[She hums, a thoughtful sound, and then, with a motherly motion that could easily be overbearing, frustrating, drops easily to her knees, reaching for the laces of the boot his hand wasn't already working at. It's a blunt sort of helpfulness.]

We will have to find you a replacement. The ones here won't be as nice as the ones the station could make you, but until then they will work well enough.

[A stray thought drifting across her mind, the image of another man, slimmer and somewhat awkward, his arm standing out among the sleeker prosthetics common in this place. Still, he seemed quite familiar with it. Quite capable. Rhys. He should seek him out.]