She doesn't mind touching on it, but there's not much use staying on the topic. She won't stop being injured ever. She won't stop having delicate experimental technology holding her spine together today. (Hopefully.) And so she does what she always does. She bulls through it. She nudges him with one bare foot—just the slightest of touches before her heel is back against the chair arm again.

"Buck up, new Boy Wonder. We'll all be too distracted by them to think about comparisons soon, probably."
As much as it's worrying, there's a part of her that would rather be handling it under the cowl, too.
A part of her that forever thrills toward all those times. Taking it head on.

Then, something catches her, and she backtracks, absently turning a little in her seat. At ease. Maybe a little of it is forced, but something fond and a touch amused creeps back into her voice again. "Back home, my Dad never wanted me to be a cop. That's sort of how all this got started on my side. With me aiming to give him a heart attack in party costume."