So caught up am I in my rage that I barely notice Meshani leaning in the doorway. I catch a glimpse of him as I am returning my comb to the bathroom, and I find myself mildly startled. It breaks the vicious cycle of my anger, stopping me cold in my tracks, and I realize suddenly that this was his exact intent. He holds my forgotten mug of tea in both hands before him.

I sigh heavily, and feel a wave of exhaustion crush down upon my shoulders. Meshani comes to me, pressing the mug into my hand even as he takes the comb from my suddenly nerveless fingers. “Is Merrick out of his mind?” he asks me softly. “To press gang a runner into service?”

At first, I can only answer with a shake of my head. “No,” I reply at length. “My crews are as exhausted as I am. They are tapped out and jaded. The boy is exactly what I need; his hormones are making him unstable emotionally and I can elicit what I need from him to effect the repair. The problem is that I am exhausted as well.” I look up at Meshani, and let the desperation I feel reflect on my face. Even in the dark, as close as he stands to me now, I know there is no way he can miss it. “If I draw too much, I risk husking him.”

I hear Meshani’s breath catch as understanding dawns. “I trust you to know when to stop,” he insists, his hand coming up to cup my face gently.

“I do not.” The truth comes out hard. But I cannot lie to him.

“Why?”

“Because I am tired. Beyond exhausted. I am frayed. And in the heat of repairs…” I trail off, letting my forehead thump down upon Meshani’s shoulder. “It could husk him, Meshani. Or it could kill him. And there is no other choice but to press forward with the repairs.”

Meshani smooths my hair back with one hand even as he juggles my comb and supports my grip on my mug with the other. “I trust you to know when to stop,” he repeats in a firm whisper. “Do not doubt yourself. You know you cannot carry that into such a critical repair. Put it away. Later, I will revisit it with you.” There is heat and promise in his words. I grasp onto it with desperation, shoving the doubt away firmly. And I allow myself to be manipulated, the emotions he pushes at me a shield against self doubt.

I draw away, my shoulders settling back into confidence once more. “I am still not certain how I am deserving of you, my all. You are too good for me.”

Meshani chuckles softly, and caresses my jawline with his thumb. “I would say the same of you. Now finish your tea. Repairs await and duty calls.”

I nod, and lift the mug to my lips to sip as Meshani returns my comb to the bathroom. The taste is mellow, and I let it flow comfortingly over my tongue as I swallow. Meshani offers me a smile as he passes, making his way out of the room. I presume he is returning to the kitchen. He is a far superior cook than I; before we met, my meals were a sorry affair. It is just one more way in which he has made my life measurably better.

With more haste than I would wish, I finish the tea. Not so fast that the taste is lost, but tea is meant to be savored while I have places I need to be. I make my way to the kitchen with the empty mug once I have finished and deposit it into the sink.

Meshani is finishing up preparing box meals. He stacks four trays one atop each other, covers them with a lid, and ties a cloth about them. 

"So many? How incompetent do you think me?" I smile to take any sting out of the joke.

"Two for you, two for the lad," he returns, holding the stack out to me. I slide my arms around his chest instead and bury my face in the side of his neck. 

"You are too good for me," I whisper. 

He wraps one arm about me in return, the other holding the meals, and presses his face into my hair. "The sooner you complete repairs, the sooner you can return."

I release him reluctantly. He is right, of course, but I still want to remain here with him. I take the stack of meals from him with a murmured, "Thank you, my all."

I can feel his smile upon me as I turn away. Duty calls.

I make my way back to the sitting room, where the lad remains perched uncertainly upon the chair. He is peering hesitantly around, as though he does not know if he has been forgotten, and immediately stills when I lean in the doorway. "Here. You will carry this. Meshani made enough for us both." My voice is low and coarse, which has the boy scrambling to comply, and he hastily moves to where I hold the parcel out to him. I am not angry with him specifically, but it is difficult to separate the anger out and wall it off, and so it leaks into my words.

As soon as he has a firm grip on the meal stack, I release it and turn away, moving to retrieve my goggles from where they sit on the entry table just inside the front door. I make certain they are secured even before retrieving my scooter key and slipping into my shoes. The lad wisely keeps out of my way. 

I open the door into a blaze of afternoon illumination and instinctively squint before the onslaught. Filtered through the darkened lenses of my goggles and with sufficient expectation, the light causes me little pain. But it is still annoying. Especially when my eyes are already gritty from lack of sleep.

My scooter waits in its usual spot beside my front steps, and I consider it for a moment. Fitting two people on it is a stretch. But I really do not want to walk. 

"What is your name?" I ask the lad after a short pause. 

I am certain he thinks it an abrupt non-sequitur, as he stammers for a moment before answering. "Kellen, sir."

"Kellen. Have you ever ridden a scooter?"

"N-no, sir."

I sigh. "You are about to. Give me the meals. You will be sitting behind me. Hold my waist, or you will fall off." That last instruction sets me further on edge; with strangers, I have a significant aversion to being touched. Necessity demands I set it aside for the moment, though I can already feel my skin crawl at the notion of this boy having to not only touch me, but maintain contact for the duration of the trip.

He stammers a reply that I largely ignore. Instead, I slide onto the vehicle and place the stack of meals between my feet. Kellen climbs up behind me hesitantly as I pass the scooter's key over its receptor plate. There is a faint vibration as the electric motor whirs to life. Briefly, I consider opening up the throttle to pitch the boy off backward, but such idle cruelty provides short lived amusement. Besides, I need him.

Kellen puts his arms about my waist, and I can feel the tension in him. He is as uncomfortable with this situation as I am, it seems. Again, the thought crosses my mind of simply letting him fall off. But I stomp down on the impulse once again. I cannot decide if I want him to become comfortable around me or not. In all likelihood, it will not matter. I probably will never see him again after this and I do not mind that fact in the least.