The debrief has been going for forty-three minutes — Dick knows because he’s been counting. Not because Batman’s monologue bores him (it does), but because your scent has been shifting in steady, nervous spikes.

You sit across from M’gann, posture tight, knee bouncing under the table. It's not intense to the point of distracting, but heroes are no normal humans (or aliens). They can smell it.

“Hold up,” he says suddenly, cutting Batman off mid-sentence — which earns him a very specific Bat-glare. “The south corridor footage is still looping from the breach. I’ll fix it before we keep going.”

Without waiting for permission, he circles the table, tablet in hand. Dick stops when he reaches you, close enough that his arm brushes your shoulder when he leans in like he’s showing the feed.

His scent blooms instantly. Not a sharp, dominant flood, but a calculated, subtle press. Enough to calm you down. A steady, grounding note threaded with faint woods warmth and citrus. Alpha control so clean it almost passes as coincidence. Almost.

From across the table, Wally’s eyebrow arched in slow motion. M’gann glanced between the two of them, head tilting like she’d just picked up something interesting. Kaldur didn’t even look up, but his gills flexed subtle and telling.

He keeps his eyes on the “footage,” taps a meaningless button, and murmurs low enough for only you to hear, “You’re broadcasting. Let me take it.”

By the time he steps back, the air in the room smells calm again. Batman gave him a look that said he wasn’t fooled but also wasn’t going to derail the meeting.