Lyme
Rokia’s quiet at breakfast, even more than usual. She eats slowly, curled around a cup of coffee, absorbing the warmth, and only occasionally setting it down to take a bite of the oatmeal swirled with peanut butter that Lyme started making for Claudius, back when.
It’s not till the oatmeal and the coffee are both gone that Rokia looks up and meets Lyme’s eyes.
“Thanks,” she says, short, looks away toward the corner of the room. “For…you know.” She waves vaguely at the food. “Fixing me,” she adds, sarcastic tone of voice to soften whatever blow she’s waiting for.
“You’re the mechanic,” Lyme says, keeping her tone light. “If anyone’s fixing things around here it’s you.”
Rokia glares at her, which is how Lyme knows she understood.
“And I’m happy to help,” Lyme adds, granting that much.
Rokia looks down, quiet for a moment, then takes the dishes over to the sink.