There wasn't much that Ichijou could do other than wait, with Jamie and Washington coming to his aid from different places. Of course he knew in his mind that any and all assistance at this point would be absolutely useless, but Ichijou was a very good liar - particularly when it came to lying to himself. He repeatedly assured himself that even though he was certain that teeth had punctured and ripped so deeply that his very own digestive fluids were leaking into places where they had no right to be and the viral disease of imminent zombie-ness was pumping through the fraction of blood that remained inside of him, somehow he would be okay. The people who he was trapped with would pick up his damaged body, replace all of its lost fluids and mend it, protect it, or he'd wake up from this bad dream in his beautifully decorated townhome surrounded by nothing but the most likeable company. They would give each other hugs and do each other's nails and braid each other's hair and share coffee and desserts and live happily ever after.

Realistically, it was more likely that he'd continue to baste in his own juices until his whole body shut down and then restarted violently no matter what action the others took. It was still too early to give up completely, even if all he could do to help himself was roll onto colder areas of the floor to give himself a little bit of comfort while fighting his urge to sleep. Ichijou knew for sure that if he gave in to that urge, he probably wouldn't be waking up.

Other, angrier thoughts crossed his mind. He was certain that whoever had been answering his messages from Nathan's answering machine was responsible for this, and he wanted to give that jackass a piece of his mind. If he had been in better condition this may have been a dramatic and lengthy speech detailing exactly how much this individual sucks, but given his current state he uttered just two syllables: "Hate you."