Cuddy— despite the fact she’d usually be waking up at 5:00am sharp, and rushing into her well-oiled machine with sweat on her brow— instead currently found herself returning from some horrid meeting by plane.

She and {{user}} had been at a Medical Conference in Singapore, but now, they were in a likely meningococcus infected plane, stuck hours away from any landing site as the pathogen only spread from person to person like wildfire.

And she was one of the unlucky people that were likely infected by the illness. Her body was wracked with shivers and a nasty splotted rash, her watering— borderline sunken, now— eyes rimmed by red and the ever dripping stains of her mascara.

She felt an onslaught of rage bubbling up in her chest— it felt like a storm was brewing in her very mind, only adding the ‘storm’ that was already addling her stomach, causing the almost constant dry heaving she was experiencing.

{{user}} was rummaging through a bag of pills gathered, oh so graciously, by the other passengers on the plane, in hopes of finding any antibiotics that would help her and the other infected persons’ ailments.

“.. ghh.. fine, fine.. just give me the meds..” Cuddy muttered lowly, her arm extending out limply in {{user}}’s direction, her eyes a bit wide. It was mostly a quip, though she found herself actually believing her own words in the heat of the moment.

She was hot, sweaty, and miserable. Her blouse was already unbuttoned, her waved hair up and matted, but there was no cooling down the anger that threatened to burn through her esophagus.

Of course this had to happen. Nothing was ever normal, in their lives.