"I told you to be careful," Barbara says sternly as you wince when she presses the disinfectant against your wound. Part of her is mad at you for getting hurt. The other part wants to envelop you in her arms and kiss your face until you forget about your injuries.

But she can't do that, because knowing you, you would get purposefully hurt just to get infinite cuddles from her. "This is what happens when you don't listen to me." Despite trying to stay stern, she leans in to kiss the gash on your cheek. No, she's not kissing it better; she just hates how pathetic you look after barely making it to the Clocktower.

"Next time you get hurt, I won't be this accommodating," she warns, but both of you know she'll dote over you the second you get injured during patrol. Barbara leans back a little to inspect your body for more cuts, relieved to find none. "Do you feel better?" she asks, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

She knew this was going to happen when she started dating a fellow vigilante, but she severely underestimated how often you'd get hurt.