AJ Quartermaine was wobbly on his feet. Not something his family wasn't used to seeing, but this time, he could say for a fact that it wasn't because he was drunk. He hadn't had a drink in years, and he damn sure wasn't about to start doing it now. Not if he could help it. Hell, he wouldn't even take Nyquil because of the alcohol content in the nighttime sniffling, sneezing, coughing, achy, stuffy head so you can rest medicine. That should have showed them that he was trying to stay as sober as possible.

But as Ned Ashton looked at him, AJ knew his cousin was wondering. Had he felt his head, Ned would have seen that AJ had a fever. Inside, AJ felt so cold that he knew his skin had to be burning up. But Ned looked at him like he was drunk, or he was going through withdrawals. Not that this didn't feel a lot like going through detox, but it wasn't the same thing. He was sick, and he needed someone to drive him to the hospital.

AJ wondered where Emily was. She would have taken him. She would have taken a good look at him, felt his forehead, and known that he wasn't doing well. She would have known that he needed medical treatment, that he wasn't drunk. She was the only person in the whole damn family that didn't automatically look at him and think liquor. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, even when she shouldn't have. Now, though, was a time when he needed that benefit.

"I'm not—" AJ's words faltered as he tried to push himself up from the chair. He wobbled, thought that he would fall, but managed to keep himself standing on shaky legs. "I'm not drunk, Ned. I'm sick."

"I've heard that before." Ned shook his head. "You always have a reason—"

"You know what? I don't need you." He started to cross the floor, his arms out from his body in an attempt at balance. "I can get myself there."

"What are you gonna do? Drive? Get in another accident?"

"Ten years! Christ, Ned, it's been ten years. Jason doesn't even hate me for it, but you—" AJ shook his head. "Forget it. I'll just call somebody." His voice started to fade. His sight was blurry, his vision double. He tried to focus on the table with the phone, trying to force the double objects into one. "I'll just call—"

AJ made it two more steps, his arm stretched in front of him before he fell. Halfway down, his body turned. The back of his head hit the hard edge of the sofa before he collapsed into an unconscious heap onto the floor.

Kristina Davis-Corinthos wasn't very old, but she was a smart girl. She knew that something was wrong when she went into the living room. Mommy was sleeping, but she never slept that well. If Kristina nudged her, if Molly cried, then Mommy was up on her feet, running around until she knew exactly what was wrong and where she was needed. Yet, when Kristina called out to her, she didn't move. When Kristina pushed her, she didn't make a sound.

Daddy Ric needed to come fix Mommy.

But, Daddy Ric wasn't there. Or at least, she didn't think he was there. When she called out for him, he didn't answer. Wouldn't he have known if something were wrong with Mommy? He wouldn't just leave with Mommy sick like that. Would he?

Kristina climbed down from the couch, and made it to the edge before she stepped on something soft and squishy. She looked down and her eyes widened. "Daddy Ric?" She went down to her knees and pushed at him. He made a little noise, at least, but nothing that sounded like him waking up. It wasn't like when he said, "Ten more minutes, Kristina," when she tried to wake him up in the morning. "Daddy Ric?"

Kristina went back to the sofa and tried to wake up Mommy again. "Daddy Ric won't wake up, Mommy." She pushed her again. "Mommy, wake up. Something's wrong with Daddy Ric."

Mommy didn't move. Daddy Ric didn't move. And Molly was crying. Kristina did the only thing that she knew to do. She did what Mommy had taught her to do, in case she ever needed help fast.

Kristina ran to the phone and dialed 911. She had asked once if she should call Daddy, but Mommy told her 911 was faster. So 911, it was.

"911 Emergency."

"Mommy's sick. Daddy's sick. They won't wake up and Molly's crying."

"Okay, calm down. Can you tell me your name?"

"I'm Kristina Davis-Corinthos. Mommy and Daddy Ric won't wake up. Please, help us. Please? 'Cause Molly's crying, and I know how to call help for Mommy and Daddy Ric. I don't know what to do for Molly."

Dillon Quartermaine was tired, and he thought if he just laid down for a minute, he would be fine. Of course, there was no laying down during an apparent epidemic. Besides, there was nowhere to lay in the hospital coffee shop. He could have put his head on the table, but that would just make his neck hurt. If he were going to take a nap, then he was taking a real nap. Stretched out, curled under a blanket.

Yeah, a blanket sounded nice. He wondered if they had a spare in the hospital somewhere. Probably not, since the whole of the city seemed to be sick. But, then again, that wasn't necessarily right. Georgie wasn't sick. Lucas wasn't sick. Maxie was fine. He was fine. Wasn't he?

No, Dillon had to say that he was probably as sick as everybody else. Or at least on his way there. He knew he wasn't as sick as LuLu had been, but there were probably others who were just as bad. And probably some who weren't as bad, too. Luke wasn't that bad. In fact, Luke was getting better. Maybe the body just built up a natural immunity if you waited long enough. So, maybe, if Dillon waited long enough, he'd build up that immunity, too.

"Diego's not answering his phone." Georgie Jones ran a hand through her head and groaned. "Does that mean that he's fine? Or does that mean that he's sick and he's in the hospital, too? Ya know, if he's sick, then they'd have taken all his stuff, right? So, it's entirely possible that he could be sick right now, and we don't even know it."

"I'm sure Diego's fine." Dillon's voice sounded weak in his own ears, but maybe that was just his mind playing with him. Georgie didn't seem to notice anything.

"But, what if he isn't? I'm thinking Brook would be really pissed at us if we let him get sick when she was out of town and didn't even know it. I mean, what if he passed out somewhere? He could be as bad as LuLu and we wouldn't even know it."

"I'm sure he's fine." Dillon started to stand up and stumbled. "Fine," he muttered.

His body started to slouch and someone grabbed him from behind. Couldn't have been Georgie. She was looking at him with a sudden fear in her eyes. Her cell phone had dropped to the floor, and the battery popped off. Dillon looked up behind him and saw Lucas. "You don't look good, man."

Georgie touched his head, then pulled her hand back quickly. "Oh my God, Dillon, you're burning up. You've got it, too. We have to find a doctor. We—"

"No, I'm not sick. I'm fine, Georgie. Don't worry. I'm—" And Dillon fell to the floor.