#(pardon delay.)

With eyes too intensely focused on a fake knot swirled within the hotel lobby table's woodwork, the man sets down his second large cup of nutmeg with coffee* that day before answering.

@nursejunedarby

At 1:20 pm he scrubs the smell of complex, foreign compounds from his skin and washes the gassy traces of the poison from his dark hair.

At 1:26 pm he does it again until satisfied that his natural musk and light pine cologne replace the gaseous stench of the mysterious essence his men had found out in the desert midst of charred metal and rubber shards.

At 1:34 pm he pulls on a pair of rusty-blue jeans and a soft, cloud grey shirt devoid of design save the black stitching across the hems. Methodically, he tucks the sleeves up past his elbows and fastens a watch to his wrist before he remembers, with sinking heart, the vicious, jagged scar running diagonal across the belly of his forearms. He debates on whether he shoud hide them or not.

He does not.

At 1:36 pm he looks into the mirror and catches his grey, dark circled eyes staring back at him like two pinpricks of light within a shallow tunnel. He looks down and away, unable to hold his own troubling gaze as he drags his hand across his recently and neatly shaved jaw and chin.

At 1:45 he is on the road in a borrowed SUV without stickers or much of a plate. Those whom must know, know where he drives, but the rest he keeps quiet least they pester him like the voices inside his head. "Go. Don't go. You'll hurt her. Go."

At 1:56 pm he parks behind the parlor and holds his head between rough hands. He is early, but not by much. There is still time to leave - time to spare himself the trepidation in her eyes when she sees the solemnness of his face, the thin but numerous white scars upon his lightly hued skin, and the darkness in the mind behind his gaze.

There is time to spare them both the lies he knows he will have to weave to save them from the prying eyes of wolves and dragons that will come once they sense her presence upon him.

Minutes to save himself from falling yet again.

A growl builds in the back of his throat as he forces his keys into his pocket and the car door to open. Principle and Dignity throw Fear to the floor and beat upon its wriggling form. He will not leave a woman waiting.

But that did not mean his mouth would not run dry as soon as he stepped into the ice cream shop's quaint dining area spotted with tables with chairs that came in pairs. Only two other patrons were there with him, engaged in their own private conversation. He wishes there were more.

Before him an employee calls out "hello", but her smile wavers as she beckons him, the stranger, away from the door. "Can I take your order?"