Just so you know, updates will be sparse because I go back to school tomorrow. I'm still going to try and write though. But I'm sure being a junior and all will be a lot of work, so we'll see how it goes. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) Thank you for all of the reviews! You're all just super amazing and I don't deserve to have such great people reading my stories. You deserve to read way better than my stuff. XD I love you. :3
Oh, and I posted a picture on Tumblr of what their room looks like. In case I suck at descriptions (which I do). It's with the link to my fanfic. It's probably going to be the top thing on my blog for a while. XD
milesabovemyhead . tumblr . com
"What do you mean there isn't any bacon?"
"Mal, calm down."
"No, this is a cruise ship and I want some goddamn bacon!"
"I'm sorry sir," the food cart attendant cuts in. "But we don't have any bacon in the kitchen."
"It'll be fine, thank you," Natara says, pushing past Mal to stand in the doorway. "This is lovely."
The attendant nods uncertainly and backs out of their room.
"You're quite the morning person," Natara says to Mal.
He grunts noncommittally and turns to the cart of breakfast food the kitchen attendant brought them.
"Someone could have at least warned me to bring a half-month's supply of frozen bacon or something."
"Jesus, Mal, calm down. Here, have some coffee." She hands him a yellow mug of steaming dark liquid from the edge of the cart. Mal lifts it to his lips.
"So what do you want to do today? I bet there is all sorts of-" Natara is cut off by the dark liquid leaving Mal's mouth.
"Syrup," he says grumpily. "I'm going back to bed."
Their room is number 4, bordered on the left by a single, occupied by a girl (who appeared to be nineteen or twenty), and on the right by a double, occupied by an older couple. There had been many whispers by their neighbors when Mal and Natara first entered their room. At first, people just asked if they were married or on their honeymoon or something. When they set those people straight, others asked if they were siblings. Eventually, word got around Number Four was occupied by a Special Agent from the FBI and her male work partner, a detective for the SFPD. The people were not pleased.
The room itself, Natara was displeased to learn, was the size of a large closet. Mal said that it was to be expected, but nonetheless it was awkward and claustrophobic. In fact, the cart of breakfast food that Natara is now picking at idly cannot even comfortably fit in the room. It sits outside in the hall. She turns around and looks inside to where Mal is now laying, head covered stolidly under a large white pillow.
On the left of the room at ankle height there is a small wooden shelf. On it rests two life vests. Directly above that, there is a twin shelf sporting a white cordless phone, which they have yet to touch. Those shelves are supported on the left by the wall that holds the door, and on the right by their beds. The top berth is a smaller one, but it has its own personal fan. It also has the small portal-like window and the benefit of not feeling like there is someone above you about to fall and crush you in your sleep. Mal gave Natara the top berth, and she has come to realize that every one of the pleasant points of it that the bottom berth lacks have been slowing killing Mal's spirit. Even though the bottom berth is wider, it is visibly less fun to sleep in. Every morning, Mal hits his head twice. First on the small reading light that is positioned above his pillows and second on the bed above him. This generally constitutes his bad mood for the rest of the morning, at which point Natara is always careful to step lightly around him.
On the side of the bottom berth there are two drawers where they keep some of their belongings. It was abundantly clear that Natara's large suitcase would be a burden from the moment they arrived, which is why it is, for the most part, stored on Mal's bed. At night, they put it up against the door.
Across from the shelves is the bathroom. There is a sink and a toilet and a small shower, and Natara became aware from day one of how horrible it is to share a bathroom with a man when it is half the size of a closet.
"Mal," Natara says gently, putting her hand on his upturned back. "Mal, are you awake?"
"How can I not be?" he answers moodily.
"You can nap on my bed if you want. I'm going to go meet some other people," Natara says.
He perks up considerably after that offer, and exactly twelve minutes later Natara is out of the closet-room and walking along the hall. A woman is coming out of Room Eight with a walker, struggling to keep the door open as she clunks the walker over the threshold. Natara walks over and puts her hand on the door.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Natara Williams. I'm staying just a few doors down."
"Thank you, dear. My name is Roberta Granger." The old woman pauses and stares curiously at Natara. "I think I've seen you before. On the news," she says matter-of-factly. "You're with those Maskmaker people."
"Yes," Natara answers uneasily. "Yes I was. It was a horrible case, wasn't it?"
Roberta nods thoughtfully. "Which room did you say you were staying in?"
"Number four." Her eyes widen considerably at this and Natara's face slackens. "They're all talking about my partner and I, aren't they?"
Roberta smiles kindly. "Don't worry. I'm sure there isn't any truth in it. Not many people believe the rumors around here, anyway." She successfully frees her walker from the restricting threshold. "Thank you so much, dear. You're very sweet. I'm sure the talk will die down soon." Her eyes gleam strangely and Natara frowns.
"Yes, I'm sure it will," she says, and their conversation ends.
She watches the woman slowly make her way to the end of the hallway, turn back to wave, then proceed left to where they had been told the main deck was. Fighting the urge to follow her and further inspect the odd feeling she has, Natara walks back to her room to see if Mal is finished with his I-Hate-The-World-Because-Sleeping-Sucks phase. He is.
"Morning," he says through his mouth of pancakes. One thing Natara learned after living so close to him is that Mal doesn't eat his food so much as go to war with it. He hits that food with everything he's got, and when he's done there is nothing left but demolished remains. At the moment, he was battling pancakes, the formerly-offending syrup, sausage, eggs, and something else that was blocked from Natara's view by the syrup mug. So far, the food was losing.
"Suddenly hungry, I see." Natara smiles. "Have you met any of the other people on here with us yet?"
He shook his head. He hadn't.
"I just met an old woman. She looked about eighty. I don't know why she's going to Madagascar, of all places, at her age. Her name was Roberta Granger."
Mal nodded and continued his ongoing battle.
"You don't think they all dislike us because we're with the police and everything, do you?" Natara asked suddenly.
"Nothing wrong with police," Mal says, but it comes out more like "No fink ron wif police" because his food is still battling for survival in his mouth. He struggles for a moment and then swallows hugely. "People always get nervous around the police," he continues, mouth now free. "Even when they aren't guilty. It's so weird. It's like an ingrained human nature to be afraid of trouble. Me, I like trouble. Nothing wrong with a little trouble now and then." He shoves three sausages in his mouth and finishes with, "Tubble keep dem fom bored."
Natara smiles slightly. "Yeah, but maybe there is something that they're…" She trails off into a thoughtful silence, punctuated abruptly by a loud crash from outside of the room.
"What…?" Mal mutters and Natara stands up and opens the door.
A pot lays on the ground at her feet, smashed, dirt being ground into the carpeting. A lone, wilted flower pokes out from the wreckage. Mal stands up and points to the outside of their open door, where there is a dent and some clinging soil.
The hallway is empty.