(no subject)

He's way on his way to healing. The scar under the dressing still twinges if he leans the wrong way, if he moves too quickly, but he's up and about, padding around the apartment in pajamas, glasses on in place of his contacts, his hair ruffled into disarray. He's in the kitchen, making coffee, when he hears the apartment door open and close.

"In here!" he calls, glancing over his shoulder and automatically reaching for another mug, his free hand pressed against his side.