[ Mako almost chases after him when he pulls away, the sweetness of his kisses a staggering realisation -- you never really know how much you miss a person until they do something that makes your heart skip a beat. She feels the tight clench in her chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that there's a dead man in the bedroom, and she sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle further.

There is blood, sticky and hot and ticklish down her wrist, and she grits her teeth. Jokes aside, there's far too many things they need to do -- ] Lighter, too. Needle, and dental floss. You know what to do.

[ Mako pauses, after a moment, feeling the oddest pang of deja vu; she hadn't felt like this in so long. Mako might be a mother now, but she hasn't forgotten her training. ] There's a half-open bottle of whiskey. Second medicine drawer to your left.