Disclaimer:  Dick and Barbara Grayson belong to DC Comics/Warner 
Bros. and are borrowed here for entertainment purposes only and not for 
profit.  Spud (James Scranton) belongs to Smitty, as does the Potatoverse 
in which this is set.  This story takes place around the time of "Night at the 
Roxbury" and "Father's Day" (likely sometime between the two).

Thanks to Smitty for letting me play with her creation and for beta 
reading.

"The Morning Workout"
by Chicago


          Warm and safe.  He snuggled more deeply into her arms, felt her 
kiss the top of his curls.  "I love you, Jamie," she murmured.
	"I love you, too, Mommy," he answered, his eyes closing 
contentedly.
	Then he smelled something - something yummy.  He raised his 
head, sniffing the air, and his stomach rumbled.
	The arms around him still held him, as if reluctant to let him go.  
"Don't run off, now, Jamie."
	"I'm not, Mommy," he promised, sliding from her lap to follow the 
smell.  "I'm just getting us some food."
	"You're such a good boy, Jamie."  Her voice sounded far away, 
and Jamie turned toward her.  But his eyes were still closed, and he 
couldn't see...
	He opened his eyes...
	And then he was awake, and she wasn't there.  For one confused 
moment, he couldn't think of how he had ended up in this comfortable bed 
in this tidy room with a bright square of sunlight shining warmly in, and 
then he remembered.   He made the sob of disappointment that welled into 
his throat into a scowl.  Mommy wasn't here.  She was dead.  Like Scorch.
	The smell of baking again prompted a growl from his stomach, and 
he sat up.  It wasn't Babs' fault she made such good food, he told himself, 
glaring at his stomach.  It wasn't her fault that his empty tummy seemed 
more important than staying with his Mommy.
	As if in answer, another burble came from his gut.  Whatever she 
was cooking smelled awfully good.  He sat for a minute longer, than 
slipped off the bed and padded on bare feet down the hall into the kitchen.
	"Hey, Sleepyhead," Babs greeted cheerfully as Spud entered the 
kitchen.
	"Hi."
	Monosyllabic this morning, Babs noted, watching as he sat down 
at the kitchen table.  His face was drawn into a sour expression, and dark 
smudges shadowed his eyes.  It had taken over an hour to soothe him from 
his nightmares last night, and even then, his sleep had been fitful.  
She resisted the urge to sigh for him or coddle him, knowing he would  
rebuff her.  Instead, she opened the oven to pull out the muffin tin.  "You 
want muffins?  I've got a pan already cooled."
       	"Where's Dick?"
	She managed again not to sigh as she set the pan on the stovetop 
and turned off the oven.  "He's downstairs working out."
	"Oh."  His tone was unreadable, and when Babs looked over, his 
eyes were studying the top of the table.
	It was odd to see him so subdued, even knowing Spud was no 
more a morning person than his new foster parents.  She didn't comment 
though, instead transferring a half dozen muffins to a tray and reaching 
into a cupboard for two glasses and a plastic cup.  She wheeled to the 
refrigerator and pulled out a half gallon of milk and set it on the tray with 
the glasses and the muffins.  Then she settled the tray across her lap and 
wheeled to Spud.
	He looked at her curiously when she held out a muffin to him.  
"Here.  Let's go watch Dick while we eat."
	Spud wrinkled his nose at her.  "Watch him work out?"
	"Trust me," she replied, smiling.
	He gave her a skeptical look, but he took the muffin and followed 
her to her work room.


         	Dick was warming up on the highbar when he saw Spud and Babs 
emerge from the elevator.  He let his body flow smoothly and surely into 
the handstand and held it for a second before he raised on hand off the bar 
and waved.  "Morning!"
         	He heard Babs laugh.  "Show off!  We've got breakfast."
	"I see that," he returned.  "I'm just about done, so I'll be down in a 
few."
	"No rush," Babs replied in warm tones, and he could feel her eyes 
feasting on him.  As he swung around preparartory to practicing some 
release moves, he noticed that Spud was also staring at him, his eyes wide.  
Dick wondered if the boy had ever been to a circus.
	Probably not, he decided, and he complicated his usual routine for 
his foster son.  The showman in him took over, slipping in pikes and half-
turns and midair somersaults in a dazzling display of acrobatics.  When he 
finally executed his dismount, the half eaten muffin in Spud's hand 
seemed forgotten, and Babs applauded wildly.  He grinned as he bowed to 
his audience, then grabbed a towel and hung it across his bare shoulders.
	"Save some food for me, there, Spud?" he asked, crossing to give 
Babs a kiss and tousle the boy's hair.
	Spud didn't reply; instead his eyes locked on Dick's shoulder.
	"Hey, Spud.  You okay?"
	Spud reached out tentatively, his hand reaching toward Dick. 
	Concerned, Dick knelt down, then started when Spud's hand 
brushed his shoulder and he realized what he had been staring at.
	"What happened?" Spud asked.
	Dick reached self-consciously for the scar, his fingers running over 
its familiar half-moon shape.  He glanced at Babs, then turned his eyes 
seriously to Spud.  "I got shot," he answered plainly.  "A long time ago."
	Spud's face wrinkled in an emotion Dick couldn't quite read.  He 
looked from Dick to Babs, then down at the muffin in his hand.   Finally 
his eyes came back to Dick's reassuring face.  "How come everyone has to 
get shot?" he asked.
	It was all Dick could do to not cry as he reached out to gather Spud 
to him.  He felt a hand on his unscarred shoulder and glanced up at Babs' 
concerned face.  He smiled sadly at her and held out one hand, the other 
remaining around Spud.
	"I don't know, Spud," he answered finally, taking comfort from the 
way Babs gave his hand a little squeeze.  "Maybe it's to keep us working 
for a time when no one gets shot ever again."
	He felt Spud nod against his shoulder and Babs tighten her grip on 
his hand.  And not for the first time, Dick Grayson wished he knew a way 
to promise that his family would never be hurt again.

-end-