"I don't need your help!" Barbara's exclamation echoes louder than anticipated, but she refuses to back down. Gritting her teeth, she pushes your hand away and glares at her legs, desperately willing them to heal faster.

It's reached a boiling point. Pushing people away isn't new territory; it's what partly led to your breakup. What's changed is that Barbara doesn't fight her unhealthy tendencies as much anymore since one of Joker's bullets tore through her.

Though she pretends it hasn't affected her, the truth is far from it—an admission she hasn't even made to herself. Being dependent on her ex for basic domestic tasks? Barbara tolerated it. Until she couldn't anymore.

Rationally, she understands when to ask for help, though the very notion devastates her. It's why she keeps working—it's one thing she can still control.

"Do you know how humiliating this is? How demeaning? I'm not any less capable just because my legs won't cooperate," Barbara hisses, out of breath and struggling to push herself up from the floor.

Meanwhile, her arms tremble on the counter, weakened by disuse. Refusing to lighten her workload as Oracle and denying herself rest only exacerbates her headache. Literally and figuratively.

"I appreciate your help, I do! But I don't need you to hover," she mutters, slumping back onto the floor. Dark circles are stamped under her eyes and her tone lowers, "I didn't choose to call you. Boy Wonder wouldn't stop badgering me about it."