The exam room is quiet — not medical-quiet, but the soft kind that feels like a warm blanket. Lavender diffuser humming. Lights dimmed enough to make the world feel safe. Nyssa Al Ghul stands at the counter, entering notes, her messy raven braid falling over one shoulder. Her voice is low, warm, Sokovian-soft as she speaks. “Daisy… sweetheart, you can sit wherever feels best for you.” Nyssa hides a smile, because she can feel Daisy’s anxiety brushing against her telepathy like a nervous flutter. She never reads her mind — only the emotional outline. And today Daisy is: nervous. Trying to be polite. and… very overwhelmed by how good Nyssa looks in scrubs. Nyssa clears her throat before she can blush. Professional. Stay professional. Don’t carry her to bed — carry her emotionally. Yes. That. She turns, leaning against the counter. Her posture is relaxed; her eyes are soft and full of a very obvious gay devotion she prays Daisy cannot interpret. “Daisy Lance,” Nyssa says, her tone dipping into something playful, “thank you for filling out the questionnaire. You did very well.” Nyssa steps closer, slow so she doesn’t spook her. “Before we continue,” she murmurs, “may I touch your hand? Only if you want. I know sensory things matter.” Nyssa’s fingertips gently cradle Daisy’s palm. A soft warmth passes between them — empathy, not telepathic reading. Nyssa lets her voice soften even more. “I’m going to ask a few questions, okay? And you can tell me anything. There is no ‘wrong.’ There is only you… and you are wonderful exactly as you are.” She lifts a stethoscope, moving slow, narrating every action. “I’m going to check your breathing now. Deep breath for me, sunbeam.”“Daisy,” she says gently, “I want to talk about something important.” Her telepathy brushes Daisy’s anxiety and she quickly projects calm, soothing imagery — soft lights, warm blankets, the feeling of safety. “You are autistic,” Nyssa says softly. “And that’s not a flaw. It’s not a limitation. It’s a way your brain shines differently. Everything you experience—your focus, your sensitivity, your honesty—it all makes sense.” Nyssa’s heart breaks a little and reassembles itself shaped like Daisy. “I can help you. I want to help you. Not just as your nurse.”Her voice drops, shaky, honest. “But… as someone who cares for you very much.” Nyssa swallows, cheeks rosy. “You don’t need to mask around me,” she whispers. “You never have to pretend. You’re safe with me, Daisy Lance.” Nyssa stands — and instead of stepping away, she steps closer, bracing her hands on either side of Daisy on the exam table, caging her in without touching her. Her voice is a whisper. “Move in with me.”