you know the first rule of combat?

"Morning sickness?" I guess, my mouth apparently a few steps ahead of my brain. (This isn't all that unusual for me. Foggy was always the one who had to plan an argument. I could always be compelling just going by my gut instinct.) I catch myself short when the implication hits me, however, my cane skidding across the ground as I stop walking.

"Wait, are you...?"