.. grounds for divorce

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It's a day like any other, in that it starts with the scratch of smoke damage at the back of his throat. A hacking cough is soothed by lukewarm water, a glass of which is kept by his bed for this very purpose. His mom has always blamed the cigarettes, but Theo knows the mild itch that comes from a pack a day, a little irritation at most, a slight deadening of taste and furriness on the tongue. Blaming a low level smoking habit for this near daily upheaval of his lungs would be as ridiculous as blaming 2 minutes of sunbathing for cancer. No, the brutal hacking is the combination of a weakened immune system and repeated exposure to dense, black smoke. This brutal hacking is where his medical history meets his inevitable medical future.   But it's nothing new, and after a scalding hot shower he's managed to pull on his sweats. The FDNY shield is brazenly positioned above his chest, a thin sheet of t-shirt, skin, bone and muscle separating it from the lungs it was responsible for ravaging. A pot of coffee is stood, freshly brewed. The slight blonde who brewed it is stood by the window, slender fingers warmed by the mug held between them, and for a moment it feels... natural. It's like Annie's come home, or maybe even never left, and he's expecting her to turn to him with that knowing grin, to chastise him for sleeping in and fuss over that cough, her sculpted arms threading around his waist and her head tucking under his chin...  But she is not his Annie.  Clearing his throat and only worsening the pain by so doing, he pours himself a mug of dark liquid. Just the smell promises a molten richness, brewed dark and strong, just how he liked it - and how Annie, the real Annie, didn't. He swallowed it down. "Incredible,I didn't realize you could burn filter coffee. Your talents never cease." Setting down the mug now bereft of patently delicious coffee, he ran a hand over his mouth, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. Looking at her is making his chest hurt, so he stops, eyes falling to the floor. But that seems a little downcast and not nearly diffident enough, so he forces to stare at her anew, eyes deadened, unseeing. "Let me check your purse. If you've got any cards that aren't in your name, now's the time to surrender them. Or, y'know, surrender yourself. Your call." TAGGED: @annie MUSIC: fun. suck it. NOTES: i miss zod.