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"This is really nothing," she says as Robin trots away to a cabinet. They grab the required tin can without a moment's hesitation or thought; they could navigate the consultation chamber blindfolded, and treat you just as well.

"I've had so much worse," Elaine reminisces, the dreamy, far-away look on her face more suggestive of pleasant memories than the injuries she prattles on about: "Like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"

Robin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine from head to toe, scanning as if they could find whatever's amiss, as they would a cut or bruise, to clue them in as to why someone would speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.