You're quite sick.

You've been hacking up a storm since last night, the bones in your chest rattling with each strenuous cough that passes through you. Your voice is raspy, hot and cold - all the add ons that come with the flu.

Graves had noticed during drills that you were pale and ill looking and surely, when you sat on the bench to take a breath - he moved over to you and cupped your cheeks in his gloved hands.

"Let me take you back to your room, darlin'. You look like hell."