Driving was complicated, to say the least. Lots of names to remember and many different things they did, too, and why sometimes the friction worked and why the rest of them, it would just make a god awful sound (and refuse to engage gears). Many symbols, too, that Ishram had to remember what meant—what alerted what and how to fix it, because apparently every human was a mechanic in the twenty first century.

It came with phone numbers, to; people he could call if the car broke down, to which usually corresponded a time he could have the car fixed. People he had to call if he hit another car and he couldn’t find a compromise. People he had to call if someone on the road was hurt and Ishram the only one there to help.

The long answer was, why would Ishram even care about any of this when he could resolve it with either money or by not caring?

The short answer was, he’d never allow to waste so much time.

Kibwe looked at him as if he was going crazy, too, when Ishram suggested he’d just “buy another car” if any of the first two options occurred.

“You could leave a contact and tell them you’re in a hurry,” Kibwe offered. “You can always fix it later, but they won’t let you go if you refuse to cooperate. They might call the police on you, and that’s another forty-eight hours lost.”

Ishram grimaced, still trying to make the damned friction work. “Can I do that? We’ll be on a tight schedule, I’d rather not lose time at all.”

Behind them, Ross groaned. She looked like she was completely lost in her thoughts when Ishram spied her from time to time thanks to the rear-view mirror, focused, sometimes scowling or directly cussing at her phone. “Yeah, so make sure you’re not too early—we don’t want to lead them right on our doorsteps.” Ishram wasn’t surprise she was paying attention.

Ishram rolled his eyes. “Will I now?” he mocked the same instant the car engine finally turned on. “Fuck’s sake, thank you!”

“Let’s see if we manage to move this time,” Ross commented, winning a middle finger from Ishram.

Luckily, Kibwe was on his side. The man leaned closer, patient, as he’d done the first time Ishram managed to turn on the engine. “Okay, remember; slowly does it. You need to scale the gears, so don’t get greedy.”

Ishram nodded, pressing his foot on the accelerator. The car shook altogether before it finally moved. It was slow (incredibly so), but it was something. Ishram let out a victorious groan, scaling the gear with Kibwe’s help. Looking as the needle slowly got up to thirty miles was comparable to a taste of fresh air.

“Keep going, try one more,” Kibwe encouraged, patting his shoulder with something like fondness. Ishram didn’t think too much about it; he had other things to focus on.

This time it was easier, the needle slowly reaching forty-five miles. The road was straight, which helped, because he couldn’t be bothered to pay mind to it as well right now. Ross had told Kibwe to drive towards the highroad, so nobody could bother them, and they could practice without the police getting noisy on them if Ishram did a mistake.

Kibwe made him slow down and stop the car two, three times, putting him through the same process over and over again until Ishram could do it as smoothly as it got. “It’s okay, you’ll get the hang of it—besides, you’re way better than Andrea,” the man chuckled, catching Ishram’s attention.

Eyebrow raised, Ishram turned. “You’ve taught him how to drive?” he asked.

Kibwe nodded, and even though Ishram was already focusing on the road, his peripheral caught the movement. “Yeah, but he was way more reckless than you,” he explained. “A shitty driver too, at the start. He’s gotten us through a hill once, instead of following the road.”

Kibwe’s voice softened in a way Ishram hadn’t heard since they’d met. It was something alien to him, the fondness Kibwe showed towards his family. It reminded him of Zjarr, and himself sometimes, yet it felt strange. Kibwe didn't have siblings, he had a wife and a son. So why was Ishram's brain making the connection?

“I feel like you know a whole different person,” Ishram winked in Kibwe’s general direction.

He focused back on slowing down, descaling each gear and then scaling them back up. It was tedious, and possibly not the best way to spend someone’s time in a car; still, no one complained.

Especially when Ishram trief a quick start and the car grunted, in an ugly and noisy way that had Kibwe cringe. “Woah there, you’ve scratched the friction.”

“What? I did everything correctly-”

Kibwe laughs. “Yeah, for a chill start, you’re trying to break something? This is the way.”

Ugh.

Kibwe talked him through it, and Ishram was surprised by the strange, yet expected patience Kibwe had shown so far. Patience was a rare trait among Kishaard; they knew what each could do, and they wanted everything perfectly done, instantly. Zjarr herself had fallen victim to the same ideas, always trying to reach a perfection Ishram wasn’t sure they could. The more Kibwe showed will to wait, for Ishram to understand or get comfortable with a concept, the more Ishram couldn’t help but notice how far apart humans and Kishaard were.

It was impossible to coexist.

Part of him was glad this was the case. The rest, though... Ishram didn’t dwell on the possibilities of what he would’ve done if he weren’t bound to the world the way he was. He’d learned long ago that wishing for a peaceful life only brought death and destruction to the ones he’d surrounded himself with. Yet his mind still wandered.

What he would’ve given, to know how life free of violence was.

“Something on my face?”

The question brought Ishram back to reality. “Uh?” his brain supplied eloquently.

“You were staring.”

Oh. “Nope, just lost in thought. Sorry.”

It was a shitty excuse. It became even shittier when Ishram turned and physically forced himself to concentrate on the road and the car. Kibwe didn't though, he kept staring, so Ishram kept pretending he hadn't noticed.

Which was another lie; Ishram was acutely aware of Kibwe’s eyes on him. Ishram waited for something, because it was natural, because it felt like what Kibwe would do—unless Kibwe turned away, didn’t press any further. Ishram didn't bother relaxing his shoulders, grateful that Kibwe let it go.

“If you want to go faster, you gotta learn to go slow first.”

Ishram scoffed. “You sound like my mentor,” he chuckled. The only difference was, Kibwe was actually better at teaching.

“Mentor?”

Ishram nodded. “The guy who taught me how to fight,” he supplied, and promptly ignored the look Ross shot him through the rear-view mirror. “He used to say stuff like that.”

“Sounds like a wise man.”

Kibwe was being careful, that much was clear, and Ishram wasn’t going to tell him that no, his mentor was anything but.

So he shrugged instead, and went back to driving.

Hours later, and Ishram was sprinting through the empty highroad, loud and excited, telling Kibwe he liked the human need for speed, marveling at how much faster they could manage to go. He was glad he wouldn’t be able to chase any of the cars on foot anymore. It was somewhat a pity, but it also meant now there was something faster than him that could do the running.

And Ross had to stop Kibwe when he told Ishram about the Japanese trains, or the airforce pilots, and the various stages of speed humankind had reached. About space, and NASA, and everything space was offering.

Scratch that, Ishram had to stop himself from asking for more. But he made sure Ross had included it in the files he'd be studying, for now.

He pushed the car as fast as he could, testing its resistance and responsiveness, how much speed he could keep up and how fast he could take each curve. It was considerable, and Ross had finally stopped playing her game to pop her head between the front seats and have fun with them. Kibwe, on the other hand, was holding the handle in a death grip.

Ishram decided it was enough and slowed down to the speed limit, noticing how Kibwe relaxed visibly and mouthed an uncharacteristic thank you.

“So, how was that?” he elbowed Ross, as awkward as the angle was, he hit something.

Ross grinned. “Well, we still have a car, so I’d say you pass.”

“Just that?! I’m like, a natural-”

“Delusional doesn’t suit you, Ish, give it up before I show you how it’s done.”

Ishram considered handing the wheel to Ross, just so he could make fun of her driving style. Only problem, he'd have to stop driving in order to do so, and driving was too much fun to give it up for a brief moment of pettiness, Ishram decided. He wanted to have as much fun as he could today, as long as that they still had time.

Kibwe had been quiet next to them, but Ishram caught him looking, a faint smile on his lips, before Kibwe turned with a stutter.

It only made sense to Ishram, to include him in the conversation. “So, any tips from the local human?” Ishram wanted to sound casual, but it came off as fabricated and awkward—so much Ishram cringed internally only by hearing his own voice. He wasn’t used to be this lighthearted with anyone that wasn’t his family, let alone humans. Feeble, passing humans. Attachment was a dangerous thing Ishram still had to unlearn.

When the silence stretched, Kibwe realized both Ishram and Ross were waiting for him. “Who, me?” he pointed at himself.

Ishram chuckled. “Do you see any other human around here?”

Kibwe shook his head, yet his eyes flew to Ross for just a fraction of time.

Ross leaned over. “I don’t meddle with humans. Not interested. The workshop is just one of our branches, and I came here to meet with Ishram, so...”

Kibwe’s lips formed a thin line when he nodded. “Well, there’s um, a few things you might want to know,” he started, brow creased, “it’s good costume to thank whoever allows you to pass. So you raise your hand like this.” Kibwe pointed the flat of his palm towards the windshield, hand relaxed. “This means ‘thank you’ in driving.”

Ishram imitated him.

“Yeah, you uh, you turn the palm towards who you’re thanking. That’s it.”

“Thank you… in driving,” Ishram tested it, and even if it felt weird, he was used to weird human things. “That’s interesting—anything else?”

Kibwe’s lips twisted in thought. “Well, there’s- there’s other gestures.” Kibwe proceeded to show him how to say ‘go ahead’, and ‘pay attention’, or straight-up ‘fuck you’ in driving. The last one, especially, was quite easy, since it only required Ishram to do a long-term honking. “And then, ‘sorry’ is just like ‘thank you’, only you- like- bow your head just a bit?”

Ishram hummed when Kibwe showed him. “Cool,” he whispered, recreating the same gesture. “This is fun.”

Kibwe chuckled.

Ross clapped her hands together, rubbing the palms together. “Great, I think we’re good to go, then. Ishram will survive the human drivers, and Andrea won’t get an aneurysm just by looking at him struggle.”

Ishram rolled his eyes, but stopped mid-word when Kibwe cleared his throat. “Actually, there’s one last thing,” he added. “Do you know anything about police brutality?”