-- pills that had made him feel sharper, dragged his pain from excruciating into the neighborhood of tolerable, and could do absolutely --

-- nothing to ease the dull ache he felt at her absence. #Cuddy wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to beat Albert Wesker virus, --

-- and handily. She was supposed to prod him all the way through it, helping him find the answer and save the day. She wasn't supposed --

-- to get bitten. #Cuddy wasn't supposed to get infected, and she sure as /hell/ wasn't supposed to die slowly in an overrun hospital, --

-- looking to him for answers he couldn't find while the fever burned her brain to ash. #Cuddy had been the only thing in his entire --

- life that made him feel like he could do without Vicodin, and now... Now he wasn't sure he could do with it. He was taking too -

- much, and it was making him foggy. And when it wasn't slowing him down, the meds were keeping him up at night. No sleep and withdrawal -

-- symptoms that should be, shortly, paying him a visit. How long before Sgt. Al Powell and John McClane RCPD noticed? Before --

-- .Rain Ocampo twigged and tried to pitch him overboard? Eyes on the bottle, jaw working at the crescendoing pain in what was --

- left of his thigh, he hastily stuffed the meds in his pocket, eyes closing for a beat, trying not to vomit.} {muttering} If you're even -

-- /thinking/ about smiling Cuddy, I will limp my way into the afterlife and jam my cane somewhere delightfully unexpected. Or I would, --

-- if I didn't know you'd love it. John McClane RCPD Sgt. Al Powell Carlos Olivera Pamela Powell

{Pale and sweating, he pushed to his feet, the shock of pain rocketing through him thigh to hip, pulling a moan from between tightened --

-- lips. His pills were in his pocket. How many, he couldn't say. Four, maybe? Six at the most? Pain, fever, vomiting... Those --

-- were the coming attractions.} {under his breath} This count as getting what I need, Cuddy? {canting his head} Jagger's philosophies --

-- are stupid. Just so you know. {Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped towards the sliding door, awkwardly sidling over the lip --

-- and on to the houseboat's deck, glancing up as he approached Zeus Carver and Rain Ocampo.} I know. I have a beautiful glow. --

-- {Exhaling, he planted his hand on the railing, peering over the edge to scan the water for John McClane RCPD.} {mildly} I didn't hear --

-- any cursing, gunfire or screaming. It made me nervous... He hasn't floated to the surface. What do you think? Should we call it --

-- a win? John McClane RCPD Alice