Oh Mine God. Tummy.

Struggling to ignore the longing ache in his stomach, Max glanced back at the catering table. It was neatly lined with shiny metal trays of steaming hot gluten. He sighed. There was a tray of what looked like grilled chicken, but he wasn't sure what was on it, and he knew better than to test his luck. He almost stood up for a little plate of salad, but, catching a glimpse of one of the teachers dipping a single serving spoon into no less than three dishes, he glumly stayed put.

Max rested his chin in his hand, feeling miserable. He hadn't expected to find anything to eat at the meeting, but he'd skipped lunch to deal with a long string of problems, and the thought of a hot plate of pasta sounded unbelievably comforting. For a split second he almost considered throwing his health to the wind and indulging just for one afternoon--how bad could it be? He knocked that thought straight out of his head. Plenty bad, he reminded himself sternly, and it's the last thing I need when I'm stuck at work. He rubbed his face wearily, and his belly rumbled.

"Was that your stomach?" Keonda, sitting next to him, gave him an amused glance.

"Yeah," he sighed, still gazing blankly forward at nothing.

"Sheesh, Kestler, why don't you get something to eat? There's plenty of…" She trailed off, realization dawning on her. "Oh." He gave her a tired smile. "Shoot, Kestler, I'm sorry."

"I'll eat when I get home," he assured her. Home seemed months away right now. The meeting hadn't even started yet, and the thought of sitting through the whole thing, starving and taunted by a room full of food he couldn't eat, made him want to cry. It wasn't a mandatory meeting for most staff, but as an administrator, he had no choice but to stay, so, as he was very used to doing, he tried his best to ignore his body and fulfill his duties.

The meeting droned on for what felt like hours, although it really only lasted one. Ordinarily, his growling stomach would have been met with amusement from Keonda, but right now she just felt sorry for him, and she was almost as anxious for it to end as he was. He held a hand against his belly as he listened, the other holding up his head, too tired to care if he looked outwardly bored. The clock seemed frozen in place, and he was beginning to wonder whether his stomach might digest itself before he was finally set free.

At long last, he heard the familiar phrases of a meeting about to close, followed by the bustle and chatter of a room about to clear, and finally he was on his way. He felt like he'd been sitting in that uncomfortable chair for thirty years, and his back cracked as he stood up and stretched. He felt dizzy for a moment upon rising, but it passed. The headache, however, did not, and he was fishing around in the glove compartment for a Tylenol the moment he got into the car. Still, despite the various aches and pains that currently gripped him, the discomfort was almost overshadowed by the relief he felt at finally heading home.

When Max walked through the door, he was met with the warm smell of food cooking and the sound of Marsha and Alfie bickering playfully in the kitchen. He fell back against the door as it shut with a sigh, leaning his head back against it, and remained there for a moment, utterly exhausted and utterly relieved. His belly rumbled loudly.