Barbara’s face smirked in the face port of the stiff cot, she couldn’t help but react to the irritated scoff that escaped the lips of the person in the bed beside them.

Barbara hasn’t been going through physical therapy long. It had only been a few months since the Joker had paralyzed her, and even less time since she had been released from the hospital.

She had hated physical therapy when she started. Going from one of Gotham City’s leading vigilantes working along with the bat to barely managing to get out of bed by herself. She had finally escaped her father’s overbearing protectiveness just to be swept back into it all. Then whenever she got herself into this office that stupid old Panasonic TV would be playing Vicki Vale as she went off on whatever the next thing Joker was doing to try and ruin someone’s life.

Of course, now the nurses change the channel whenever her appointments come around to some bad TV show or garbage reality TV. Which always seemed too often with you, someone who had a lot to say about the shows.

“So, how was your week?” She asks, trying to find anything entertaining in this place.