"It matters," she tells him, and she's already pulling off her shoes so she can get in the tub and do it herself. She's not sure of the most efficient way to put why it matters into words. "It's-- how I know." Maybe she doesn't have to verbalize it. She can feel it. She can feel the way the numbers, something concrete and measurable, give her a certainty. The way she knows what the dangers are for each degree above ideal body temperature he climbs, when medications will help and when they will harm, the amounts to be given based on severity. She can feel the way that having that initial number gives her a place to start, to know how much better things are getting, or if, God forbid, they get worse. She knows what to do because she's read so many books, listened ot so many lectures, been through so many decks of flash cards with Gabriel during his long and difficult education, and it all has its basis in numbers and charts and concrete facts.

What she needs is a willing patient, or at least one that can be made compliant. Willing is better, though, and she's at a loss, because all she knows about Lalli--

It snaps strongly into focus in Cho's mind, all at once, as she's picking up the thermometer again. "There's a box, in my room, on my desk. About this big." She holds her hands roughly a foot apart. "With a big square of light pink cloth wrapped and tied around it. Can you get it for me? Fast as you can?"