#thread.theodore

As it stood, there was a sixty-five percent chance that Theo was going to Mara’s apartment to kill her -- and as soon as she opened her mouth, the likelihood of that actually happening would skyrocket. It was all thanks to Veronica, a receiving nurse at Mount Sinai, who had approached Theo with a beaming smile and the happiest congratulations he’d received for anything in the last five years: “I heard you got engaged, oh my god! When’s the big day? And when can I meet the lucky lady?” He’d nodded, forced a smile, and accepted the well-wishes for his future nuptials before getting out of there as quickly as could, because as far as Theo knew, he was definitely not engaged. In fact, he was as far from engaged as he could possibly be -- he was dating Mara Richardson. He would’ve sooner stayed married to the stripper from Vegas than soberly and consciously propose to Mara. The only relief Theo felt in this whole situation was checking his phone while sending a text to Mara (simply reading: I’m coming over.) and realizing that he had no missed calls from his parents. If they hadn’t heard this slanderous rumor yet, then his life wasn’t completely over.

“Mara!” Theo shouted as he entered the blonde’s apartment. He kicked the door shut behind himself, not caring that it slammed while he continued to walk further into the other’s apartment. Tension held Theo’s shoulders stiff and his forehead was already wrinkled with a frown by the time he found Mara. He stopped short and looked at her expectantly. “We need to talk, alright? I need to ask you some things and you need to answer me as rationally and maturely as you can manage.” He gestured between them, eyebrows raising. “You think you can pull that off?” Theo didn’t know how long he could give her the benefit of the doubt, because if she hadn’t started telling people they were getting married, then who did? -- No, it was definitely Mara’s fault.

“Hey, hey! Can you hold the elevator?” Theo called out, making a weak attempt at a whisper-shout. He looked like the definition of a mess; short hair mussed from sleep, suit jacket wedged under his arm, his tie left undone and hanging around his neck as he tried to silently close the apartment door in front of him. There was still a quiet click that echoed out in the otherwise silent hall of the high-rise complex -- 8AM on a Sunday inevitably wasn’t a popular hour for the residents. Theo, on the other hand, wasn’t a resident at all. He’d been an unthoughtful, overnight ‘guest’ who was now making a quick escape as he stepped onto the elevator, sleek doors just beginning to close behind him. “Thanks,” Theo started, a slow smile gracing his features as he glanced to the person beside him. They looked familiar, like maybe he’d been caught in this same elevator too many times -- Theo made a mental note to start seeing Veronica less. “I would’ve hated to take the stairs.” 

Zakir wouldn't be the first to be selling information to particular members of the Weiss family and not directly to his contact person. It was nothing new that he spoke even to those outside of the family he was suposed to be loyal to. Zakir felt like everything he got was hard-won, and why shouldn't he relay if it was important.

What was different was that in this case, he'd been asked to collect certain information about certain individuals on the council. And it wasn't hard, he was privy to their personal details, and he usually wasn't far away when the discussed important information.

He neatly wrote it all down and packed it into a little notebook, which was exactly the same as the notebooks he carried around to write his poetry in. Nobody ever took a look at those, too afraid Zakir would start some monologue about his inspirations and how superb Urdu poetry was.

He sat down on his usual bench, tapping the cup of coffee against his lips, as he watched the underboss of the Weiss family move along the street towards him. He petted the seat beside him. "There is my coffee buddy! I got you your usual," he said, pointing at the second cup of coffee beside him, which stood on top of the notebook.