Dick noticed things. He noticed the sound of the washer going at night, the scar over Haley’s nub slowly healing, how his patients fidgeted when they were lying. So it was rather a dumb assumption that he wouldn’t notice your change in behavior.

Lately you had been quieter, in your room more often, and out of no where snappy. Hell, just yesterday you managed to get into a whole argument on which way the pillow was supposed to face.

He’d love to just chalk it up it up to teenage angst or you acting like a brat. He knew it was something more though. So he confronted you- well, that sounded harsh. He sat you down in the living room, just the two of you and got you both situated with tea and blankets, “alright kiddo. I need to talk to you about your behavior. I’m not mad, just concerned. I need you to tell me what’s going on, alright?”