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Apparently 7 1/2 Vicodin is a 1/2 too many

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Lamont Toucey was on a date. Worth /knew/ Lamont was on a date. He knew that Worth knew because he told him.

So, why then, was Worth texting him? That was a very good question, but the only one who knew the answer was Worth. Lamont glanced at his phone, just to make sure it wasn't urgent. Smiling over at his date, he decided he could ignore it. She was very pretty, and deserved his undivided attention. Except that, knowing Worth, he'd bombard Lamont with texts until the man replied.

No other text messages came. That was when Lamont decided to worry.

When the waiter appeared with their food, and his date was momentarily distracted, he opened his phone, finding the text message from Worth.

Recieved 7:12, from Luce Worth. 'Apparently 7 1/2 Vicodin is a 1/2 too many.'

It took a few moments, but a sick feeling settled into the pit of Lamont's stomach. What time was it now? His eyes flickered to the top of the screen. 7:56.

He must have gone pale, because his date asked him if he was feeling alright, asked him if there was something wrong with his food, even though he hadn't had the chance to touch it yet.

He pushed his chair back quickly, apologizing profusely and promising to make it up to her, but 'this is an emergency, I have to go, I'm sorry.' He pulled out his wallet, tossing enough money on the table to pay for the meal before he ran out of the resturant to his car.

He was speeding, and he knew it. Gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. He contemplated what he would tell the cop if he were pulled over. Of course he'd try to play it cool, but... 'I'm sorry officer, my shady med-school drop out just overdosed on drugs he's not supposed to have, in his illegal back alley clinic.' Yeah, that'd go over well. Right.

He felt so guilty. What if he was too late? Why hadn't he just checked the message when it came in.

It took him fifteen minutes to get there, and that was speeding. He didn't even bother knocking on the door, shoving it open and looking around.

"Worth!" No one in sight. "Worth, where the fuck are you!?" There was a bottle of pills sitting on the desk, next to an empty vodka bottle. Lamont cursed, and headed to the back room. Worth's makeshift bedroom.

The place didn't smell right. Smelled as if someone had been sick. It had to have been Worth. The panic was rising in Lamont's chest.

"God damn it, Worth!" And then he heard it, down the hall, he could hear the faint laughter, which quickly erupted into a coughing fit. Lamont ran, practically kicking down the bathroom door.

Worth was there, sprawled out in the bathtub, a few limbs hanging over the edge because he was too tall. He had a bottle of vodka between his legs, and a pack of cigarettes on the floor near his hand. Worth just smiled at the other man, and attempted another laugh.

"What took ya so long?"

The smell of vomit was worse here, but Lamont didn't think he'd ever been so relieved in his life.

"You better not be dying, you motherfucker." He was panting, adrenaline still rushing through his veins.

"Nah. 'm fine." He looked a little paler than usual, more sick, but didn't seem to be dying. Lamont narrowed his eyes.

"I'm taking you to a hospital, just in case." It was an empty threat and they both knew it.

"Ah, fuck off. 'm fine." He groused. "Trust me, I'm a doctor." His expression transformed into a grin and he leaned his head against the wall. "After heavin' up my dinner, I took some Naloxone... An' my liver isn't failin'." The last part seemed to be an afterthought.

Lamont, for the life of him, couldn't understand how that man's liver had survived so long. Maybe he gave himself a transplant or something. The bastard was crazy enough to try it.

Crossing the small space, Lamont plopped down on the floor beside the tub, kicking the cigarettes out of reach and snagging the bottle of vodka.

" 'Ey, I was going to drink that."

"I don't think you're supposed to drink after an overdose, Worth." Lamont did have a point. Worth was quiet for awhile.

"I was really fucked up for awhile." Worth says finally, in a conversational tone.

"When did you take them?" Lamont replied back. What he meant was 'Before or after you decided to ruin my date?' He instantly felt bad for thinking it though.

"Awhile ago." Worth hmmed. "I was hallucinating pretty bad too." Did he have to sound so cheerful about it? "The walls were talking ta me. Telling me my chair was secretly plotting to kill me, and shit like that." Lamont chuckled his slight nervousness away and just shook his head.

Sometimes he wondered about Worth. Not just wondered, but worried out of his mind. He didn't ask why Worth had taken so much vicodin. He didn't ask him if he had a deathwish, or if he was just stupid. He just sat there, and listened to Worth recount the experience with a smile on his lips. Lamont's heart was still pounding in his chest, and probably wasn't going to calm down any time soon.

It was times like this that made Lamont question why he was friends with Luce Worth, but he did know that if he ever pulled anything like this again, he was going to have to kill him.