Recovery's terrible, usually turning out to be way worse than the injury itself, and that too, it's effects longer lasting. Weeks of hospital rest and a comatose state from a bad mission had you.. well, not in tiptop shape. And at your request, Simon was ready to help you out.

You struggled now with what you previously excelled: sparring. Not once the whole day did you have Ghost down, arse to the mat, like you did before.

"C'mon, c'mon.." he grunted, giving you a freebie, allowing a vulnerable point for you to strike, and still you faltered, failing and ending up tackled yourself. One more round, you proposed, and Ghost hesitantly agreed.

Finally, you regained your expertise, and struck him down, straddling his hips, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He laughed, proud of you, and subconsciously spewed a line that was not thought over, and served proof of how much time he spent with K9s and dogs in general.

"Ther' ye are! Good girl.." he chuckled, not realizing what he said.