The house was perfect, in Glibt's mind. The decor was as close to the old brownstone as she could have possibly made it, with some of her own taste running through it, making it more hers than their previous house had been. Everything had been set up; they had blindingly fast wireless and a full satellite TV package, all under the name of Glibt's male form. New appliances had been purchased, the refrigerator was stocked with Mark's favourite beer and food that could be turned into quick meals. It had taken a lot of work, but as Glibt sat on the edge of one of the armchairs in the living room, reading over a motion that had been filed in New Jersey a few days prior, it didn't feel like such a hefty accomplishment. Not after what Mark had accomplished in DC the night before and not when her boyfriend's accomplishment had come at such a large personal cost. Glibt was level-headed enough to know that Mark could survive anything, even going without food or sleep for a week while slaving away on health care, but there was still a part of her that had worked itself up into a hysterical tizzy over the thought of her boyfriend collapsing and being taken to the hospital.
She hadn't been there with him; she'd been setting up house instead and when she had been in DC, she had been trying her hardest to get Lt. Choi out of jail after he had been arrested for what she saw as a perfectly reasonable form of protest. After all, if President Obama wasn't going to keep his promises, it was Glibt's job, her peoples' job, to remind him of his oversights.
But 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' wasn't what was weighing on her mind as her eyes lost their focus, legal jargon on the paper before her blurring together. High blood pressure, dehydration, collapsing... Glibt ran her fingers through her hair anxiously and kept her immortal senses on high alert, hoping she'd be able to feel when Mark came near the new brownstone. If Mark was even coming back that day; Glibt wasn't sure if the hospital would let him out that quickly but was still in female form in case it was Mia who accompanied Mark to their temporary home. Eventually, Glibt tossed the legal document aside, the fight of her people couldn't distract her enough, and stalked into the kitchen to take one of Mark's beers out of the fridge. She found herself stepping out the back door, lighting a Marlboro, Mark's brand, and smoking anxiously, looking up at the darkening sky and trying not to worry too much. When had she become the type of person to sit at home worrying about her boyfriend? Crushing the cigarette down into the ashtray she'd purchased for the top of the stairs that led down into their garden, she tried not to feel too disgusted with herself as she returned to the kitchen to fetch another beer.
And then, with her hand on the refrigerator door, she felt a slight tingle of connection run through her mind and travel down along her spine. Mark was close. Shoving down her worry, worry about his health and worry about his reaction to the house she'd worked hard on, she slowly began to gravitate toward the door. It wouldn't do to open it before they arrived, not if Mia was with Mark.