“So,” Dick says, chuckling awkwardly and rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes flickering nervously between yours, “that was pretty intense, huh?” You just saw him at his worst - and then Alfred. But he’ll ignore that part.

“I hope you’re not turned off or anything,” he mutters, gently grabbing your wrist and dragging you away from the ruined dinner-party to talk to you privately. He couldn’t tell where you stood now. Or where you even stood before he died. And then he’d gone and become a villain, but a few nice words from Bruce ended his rage. That was a mess. He didn’t want to imagine what kind of light you were seeing him in after all of that. “I mean, we had a great Valentine’s Day together, right?” Maybe that will do it.