co_pilot | (no subject)

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The next leg of their tour is the European section - there aren't as many cities that were directly affected by the kaiju here, though the people seem no less effusive in their enthusiasm. Mako is at an equal disadvantage when it comes to the talk shows - her languages are better, perhaps, than Raleigh's, but she doesn't possess complete fluency in this particular part of the world.

The interviews are fairly easy to get through, though they always manage to end up fielding some question about the two of them.

("Mr. Becket, Ms. Mori, can you talk to me about the status of your relationship?")

Too many shared glances, too many moments alone; people don't want to talk about the losses of the past. They want gossip, sensational news. It's enough to make her want to scream, or tear her hair out in frustration.

She settles for the next best thing - the exercise room of the hotel they're staying in is empty at night, and there's enough space for her to wind through the movements that calm her.

She doesn't need to watch her form in the mirrors around the room; she merely closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing - and lets the stress slip away.

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It's not only meat, it's spicy meat, and that's good on both fronts for her. She manages to observe with some amusement the ratio to which he takes up space on the couch versus her own tiny personal bubble.

"Hmm."

She leans forward, then shifts around, one hand slipping between the couch cushions to fish.

Edited 2013-07-16 12:40 (UTC)

It's over on the table where the television sits, but Raleigh doesn't actually move to retrieve it. He does at least point to it eventually.

She shoots him a look and then slowly untangles her limbs to stand.

"Very helpful."

She's reaching for it with her injured hand before she realizes, though the only sign of flaring pain is a subtle jerk of her shoulders and a quiet hiss between her teeth.

"What are you going to do now, with someone like me around?"

Mumbled behind Mako's back.

She turns around slowly, remote in hand.

"I ask that myself on a regular basis."

"Ever come up with any good answers?"

"None worth repeating," she murmurs, faking a sweet smile.

"Hunh. Okay then."

Raleigh sits up straighter to give Mako more room when she comes back, letting her flip through the channels if she feels like.

It takes him a minute or two to pull her hand into his lap, but he gets there.

She seats herself closer to him, taking advantage of the offered space, and decisively flips past every news channel, not caring to happen upon either of their faces tonight.

Instead, she sets it on the previously discussed terrible movie.

After a beat, her head tips to the side to rest against his shoulder.

After about half an hour of sitting like this, and a couple of questions for Mako relating to the point of having the girl run upstairs to get away from her intruder, there is a knock at the door.

"Must be the food - I'll get it -- "

Having Mako answer his door to a hotel employee is a thing they try to avoid at the moment.

She's fixated, a bowl of mixed nuts in her lap as she nibbles absently, only glancing away to watch him answer the door.

Perhaps she doesn't mind the view from this angle, either.

Her attention returns to the screen before he returns, and she sets the bowl on the coffee table, rising to her feet with the intention of helping.

For once, the room service guy isn't nosy. Still, Raleigh doesn't let him push in the cart.

"I think they sent up half a pig," Raleigh calls from the doorway. When he sees Mako get up to help, she gets waved off rather adamantly. "Stop that."

She freezes, one hand braced against the armrest of the couch.

"Is it really half a pig?"

"No, I'm a dirty liar. But it is a lot of food."

Spanish hotels apparently send up a serving plate and then you dish out the meal you want yourself from the choices. Raleigh's busy with his back to Mako, making up two of them to bring over.

She's elected to put the movie on pause. All the better for him to enjoy the disastrous plot when he returns to sit beside her.

She leaves enough room for him to sit, sprawl or whatever he likes, absently shooting a glance down at her knuckles. They look better, though the bruising will have to be covered up somehow before their next interview spot.

"Hand still hurt?"

He places her plate on the coffee table instead of making her grab it.

"A little. It is better now."

She slowly slides to sit on the floor in front of the table, fork wielded in hand.

They eat in silence for a minute before: "I do have to admit that was kind of sexy."

Her attention's still on the movie; it takes her a moment to process.

" - the hitting?"

"Well, not entirely. More the defending and the being able to do something about a thing you don't like."

For him - not Yancy, not anyone else.

It's nice.

She shakes her head slowly.

"It was - unbecoming. I should not have done it."

"You're a Ranger, though. You can play it off. Besides --

" -- people will forgive you easy."

"As long as you have," she answers quietly.

"What? What would I need to forgive you for?"

She shrugs, a small helpless movement.

(She needs someone to, without him here. Even if he would somehow manage to do it without words.)