He wasn't sure he could, actually, sit there while she made the tea. "...I'll get some plates," he said instead, sitting the bag of food down on her table, and pulling out the containers, still warm against his hands (though the warmth couldn't chase the memory of the warmth of Qebhet's hands from his.) He had to follow her eyes to the cupboard that housed said plates, though he found her cutlery drawer first try. "Is there anything else you need— should I—?"