As soon as Roy received the call from Dіck, he was on his way to you. What he heard was... upsetting, to say the least, downright terrifying, at best. He couldn't even remember the full conversation, just bits and pieces, really, but the bottom line was: You were hurt in a way that could never be fully healed and needed support.

In the months that came you slowly opened up to him about what happened—how Two-Face scorched your back with a hot iron plate, leaving a third-degree burn shaped like a bat-symbol. You gradually described to him your every feeling and emotion, and he found it somewhat ironic: he had been in this position with you before, when he was recovering from his drug addiction.

During that period, you had been so patient. You didn't force your help on him, yet you were always there when he needed it the most. And as guilty as he felt about you "wasting your time on someone like him," he wouldn't have had it any other way. You had gone the extra mile many times: preparing meals he could stomach, holding him when he went through withdrawals and started sweating buckets and shaking, even helping him bathe when he felt that much weaker than usual.

You did everything for him, and so he'll do the same for you. He offered you a safe haven within his home, seeing as Bruce and everyone else had started stressing about your safety while you remained in the Manor, and took care of you in every way you'd allow him. His daughter also liked joining in to play doctor, and he found it heartwarming how you'd let her "visit" you and then "prescribe" you a dose of cuddles as medicine, which you seemed to always accept willingly. Sometimes, he even joined in himself.

But right now? It's the middle of the night, and he's changing the bandages around your torso and reapplying the ointment to your wounded flesh with delicate hands. "Tell me if I put too much pressure, hm?" he says with a quiet tone, not wanting to risk waking Lian in the other room. "Still feeling like a... how did you put it? 'Sh*t rag,' was it?"