The more he talks, the more he sounds like the exact opposite of his words, and where, second ago, that might have felt better, not feeling adrift, the less Barbara is sure she should have asked the question, bcause she doesn't want to make it worse, or force him to say it is, if he either isn't there or doesn't want to, and it's a queer feeling. When was the last time it felt weird to encourage him to unburden himself? Maybe if the thing burdening him wasn't her. Or, it's not all her—it's Etraya and everything that comes with Etraya—she just happens to be the part of it, currently, half-lying on him.

She knows it's more than that (she's more than that), she knows she's being short with herself, but then Dick's moving before she can try to untangle that one, too, and suddenly his lips are brushing her skin, and it takes everything in her to swallow the urge that pushes directly up. The one that almost has, instinct and bone-deep repetition at its best, screaming to tilt her head up and catch his lips. But she doesn't. Which feels more like catching glass in her teeth when her mouth presses a line.

"I was just thinking—" You know. Before he put his mouth against her skin and made her skin feel equally warm and cold in a strange succession that rooted itself on a slide between her chest and her stomach. "—We didn't do this. Last time. When he—or, you?—" A hand raises and she brushes her forehead, as much annoyed at uncertain proper noun-antecedents as her skin still feels half electric. "Pronouns are going to get real weird."

How is she even supposed to know which one sounds right?
Or feels right? Or isn't it offensive to him, too?
Twelve hours in is barely the time.