
Bowser had his hand in his pocket and I guess Ruck thought he was 
getting his piece or something cuz he pulled out his piece and when 
someone pulls out 'is piece then all of 'em come out, y'know?"

	"Who fired the first shot?" Nightwing asked hollowly.  "Did you 
see?"

	Johnny nodded.  He cast his eyes over to the guy in the bed next to 
him.  "Kane did.  His gun got caught on his jacket and it went off on him.  
I ran over t'help him and next thing I know, everyone else is going."  He 
looked back at Nightwing with old, tired eyes.  "Can I go to sleep now?  
I'm kinda tired."

	"Just one more thing," Nightwing said, not unkindly.  "You mean 
all this…violence, all this death…it started over a misunderstanding about 
a girl?"

	"Yeah, sucks, huh?"

	"Yeah."  Nightwing nodded slightly.  "Go back to sleep, Johnny.  
Get better."

	"Cool.  I can't wait t'tell the guys 'bout this.  I got t'meet 
Nightwing.  He was in my room and…"  His words trailed off to mumbles 
as he slipped back to his dreams.

	Nightwing looked down at the sleeping boy and slipped out of the 
room via the window.

	He went to the roof and looked out over the city.  There was a chill 
in the air and the wind blew back his hair.

	Dick Grayson bowed his head, admitting defeat.

***

	Babs breathed a sigh of relief as the heavy wooden door shut 
behind her.  She felt enormously successful.  She had thrown herself into 
the backlog of work that had been accumulating over the last several days 
and managed to not only finish up all of it, but also complete some 
proactive research for Dinah's next tour of South American heroin labs.  
No more surprises like tonight, she promised herself.

	It wasn't very late, but Babs had decreed that Oracle was offline for 
the evening.  Dick wasn't reporting in and probably wasn't about to.  Dinah 
had given her the green light to go.  Even Batman seemed surprisingly 
not-grumpy that evening.  If only she could be so lucky in her own house.  

	She wheeled her way back to her bedroom before she remembered 
why she'd been hiding in the Oracle lair.  She could hear Spud playing 
behind her as she regarded her empty doorway with disgust.  Ignoring 
him, she wheeled into the room.  She used the swinging metal bar 
suspended from the ceiling to transfer herself to the king-sized bed and 
picked up the novel she had been working through in her spare minutes.  

	But there was a basket of clean laundry sitting on Dick's side of the 
bed.  And it was looking at her.  With a sigh of exasperation, Barbara put 
her novel back on the bedside table and moved back into her chair.  She 
rolled around the bed to retrieve the basket and brought it close to the 
chest of drawers.  It was silly, she reflected, deftly folding a t-shirt on her 
lap, that she couldn't ignore some housework for just a few hours.  There 
was no reason to jump on it right away.  But it was there, and it was 
bothering her and she was going to fix it.  She shook her head and placed 
the shirt on the bed, reaching for another.  

	As she folded the second shirt, she glanced out her unfortunately 
open doorway.  Spud was sitting in his room, playing with the horse.  And 
nothing else. 

	Babs felt bad.  It really wasn't fair to have sent him to this room 
without anything besides the horse.  He'd actually exhibited some pretty 
admirable creativity in choosing his playmates, she admitted.  She reached 
into the basket for a pair of Dick's socks, wrapping them into a ball and 
reaching to set them on the bed.  Across the hall, she could hear Spud 
cheering for his horse.  

She looked down at the socks in her hand.  

She looked across the hall.  

With aim she honed throwing Batarangs in her early twenties, 
Babs lobbed the sock ball across the hall into Spud's room.  He looked up, 
surprised.
	
She grinned at the look on his face.  Curious, he stood up and 
peered out of his doorway.  Then he retreated out of sight.  Poor kid, she 
thought with a shake of her head.  He probably thought he was under 
attack.  But not thirty seconds later, a much smaller set of socks, hastily 
fashioned into a similar ball, bounced into her room.  It settled on the 
ground, several feet away from her chair.  She glanced across the hall in 
time to see a red head disappear from the doorway.  Babs glanced around 
the room in search of a suitable reply.  Dick's sneaker?  No, she decided 
with a wrinkle of her nose.  That would stink.  She leaned down and took 
off her own shoe, tucked the laces inside and lobbed it through the door.

	"Hey!  You can kill a guy with that thing!"

	Babs grinned as another, smaller shoe, came flying back. 

	"Yeah, well, why don't you bring it back then?" she challenged.

	"I would, but I'm not allowed out of my room," Spud replied, 
coming to the doorway.  He lined his toes up with the line dividing the 
hallway and his room.

	"Guess you'll have to stay there," Babs said with a shrug.  "You 
hungry?"

	"When am I *not*?"

	Babs grinned and found a tube of chewy mint candies in her 
bedside table.  

	"Catch," she told him, chucking the candy over.

	He didn't catch, but he did a decent job of juggling and holding 
onto the package.  

	"Thank you," he said very nicely.   He dug a candy out of the 
wrapping and popped it in his mouth.

	"You're welcome," Babs replied softly.  Someone had obviously 
taught him *some* manners…once upon a time.

	"I'm sorry I make things hard for you," he told her, mouth full.  
Even from across the way, Babs thought he looked a little worried.

	"I…"  She wasn't sure how to answer.  He *did* make things 
harder, but it wasn't exactly his fault.  Put yourself in his place, she 
instructed herself.  If I were a little boy--god forbid--what would I…oh 
dear.  "I'm sorry I make things hard for you, too," she answered with the 
ghost of a smile.  

	Spud bit his bottom lip.

	"I'll tell you what," Babs offered.  "If you find a way to get across 
the hallway without touching the floor, you can come over here."

	"Really?"

	"Really."

	Babs could almost *see* the wheels turn in Spud's head as he 
gauged the distance from his room to hers and whether it was possible to 
for him to jump the gap.  The hallway was wide, built for her wheelchair 
to be able to turn around, and Babs watched as he decided against the leap.  
He vanished into the room for a minute and reappeared with a box of 
Kleenex and his horse tucked under his arm.  He laid a Kleenex on the 
ground and stepped on it.  Then, he put another in front of it and stepped 
out, balanced between two.  He plucked a third from the box and moved 
forward, but his back foot slipped.  He waved his arms, nearly dropping 
the horse, and hopped back into his room.  He poked his head back out 
long enough to scoop in the tissues and stuff them back in the box.

	Babs decided to take Filb's advice and let that one go.

	He disappeared from her sight for several minutes.

	"If I take this blanket off the bed, I’m gonna have to put it back on 
again, ain't I?" he finally called.

	"'Aren't I'," Babs corrected.  "And yes, you are." 

	There was some suspicious sounding silence and then Spud 
appeared in the doorway once more.  With his trashcan.  Babs just bit her 
lip and kept her mouth shut.  She watched as he carefully stepped into the 
plastic cube and grabbed the sides.  Using it like one would use a potato 
sack in a race, he hopped into the hall.  Once.  Again.  And fell over.  Babs 
slammed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud as Spud 
wiggled around like a landed fish, trying to stand up and, that failing, 
squirm back into his room without spending any more time on the floor 
than humanly possible.

	"Spud.  Spud!" Barbara interrupted his gyrations.  	

	He lifted his head.  "Yeah?"

	"You can get up and go back in your room," Babs told him, 
smiling.  "You didn't win, but you're not out of the game yet."

	"Sweet."  Spud scrambled out of the trashcan and dragged it back 
to his room, retrieving the horse from the bottom.

	Babs didn't see him again for a few minutes.

	"GERONIMO!"  Spud came flying across the floor, clutching the 
edge of the pillow that was under his knees.  Because, as every child 
knows, Pillows + Hardwood Floor = Excellent Sliding Surface.  

	Babs laughed as he tumbled into the room.

	"Good job!" she cheered.  "That was great!"

	Spud came up beaming.  "That was fun!" he exclaimed.  "I just had 
to get a running start."  He reached into his shirt and pulled out his horse.

	"Keeping it safe?" Babs asked, nodding toward Buckshot.

	"I didn't want him to get lost," Spud confirmed.  He and Buckshot 
walked around the bed and crawled up behind the laundry basket.  A quick 
check confirmed for Babs that he wasn't wearing shoes.  He must have 
ditched his other sneaker in his room, she decided.  "Can I help?"

	"Sure you can," Babs agreed, surprised that he offered.  "Do you 
want to pair up the socks?"

	"Ok." 

	They worked together in companionable silence for a couple 
minutes before Spud's curiosity got the better of him.  

	"How come you have to have a wheelchair?" he asked hesitantly.  
"Is that ok to ask?"

	Babs smiled sadly.  "It's ok to ask," she assured him.  "I…was shot.  
With a gun.  In the stomach."

	"Oh."  Spud looked very serious.  "Like Scorch.  Only you're alive 
still."  He turned his head and continued matching socks.

	"Yeah."  Babs bit her lip.  "I am."

	"Do you think…"  Spud studied the socks closely.  "Do you think 
that if Scorch hadn't died, he would have been in a wheelchair, too?"

	"I--I couldn’t say, sweetie."

	A tear dripped onto Dick's police issue black socks.  

	"I wish he was in a wheelchair," Spud sniffled.  "Cuz then he'd still 
be here."

	"Oh sweetie, c'mere."  Babs held out her arms and Spud crawled 
across the clean clothes to lean his head on her shoulder.  Some of the 
clothes fell to the floor.  

	Neither of them cared.

***

	The computer room was dark when Dick stepped out of the 
elevator.  He was so tired, it actually hurt to walk over to the heavy oaken 
door and open it.  He tried to remember when he'd last let himself sleep.  
A few days ago?  Maybe?  He blinked sore eyes and made sure to lock the 
door behind him this time. He'd done enough wrong this week.

	He walked straight to the kitchen, heading for a cold bottle of 
water.  His back ached as he tilted his head up to let the cool liquid run 
down his throat.  The light of the fridge was enough to see that his home 
was in perfect order again, with the exception of the pair of doors leaning 
against the wall of the hallway.

	The doors.  It made him tired just to look at them.  He'd failed.  
He'd tried to make a family and all he had were two doors sitting in his 
hallway.  He was sure there was a metaphor in there somewhere, but his 
brain felt too sluggish to figure out what it might be.

 	He closed the fridge and walked toward the end of the hall, where 
a faint light glowed from the open doorway of the master bedroom.  

	He trudged tiredly toward that light, knowing he was lucky it was 
even on.  He paused at the doorway, looking in at Babs, who was reading 
by the light of her bedside lamp.  Her reading glasses were slipping down 
her nose and the low wattage bulb cast glittering highlights throughout her 
hair.  He watched her finish her page, then look up at him.

	"Are you coming in or not?" she asked calmly.

	Dick thanked the stars that at least he had not been relegated to the 
couch and entered the room.  He sat down heavily on her side of the bed, 
feeling the springs of the mattress give under his exhausted weight.  He 
felt his hip bump Barbara's knee.  Glancing at her face, he knew she 
noticed too, even though she hadn't felt the brush.

	"I screwed up," he told her bluntly.  "I pulled a Bruce.  When I was 
nine…"  Dick clasped his hands together and leaned forward, resting his 
elbows on his knees and pulling his eyes from Barbara's closed face to 
look at the floor.  "When I first came to live with him, Bruce was cold and 
distant and I didn't know why.  He was going after Zucco.  He was going 
after Zucco for me.  And in the meantime, he ignored me and left Alfred 
to make things better.  But Alfred wasn't the one I wanted.  And I just did 
the same thing to Spud.  And to you."  He glanced up and saw a laundry 
basket sitting on the floor near the dresser.  Spud was curled up inside it, 
asleep, Buckshot wedged under his arm.  "What's Spud doing here?" he 
asked, a faint smile playing on his lips.

	"He wanted to wait up for you," Babs replied.  "He fell asleep in 
his pirate ship."  She waited a bit before adding, "I think he was afraid you 
were walking out on us."

	A lump formed in Dick's throat as he stared at the little boy who fit 
in the basket too well.  Spud's face was creased in worry, his forehead 
wrinkled and his fists clenched.

	"Why didn't you tell me you saw Bruce?" he asked, fishing for the 
only offense he had.

	"He asked us not to," Babs said quietly.  "You were supposed to 
find out that evening, but you never called him."

	Dick nodded.  Of course.  The two greatest detectives in the world, 
reduced to a comedy of errors.  It was almost ironic.

	"Did you go to the hospital?"

	Dick paused in his nodding, then nodded again.

	"Did you find what you were looking for?" Babs asked gently.

	"I--You were right.  You were right, Filb was right, Amy was 
right…there's no supervillain behind this.  No mastermind; no deranged 
felon.  A bunch of kids with guns just got in a fight."  

	He felt his eyes burn with tears.  "And they wound up dead.  And 
it's no one's fault but their own.  There's no way I can fix it and there's no 
way I can stop it from happening again."  He shut his eyes hard against the 
tears and ducked his head.  He felt a cool, smooth touch on his tightly 
fisted his hand and looked down to see Babs' slim white fingers wrapped 
around his own large brown hand.  

	"You're my hero, Dick," she told him softly.  "You want to save 
the world.  And it hurts when you can't.  You can't save those dead kids 
but you saved Spud.  He's not on the streets anymore and as difficult as he 
can be, he just wants you to come home and love him.  And maybe—"  
Barbara stopped herself and lay her other hand on his shoulder.

	"Dick's home?"

	Dick quickly blinked his tears away and straightened up to see 
Spud on his knees, still in the laundry basket.

	"Hey, buddy," he said softly.  "How're you doing?"

	"Ok," Spud said cautiously.  "Babs and I got along ok."

	"Good.  I'm glad."  Dick watched as Spud crawled out of the 
basket and stood hesitantly close to Dick.  "C'mere," he offered, holding 
out an arm.

	Spud  rushed to his side, crawling up on the bed between Dick and 
Babs and resting his head on Dick's arm.  Buckshot was strangled in his 
grip.  "Where were you?" he asked anxiously.  "Were you with Filb again?  
Were you looking for the guys who killed Scorch?"

	Dick stared at him in surprise.

	Babs squeezed her husband's shoulder.  "Spud woke up last night 
when you were 'out working'," she told him.  "He wanted to make sure 
Filb was with you."

	"Oh."  Dick suddenly realized just how much he'd missed, how 
much had happened while he was gone.  "Yeah, I was working but—"  
Dick glanced at Babs.  She squeezed his hand and nodded.  "Spud…there's 
no one to go 'get'.  There was just…a big fight…and things happen."

	"What do you mean?" Spud asked, suddenly sounding very small.  
"Are you giving up?  You can't give up!  We have to find who did it and 
beat them up!"

	"Spud," Dick started helplessly.  

	Spud started crying.  "No fair, no fair, no *fair*!" he yelled, his 
little fists seeming to add more bruises to Dick's already battered body.

"Spud, calm down."   Dick pulled the little boy onto his lap, 
muffling the flying fists and hugging him tightly.  He glanced helplessly 
over the  top of Spud's head at Babs who bit her lip and moved her free 
hand—the one that  had been clasping Dick's—to Spud's back, offering 
comforting strokes.

	Exhausted, the little family sat together, rocking Spud until he was 
quiet.
	
"I think we all need some sleep," Babs said softly, brushing a stray 
curl away from Spud's forehead.

	"Do you want me to take you back to your room?" Dick asked, 
knowing that as tired as he was, he could carry Spud to bed as his own 
father—and Bruce, he added with a flash of guilt—had carried him to his 
own bed years ago.

	Spud sniffed and looked up at him with red eyes.  "Can I—can I 
stay here with you tonight?" he sniffled.

	Dick closed his eyes in relief, remembering Spud's rebuff of his 
offer what seemed like many days ago.

	"Of course you can," Babs assured him.  She reached over and 
tugged Dick's pillow next to her own.  "Come on, sweetie."  She wrapped 
her arms around Dick's shoulders, enveloping both of them, and pulling 
them down next to her on the bed.  

	Just before he passed into oblivion, Dick felt Babs' hand on top of 
his and he almost managed to smile before the darkness claimed him.

***

	Dick crouched on a roof and stared out over his city.  He felt 
betrayed, an outsider in his own city.  He felt empty and weary and 
considered just writing off the night and going home.  There was nothing 
here for him, tonight.

	Johnny would be released from the hospital in two days time, 
going home with a Wayne Enterprises employee and her husband.  The 
couple had been trying to have children for years.  An adoption had just 
fallen through and they had jumped at the chance to help a homeless child.  

	A trust fund had been set up for each of the survivors of the 
shooting, a sum that would grow into the required sum for college tuition, 
with a stipulation that the money be used for that purpose only.  Only 
Lucius Fox, his protégé Tim Drake, or Bruce Wayne himself could release 
the money for any other reason.

	Bruce's money had helped some of the kids when Dick could do 
nothing.  Dick squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in the crisp night air.  
It was cool for May and the chill burned in his lungs.  A different chill 
burned in his body.  He felt impotent.  Useless.  Ineffectual.

	“Oracle to Nightwing.  Nightwing, I need a reply ASAP.”

	“Nightwing here,” he replied, crisply, because his disillusion and 
weariness could wait until he was safely in her arms.

	“Nightwing…”  She paused for a minute, as if unsure how to go 
on.  “Spud’s gone.”

	“He’s what?”

	“Gone.  I stuck my head in his room to check on him and he’s not 
there.  I think he went out the window, but I don’t know where he went 
after that.” 

	"I went after Zucco," Dick said, automatically.

	"What?" 

	"I went after Tony Zucco," Dick said, softly.  "I ran away because 
he killed them and he was still out there."	

	"He's going after…"

	"I'll find him."  

	As he turned off the communicator, the empty feeling had been 
filled with purpose and grim determination.  There was a little boy out 
there in the night and Nightwing had to find him.

***

	The bus station was two blocks to the right and three blocks to the 
right again from Dick and Babs' house.  Spud had watched it go by when 
he was in the car with Babs yesterday.  He didn't know exactly how to get 
there, but it wasn't hard to find.  He walked up to the stop sign where Babs 
had turned and then walked until he found the  little overhang.  Then he 
curled up on the bench and waited for the bus.

***

Nightwing squatted on the rooftop, mulling what information he 
had.  Oracle had been online all night, except when she'd been with Spud.  
There was no way for Spud to have gotten to the secret part of basement 
that housed Nightwing's lair.  The door was in the computer room.

	Next step.  He would go back to the scene of the crime.  Chestnut 
Street was where the shootout happened.  Would he walk?  That was too 
far and Spud wasn't familiar with the suburban neighborhood.  Taxi?  He 
didn't have any money and the Graysons preferred electronic transactions.  
There wasn't much money lying around.  An old bicycle in the garage, but 
would he have been able to open the garage door without Babs noticing?

	The bus.  There was a bus stop near the entrance of the 
neighborhood.  If Spud was already in Blüdhaven, that would be the best 
bet.  

	Nightwing opened his communicator to Oracle.  

	"Do you have something, Nightwing?" she asked immediately.  
She had to have been watching her board to react before he spoke.

	"Maybe.  Can you access a bus schedule for this evening?"

	"You think he took the bus?" she asked against a background of 
clicking keys.  "I've got one," she said even before he could answer.  
"There was a bus downtown from the stop you're thinking of that 
passed…three minutes ago.  Damn!"

	"What number was it?" Nightwing queried, ignoring the 
uncharacteristic curse.  

	"Brown route, bus four."

	"I'm on it.  He won't be out there for long."

***

	Spud had paid his half-fare carefully, counting out the coins he'd 
found in the couch cushions.  

	"Ain't you awful young to be going out by yourself this late at 
night?" the bus driver asked gruffly.

	"I'm going home," Spud informed him seriously.  It was what 
Scorch had always told him to tell bus drivers who worried about them.  

	Kids have divorced parents who put them on buses all the time, 
Scorch had explained.  That way one parent doesn't have to see the other 
one and get in a fight when they drop off their kids.

	Spud had nodded as if he understood, even though he really didn't.  
They didn't even have a daddy.

	The bus driver just shrugged.  "Suit yourself," he said, pulling the 
handle that closed the door.  "Is someone going to meet you?"

	Spud froze.  He didn't know the answer to that question.

	"Sometimes," he said carefully and hurried down the aisle.  He 
hopped in a seat next to the window and pulled his knees up to his chin.  
He didn't know the name of the street he needed to go to but that was ok.  
He would sit there until something looked familiar and then he'd pull the 
cord.  It would all be ok.

***

	"Do you think he has a plan?"

	"I doubt it."  Nightwing crouched on the low roof of a brownstone 
on Chestnut Street.  "The bus is due at 11:23?"

	"It's only 11:23 and 45 seconds."

	"I know."

	"Maybe someone wanted to get off early."

	"Maybe."

***

	Spud had pressed his nose to the window until he started to see 
buildings and restaurants that looked familiar.  Then, he stood on the seat 
and pulled the cord.  

	"You sure this is where you get off, kid?" the bus driver asked, 
scowling at him when he made his way to the front.

	"Yup," Spud assured him.  

	"You gonna meet your old man or something?"

	"Or something."  Spud got off the bus and looked around as the 
driver reluctantly pulled away.  He wasn't far from Chestnut Street and he 
knew a lot of places.  There was the bakery where old man Wojowski 
would give them day-old bread and sometimes a stale pastry.  On the 
corner was where Lamont's mother braided ladies' hair.  That building 
next to it was abandoned.  They'd lived there for almost a week before a 
bunch of guys ran them out.  Spud stuck his hands deep in his sweatshirt 
pockets and trudged down the street.  Maybe if he found the place where 
Scorch died, he could find out who killed him.

***

	"He didn't get off," Nightwing reported from his perch.  "Scratch 
the bus idea."

	"How do you know he didn't get off earlier?  Or maybe he didn't 
take that bus?  Maybe he took another bus?"

	"Possible.  I'm going to do an aerial sweep.  Is his red sweatshirt in 
his room?"

	"I didn't think to check, but I didn't see it."

	"Go look and let me know.  If he's wearing that, I'll be able to spot 
him a mile away."

***

	"Hey!  Kid!"

	The call came from one of the women inhabiting the street corner.  
She wore a very short skirt, was heavily made up, and was surrounded by 
a cloud of smoke.  James barely glanced at her before turning his eyes 
back ahead of him.  Look where you're going and ignore the people who 
bother you.  That's what Scorch had always said.

	"You."  She was in front of him now.  "Ain't you one of Tricia 
Scranton's kids?"

	She knew Mommy!  

	Spud looked up into her garishly made up eyes.  He knew her.  He 
knew he did.  He just couldn’t remember why.  

	"I'm Pammy," she said, squatting down to his height.  "Remember 
me?  Aunt Pammy?  Your mommy and I used to hang out together?"

	Spud nodded.  He did remember Aunt Pammy.  She had pretty 
brown skin and hair that she sometimes put in lots of braids and she used 
to bring over yummy food.

	"Which one are you?  You gotta be Jamie."

	He nodded again.

	"What are you doing out here, kiddo?  Last I heard of you two, 
you'd run away from your foster homes and the cops were out looking for 
you.  They shook down the block with pictures and everything."

	"Are you going to tell them?" Spud asked, suddenly on the 
defensive.

	Aunt Pammy paused.  "Kiddo, how long have you been out here?"

	Spud looked hesitant.

	"I'll tell you what," she said.  "Let's go get something to eat and 
then we'll talk about it, ok?"

	Spud thought about this.  It had been a long time since lunch and 
he hadn't eaten much dinner.  He *was* hungry.  He shouldn't be since 
he'd already eaten twice that day but he just…was.

	"Ok," he agreed.

	"Zeke's not gonna like this Pam," one of the girl called from the 
corner.

	"Zeke can deal, Des," Pam called back.  "I'll be back out, soon as I 
get the kid some pie or something."

	"It's your eye," Desiree muttered as Pam led Spud off to a nearby 
diner.  "You want it black, I ain't arguing."

***

	"I'm not finding him on the street," Nightwing reported.  "Is there 
anything local he might be using as cover?"

	Miles away in their cozy, brightly-lit home, Oracle shook her head.  
"I'm checking," she reported.  "Local area businesses are mostly closed 
and locked up.  I couldn't say which of his friends he might be staying 
with."

	"He wouldn't be staying for long," Nightwing reminded her.  "Just 
long enough to ask some questions and get out of there."

	"Do you even have a clue who he's looking for?"

	Oracle's query was met with silence.  

	"Yeah, that's what I thought.  I've got an all-night diner.  Want to 
check in there?"

	"I'll take a look.  Address?"

***

	"Geez kid, when was the last time you ate?  Christmas?" Pammy 
asked as Spud demolished a slice of pie and a glass of milk.

	"Sorry," he said, flushing.  After all, he'd just eaten at lunch!  Babs 
had made him something for dinner, but he hadn't been very hungry.  "I'm 
just in a hurry," he explained.  "There was a big fight and Scorch got 
killed," he explained.  "I have to find out who did it and beat them up."

	"You ain't gonna find out who pulled the trigger 'round here," the 
waitress reported as she put their check on the table and refilled Pammy's 
coffee.  "Alls them kids got taken t'the hospital or the morgue."

	Spud didn't know what the morgue was and didn't want to ask.  "I 
don't know where the hospital is," he admitted.

	"It's up by the Zee Moores, kid," the waitress told him.  "Long ride.  
Longer walk.  I'd shut down for the night and try again tomorrow."

	"I have to go tonight," he said stubbornly.

	That wasn't a bad idea, Pam decided.  Hospitals always had social 
workers wandering around their emergency rooms, waiting to talk battered 
woman into leaving their husbands and protecting kids from whatever they 
could come up with.  Maybe one of them would recognize Spud and insist 
he go back to child services or wherever he came from.  Besides, it was 
better than letting him wander the dark streets.

	"Ok, kiddo," Pam agreed, dropping a five on the table for Spud's 
snack and her coffee.  "Let's go."  She took his hand as he hopped out of 
the booth and walked out the door of the diner.

***

	"No red sweatshirt," Oracle reported over a secure line.  "But the 
horse is tucked into his bed."

	Nightwing nodded once.  "Roger that, Oracle," he replied.  "I have 
movement at the door of the diner.  Female, African-American and Spud.  
I'm—oh crap."

	"What?  What is it?" Barbara Gordon asked, alarmed.  "Dick?"

	She was met with silence.

***

	"Uff!  Zeke!"  Pam gasped for air as her back hit the brick wall of 
the alley.  

	"Yeah, it's Zeke."  The man's cruel mouth sneered at her.  
"Babysitting, are we?"

	Pam's eyes darted sideways.  Where had Jamie gone?  If he'd been 
out on the streets, he should know enough to hide when things got rough.  
He should be ok.  She didn't see him anywhere.  Maybe he was ok.

	Then, suddenly, the pressure of Zeke's hand was off her chest and 
she could breathe again.  A dark shape hurled Zeke across the alley to 
crash into a pile of trash cans.  Pam trembled as the dark shape turned 
towards her.  A slash of light from a nearby streetlamp illuminated a swath 
of blue on the shadow's chest and white beacons glowed in the dark face.

	"Get out of here," the shadow growled, but not unkindly.  "I'll 
worry about Zeke and the kid."

	Pam nodded, frightened, and ran from the alley, tripping on her 
heels as she scurried.  Half a block away, she paused to take off her shoes 
before racing to her small apartment and double chaining the door.

	In the alley, Nightwing turned his attention to Zeke.  Two long 
strides took him to where the hustler was struggling to sit up and a quick 
jerk brought the other man to his feet.

	"We need to talk," Nightwing rasped in Zeke's ear as he slammed 
the other man into the wall.  The impact traveled up his arm, but he 
ignored the twinge.  

	"Uh, yeah, sure man," Zeke burbled, trying to back up against the 
wall to loosen Nightwing's chokehold.

	"I'm in a hurry.  If I leave you, you'll just take it out on your girl 
later.  So I'll be back.  I'll come find you in two days.  And if that girl 
isn't 
in pristine condition, you're going to be very sorry.  Understand?"

	"Yeah, yeah man, I gotcha."

	"Good." 

	Zeke felt a sharp pain on his head and then the pressure was gone 
from his throat.  He sank to the ground, dragging his necktie away from 
his neck as the shadow flew away.

***

	"Situation averted," Nightwing reported.  "But I lost Spud.  He's 
alone now."

	"Maybe we should think about bugging him," Oracle suggested, 
not idly, as she studied a map of downtown Blüdhaven.  "Tack a tracer on 
him, keep tabs?"

	"We'll worry about it later," Nightwing told her.  "We need to find 
him, first."

***

	Chestnut Street.

	Spud curled further into his sweatshirt.  The breeze was warm, but 
it just made him feel colder and more shivery inside.  He huddled at the 
mouth of the alley where he'd hidden, crouching in a dumpster with 
gunfire echoing in his ears.  

Scorch had died here.
	
Spud tried very hard not to cry—after all, he had a mission.  There 
wasn't anything here that could help him.  If he wanted to look, he would 
have seen bloodstains on the pavement, but he didn't want to look.  He 
should go to the hospital, like the waitress said.  Or the morgue, if he 
could figure out where that was.  Or what it was.

	But before he could move, he had something else to worry about.

	"Hey, lookit what we've got here."

	"Yeah, another carrot-top."

	"Aw, hims looking scared.  Maybe we should get him a teddy 
bear?"

	Spud scowled and gauged his options.  The kids in front of him 
were all bigger than him, at least Scorch's age, and mean.  They were 
street kids, or else they'd have to be inside now.  One was wearing a 
jacket, but the other three weren't.  The one with the jacket might have a 
gun, but the rest didn't.  They might have knives though.  Spud's best 
option was to run.  If he could slip away…

	But then, for a second time that night, a big shadowy figure swept 
down and cleared the way.

	Dick pulled his punches, knowing these were just unarmed kids.  
They needed some intimidation and a little muscle to back it up, but they 
weren't going to hurt him.  A snap kick to the side took out the first one 
and Dick grimaced when he felt a rib give under his heel.  He knocked the 
air out of the next kid with the flat of his hand against the kid's chest and 
followed up with the heel of his hand to the forehead.  His free hand 
grabbed the next kid's jacket, pulling him in close as Nightwing regained 
his balance and the other kids scattered.

	"We don’t need bullies in Blüdhaven," he growled, pushing the kid 
away.  

	The boy staggered back several steps and took off.

	Nightwing looked down at the small boy cowering before him.

	"Can I give you a ride somewhere?" he asked, the irony in his 
voice only for himself.

	"I—I need to go to the hospital," Spud managed.

	Nightwing frowned.  "You hurt?"

	"N-no.  But…the boys there killed my brother.  I haveta go and…"  
Spud trailed off.

	"Ok," Nightwing relented.  He scooped Spud up and held him tight 
as he threw a line.  "Hold on tight."

***

	Babs leaned back in her chair, relieved Spud was safely in Dick's 
arms.  He'd been with them less than a week and already she was 
arranging her life, and worse, her feelings, to accommodate the little guy.  
She smiled to herself as she moved forward again, donning her 
headphones.  With Spud safe, it was time for her to get back to her nightly 
duties, and she was feeling generous.  Maybe one of the Wayne Corps jets 
wouldn’t mind diverting from its regular flight path to swing by Cordova 
to pick up a certain blonde operative.	

***

	Nightwing watched from the window as Spud stood solemnly by 
the bedside of one of the wounded boys.  It was a boy from the opposite 
gang, but wrapped up in white bed sheets, his head shaved and wrapped in 
sterile gauze, an IV connecting his wrist to a machine, he looked like a 
very small, very sick child.  Spud stepped back quickly as the boy started 
coughing ragged, wet coughs.

	After watching the machines beep and the boy not move for 
several more minutes, Spud turned and carefully stepped out onto the 
window ledge with the Spandex-clad hero.  Nightwing watched carefully 
to make sure he didn’t slip as he took one last glance back at the injured 
boy.

	“Still mad at him?” Nightwing asked softly.

	Spud was silent for a moment.  “No,” he finally said.  “I really 
want to be mad at him.  But he’s all…y’know.”  

	“I know.”

	“But I’m still mad.  I want to be mad at someone.”  

	Nightwing watched sympathetically as Spud’s eyes filled with 
tears, which he dashed away angrily with the back of his grubby hand.

	“But there’s no one to be mad at, is there?”  Nightwing sat down 
on the ledge next to Spud and patted the spot next to him.  “I tried to be 
mad, too.  I tried to go find someone to blame for the whole thing 
happening.  But I couldn’t find one person.”

	Spud sat down on the ledge next to him.  “Is that why you’re 
wearing a mask with your pajamas?  ‘Cause you were looking for a bad 
guy at night?”

	“Well…”  Nightwing choked back a laugh.  “These are ‘special’ 
pajamas.”

	“Is that how come I’ve never seen ‘em before?  Are you pretending 
to be Nightwing?”

	“Am I—?“

	“Does Babs know you’re out here?”

	Dick stared at him, speechless.

	“’Cause you’re really not fooling anyone with that stupid mask.”

	“I’m not—Spud, who am I?”

	“You’re Dick.”  Spud squinted at him.  “Did you hit your head?”

	“No, I—“  Dick looked at Spud, perplexed.  “I’m not fooling 
you?”

	“No.”  Spud looked puzzled.  “So *are* you pretending to be 
Nightwing?”

	Dick laughed.  “Spud, when we get home, I have a big secret to tell 
you.”

***

The Beginning