[Room 15, with Michael]

[notinthebook]

 She's got the brand-new bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in one hand when she knocks at the door of Room 15, feeling unaccountably nervous.  

It's not like this is weird, or anything.  It's not like she thinks he'll be unhappy to see her -- or the whiskey.  And she wants to know how the latest mission went, whether there were more crab-monsters involved, or...whatever might be out there.

(But they haven't talked, alone, since her stint as bartender and the fight they'd had, which, in retrospect...she doesn't even remember how it got started, or why.  That feeling of sinking unhappiness is pretty immediately recognizable, though.)

If asked, she might not even be able to say why she's here, aside from the simplest reason she can put in words: she wanted to see him.

I miss you, he'd written, once.

Well, the feeling's mutual.

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[luvs_yogurt]

He starts to reach toward her and then pauses only a moment and diverts toward his drink, picking it up for a long sip.

Swallowing back the intrusion of his feelings, he clears his throat and finds a reply somewhere in the onslaught of thoughts.

"No, no you're right... it'll be fine."

Of course, between the two of them he's sure there's nothing they can't do.

[notinthebook]

"Hell yeah it will. I didn't drag my ass all the way across the multiverse and back to Miami just for it all to go pear-shaped on me."

She's always been good at bluster, at pretending more confidence than she has, but this isn't all that hard, really.

No point in psyching herself out before a job, not when she's starting to get antsy and edgy in the best sort of way, and she nods towards the menu. "So, what's good?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Food. Right, they had come there for food - and to break the single track of being alone in a nice hotel room together.

"Uh, I'm getting the bucket of Cajun shrimp - but it's all pretty good from what Sam's told me. I don't get out this way much but he's a regular."

Truth told, he felt a little more comfortable - as much as he ever was comfortable - in the city and away from the smell of money and coconut oil.

[notinthebook]

A track she doesn't mind keeping up, except when she thinks about it and all the reasons why she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be out with him, should not have stayed the night with him come rolling back like a spiked ball, gripping into her head and snagging all her thoughts like so much tissue paper.

Food is easier. Pretending this is a job with a friend is easier. Ignoring the way her heart thuds, hard and painful, when he watches her out of bright blue eyes and tells her to be careful -- that's a little more difficult.

"Sounds good. I'll have what you're having." She sits back, crosses one leg over the other, and does her best impression of a piece of arm candy, twirling a wayward curl in a finger.

It's a little thrown off by the set of her shoulders and the way she winks at him, because, come on. It's all a joke. He's not that guy. She's not that girl.

Isn't that why this works?

"Speaking of Sam, I actually met him. Right before I came up to find you, yesterday. Today?" She makes a face. "Milliways has a way of screwing up tenses."

[luvs_yogurt]

If asked, he'd say she was right... they worked because they could pull off a couples gambit... but he wouldn't believe it. Not entirely. Not when she gets under his skin as much as she does.

"Oh?" He raises a curious eyebrow, pulling his hand back to take another idle sip of his water. "I'm sure he only had good things to say about me."

[notinthebook]

"Sure," she agrees, without going into detail or offering any further explanation, sipping at her water with a blank expression until his cracks and he grins, making her smile flash, too.

And, hey. There are worse ways to spend a morning before a con, right? She can think of at least ten, off the top of her head, and not one of them can be found here and now.