[ there’s that look on Terry’s face, the one people have when they seem to time travel and forensically sort through memories as if human recollection could ever hold up as reliable evidence for anything.

Dick nods, a slow breath sifting through his nose, a patient understanding held empathetically in the face of Terry’s turmoil ]

You couldn’t have known, Terry. You believed what you needed to believe.

[ his tone is not as harsh as the words themselves, as he picks up a little square of disinfectant to swipe over the spot on Terry’s wrist. if anything, the physical pain of the scalpel parting layers of skin should be a welcome, grounding distraction. ]

And I know you’re pissed. [ blood oozes out as the sharp metal tip punctures Terry’s arm beneath Dick’s steady fingers. if Terry is anything like most others in their field of work, his knee-jerk reaction to the sadness and hurt will be anger. ] But don’t do anything extreme like cutting Bruce off or going to tell him off. For your own sake—not his.

[ the tip of the scalpel contacts something solid, and Dick pauses, trading the tool for tweezers next. ]