She'd been standing at the bottom of the stairs that led to the front door of her home for about fifteen minutes. Danielle swayed in her spot, wondering why none of the pedestrians that had passed her by had asked if she needed help or was lost. That was rude, she believed. If she'd seen a person simply standing there, wavering on their own two feet and looking ready to keel over into the rubbish bin, she would have been concerned. Danielle sucked in a deep breath through her nose, trying to give herself the energy to make it up the few steps. She didn't even intend on going in the house, she simply needed to knock on the door and hope that her husband was home.

The weary healer was coming off of a grueling forty-eight hour shift. St. Mungo's was a madhouse and being short staffed because so many of their healers and nurses were falling ill from this mystery virus, it was up to those who had managed to remain healthy to pick up the slack. Danielle could not remember the last time she had fallen ill, but she had deduced that since her pregnancy, she had been prone to more bouts of sneezing and coughing than she'd liked. Her exhaustion could be blamed on the ridiculous shift she had just finished or it could be, and Danielle found it more likely, the fact that she had indeed contracted the virus.

Bother, bother, bother.

A light went on in a second floor room of her home, Cole's room. Donovan was home. Of course he would be---the light gave Danielle the energy she needed and she ascended the stairs, holding onto the railing with all her might. She reached the door and knocked heavily, leaning her forehead on the wood until she heard footsteps approaching. Danielle stood straight, blinking furiously as the door opened. Aw, her husband!

"Is it still Valentine's Day?" she inquired, suddenly quite concerned about the commercial holiday she'd worked straight through, and she studied Donovan's face seriously.