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Cairo is hot, too hot for Jesse.
He's used to the southern states, hot but always with the promise of a cool bar and a glass of whisky somewhere. In Cairo there is no such luck. There's a shaded courtyard somewhere that houses a small cafe which never closes, serving black coffee and nothing else for its patrons. Locals only, and Jesse too with increasing frequency. The owner always barks a laugh at him when Jesse comes in, putting a small cup of strong coffee in front him with a "for you, Clint Eastwood," though he prefers John Wayne, as he reminds Jesse multiple times a week.
And it has been weeks now. Weeks of crushing heat and a smoky smooth voice that Jesse swears he hears in his sleep telling him "you are not trying, cowboy. Again, or go home to America." Jesse knows he could remove his serape, the thick red fabric that used to protect him from the cold nights on the New Mexico plains years ago, but he'd rather suffer the temperature than display the exact reason he was here for everyone else to see. It was bad enough catching sight of it himself in the dusty mirror propped against the wall of his room. Sometimes at night, he hears the screaming of train wheels against railway tracks. He wakes with a tearing sensation in his bicep and a stinging pain in fingertips that aren't there anymore.
He realises suddenly that he's walked at least three streets past where he needs to be, completely distracted by his own thoughts, which is stupid considering the size of the bounty on his head. He glances down a side street, drawn by a soft, repetitive thudding sound, and ambles down to take a look. Turning a corner he sees two kids, a boy and a girl, kicking a ball against the wall, trying to keep it off the ground. The corner of Jesse's mouth quirks up, the closest he's come to a proper smile in weeks, and steps a little closer. The girl sees him first, gasps, and immediately puts an arm around the younger boy protectively, drawing him closer to her. He almost overbalances, ball bumping off his knee at an odd angle, and Jesse suddenly sees why. The boy's tan skin stops immediately under his right knee, the rest of his leg consisting of uneven, worn metal. Prosthetic, Jesse realises with a jolt, but the limb still ends in a tattered football boot to match the other leg.
The ball rolls to a stop at Jesse's feet and he crouches, moving to pick it up with his right hand but then, after a second's hesitation, letting his left hand reach out from under the serape to take it instead. Sunlight glints off the metal of his fingers as he holds the ball out to the children, staying low to the ground.
"I ain't gonna hurt you now, c'mon," he says in a gentle, even tone, trying to offer a smile. The girl releases her younger brother and they both shuffle forward uncertainly. Jesse stays still until, suddenly, the girl darts forward and takes the ball from him. "There we go," he mumbles, the smile on his face cracking into a genuine grin.
The boy is less skittish than his sister and, reassured by getting their ball back, he moves forward further, arms outstretched. A small hand curls around one of Jesse's fingers and tugs gently, and Jesse complies by extending his metal arm out for inspection. Curious hands explore the structure of Jesse's left forearm, running over the grooves where the parts connect. It's not the nicest prosthesis, he knows, but he was told it would serve its purpose and compared to the rough crafting of the small limb in front of him, it's practically artisan. Then the boy pokes the joint where metal meets flesh and Jesse jumps with an alarmed "easy now, kid!" as a dull pain throbs all the way up his bicep to his shoulder. The skin is still tender and sore to the touch, but better than it had been.
Whatever moment the two of them were having, it breaks there and then. The girl reaches out her hand, ball tucked under the other arm, and calls to her brother who doesn't break Jesse's gaze. She tries again, voice a little louder, a little more urgent. "Malik!"
This time the small boy turns from Jesse and runs over on uneven legs. They hold hands and peg it around the corner and out of sight without a backwards glance. Jesse rises to his feet.
"Huh," he says aloud, and turns back the way he came after a moment. Maybe it's time for a coffee, he thinks, starts making his way towards that shady courtyard. And if his cybernetic arm is on show a little more for the rest of the day, well, what of it?