He holds them close, nosing apart their hair and tightening his arms around their waist. "It's okay, baby. You're okay." He whispered, soft presses of lips into shuddering skin.

He didn't say much of substance, nothing more than just whispered assurances into the top of their head; lips leaving fluttering kisses against scalp as if being close enough would push the words into their brain.

Dick knew they — his partner, his absolutely amazing partner that laughs at all his stupid puns and claps at all his unnecessary acrobatics — had it rough. Knew they would break like this at some point. He's just so, so very grateful they love, trust, him enough to do it in his arms. Here, in their apartment with a particularly nasty storm rattling against the windowpane.

So he held them close, tucked against his chest as they shook apart— and vowed to put them back together. Or, at least help. However he can.