Living with, not dying from.

[measure_love]

The achy, tired feeling that had sent Mimi to bed earlier than usual hadn't really felt like much to worry about, despite Tosh's concerned looks. She was working hard, directing the musical was taking its toll, and really, she'd had nights like that off and on for years, now. It was just part of the disease, like the cold hands and the occasional fever.

When she woke up in the middle of the night, shivering violently and gasping as she struggled to draw a breath into lungs that felt heavy and filled with fluid--that was when she started to worry. Please God, not yet, she prayed silently as she did every time she got sick.

She didn't want to move, her muscles ached and she was freezing, but she couldn't breathe. She sat up, dragging the blanket with her, and tried to get to her feet, but found herself sitting on the floor before her sleepy, fevered brain could really process what had happened. Okay, so not walking. She hitched the blanket up and laboriously crawled toward Tosh's room, whimpering quietly with each shallow exhale.

Reaching the doorway, Mimi leaned against the frame and drew a few tortured, wheezing breaths. "Tosh," she gasped, coughing weakly as a soft, scared sob escaped her.