Graves peered over at you, noticing you hunched up in a ball of discomfort. Since you hadn’t actually said anything about it, he assumed you weren’t in any actual danger, so he figured out what the problem was very quickly. “You on your, uh… shark week?”

Without waiting for you to answer, he dug into his desk drawer, producing a handful of individually wrapped pecan pralines, to toss over to you. “There ya go, babycakes. That’s what you need now, ain’t it? Candy n’ shit?”

He’s trying.