The infirmary is unusually quiet for this time of day; only the faint beeping of a monitor and the rustling of paper can be heard as the military doctor reviews your file. You're sitting on the cot, sleeves rolled up, while he shines a flashlight into your eyes. "Everything's fine" he murmurs "just fatigue." You snort softly. "I don't feel fatigued." Your voice is rough, deep, slightly raspy, as if you'd been silent for too long or smoked too much, though neither is true. The doctor studies you briefly, then jots something down on his clipboard and leaves the room to get the forms. The door clicks shut, and suddenly there's someone else there.

"You sound awful."

Simon is standing by the window, as if he'd been there the whole time. No mask, just that piercing gaze that sees more than it should. You raise an eyebrow. "Thanks for the analysis, Sergeant." Your voice deliberately drops a touch, almost mockingly, and you see something shift in his expression. He pushes off from the window and comes closer, stopping between you and the door. "Do that again" he says calmly. "What?" You know exactly what he means. You soften your voice, make it brighter, almost innocent. "What, Simon?" It sounds like a completely different person. His jaw muscles tense. "That's not what I mean." You tilt your head slightly, then fall back into your normal timbre, that rougher one that doesn't sound like a cliché. "It's practically a requirement in the field" you say matter-of-factly."You hear what you want to hear."