"Probably just touch any different appendages," he admits. He's tired and fuzzy and the fever is likely making him say a few things that he wishes his tact would stop before they come tumbling out of his mouth, but here he is, unable to help himself. "Ask to take pictures, blood samples, other samples," he drones on, "The same as I would have for any of the Seattle zombies," Ravi says, not realizing what he's talking about.

The fever is definitely cooking his brain and later, he'll care, but right now, he's more concerned with his tongue. He sticks it out at Beverly, mindless of what he's just said. "Ith my tongue thwollen?" he asks, sticking it out at her. "Are there hives?"