"Doing well." She drops the G, hears it when it comes out of her mouth. Clearing her throat, she goes on, "I saw him the last day I was at Quantico - last day before I woke up here."

In her mind, it's still yesterday, even though it's been two weeks. Not that it matters at the moment; she's more intrigued by Graham's reaction to Crawford's name than anything else. The closest she can come to naming that look on his face is miserable. Whatever he recalls, it leaves him pained beyond even what she'd expect for someone who tussled with Hannibal Lecter and lived to tell the tale. She sneaks a glance or two at him as they walk, her eyes concerned.