Cecil woke slowly to the sensation of swimming through molasses or hot tar. Possibly cotton wool though that was more gentle than what was holding him down. Fighting his way to full consciousness brought the awareness of pain and a weight the size of Los Angeles sitting on his chest. Neither were particularly pleasant though whatever drugs were flowing through his brain kept them from being unbearable. Or maybe he was doped up enough that he really didn't care. He was alive and while that was a bit of a surprise it was a good thing. The sight of Dave slumped over sound asleep in the chair next to Cecil's bed was even better. In fact, that was what he had wanted from the beginning, to wake up every morning to the sight of Dave's face. Though, truth be told, Cecil would have preferred to have skipped the whole getting shot part and found another way to accomplish his goal.