[He does his best not to writhe, but his breaths are much shallower as there is a great struggle to breathe. It just pumps the blood out of his wound a little faster, quickly staining an otherwise pristine white shirt. His cracking smile is tinged red as well, he refuses to give it up.] And where were you? ["When it happened" is just a few words too many to say with so little breath. He pushes at Cross' leg with his other hand, to attempt to pry it off his chest.]