[Dick squirmed a little under the pretext of getting comfortable. He didn't like being psychoanalyzed, even under the pretext of being helpful, and this was all stuff he didn't want to talk about. Really, if he didn't feel like crap, he might have suggested walking about the deck or something. That usually helped get him to open up a little. He didn't like just sitting, talking about stuff, but he knew he didn't really have a lot of choice.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to figure out what to say without actually saying anything. He'd never really thought about it before. He'd just done it. He didn't know why or if he would have said something if things were different. He'd kind of wanted to tell Bruce about Blockbuster at one point, especially when he gave him that look - the one that said I know something's wrong and you're not telling me for whatever reason - but he had said he was fine and they moved on to more important things. Dick didn't want to admit what he'd done - or not done - and he didn't want to bother him when there was other stuff going on.]

I don't... I don't know. Maybe. [But what about the other thing? Maybe he didn't want to admit what had happened because he was scared, or more probably, because he felt like he deserved it. He'd made a mistake, he'd gotten hurt, and he'd deserved it because he'd screwed up. He didn't want people to worry about him, and he didn't want to think about it, so it was easier to pretend it hadn't happened.]