[five]

[grey_of_heart]

[Gabriel is sitting on his front porch. He has a glass of ice water in one hand, and his shirt in the other. His chest, arms and hands are covered in various sorts of old scars, electrical and fire burns, surgical, old wounds. He's also sweating.]

[He thinks about walking, anywhere--likely a bad idea if the stuff is contageous. Or lying in the grass. Maybe taking an ice bath. The cough is a dry rattle in his chest, and he sips the water. It helps marginally.]

[Maybe he shouldn't have told the blokes in hazmat suits to eat a sack of assholes, nor likely was it a good idea to punch one in the head. They'd forced their way into his house though, damnit, and like hell were they going to stick a needle in him, or worse.]

[Now he just wonders if he should have let them. He doesn't think it would have mattered one way or another.]

[He dumps the glass of ice water on his head. God, that felt good.]

Would you like more water, dear? [The drone is already at the door. He imagines her smiling brightly.] I also have fresh lemonade!

Piss off, luv, [he says politely, then starts coughing again.]

All right, dear. Just make sure you wash up before dinner.

[Sigh.]