Trying not to stare when all her focus is locked to Rinzler is a challenge. Yori shifts her feet, restless, as an excuse to look down.

He doesn't reach back, but there's no flinch in his posture. If she tries to ask if she can hug him would it make him more comfortable at the moment or less? Can she be sure he'd answer in line with his own needs?

Yori breaks her own indecision by reaching to brush the edge of her hand against Rinzler's elbow. Any contact helps her racing calculations settle. If Rinzler doesn't seem to be comfortable with more, it's sufficient.

In this empty place, she has trouble believing anything exists when she closes her eyes. At least the ship felt functional, the distant sound of power she can't sense. Here on the rock, no matter how tired she is, the sense of isolation reminds her all over again that she's a program cut off from her system.

If Rinzler is near, it doesn't matter that she has no right to be alive; she'll fight for every stolen moment. He deserves more happiness than Yori knows how to make him accept.

She glances across at the rising sound. Rinzler's hesitation provokes a crooked smile. Of course neither of them know what they're doing. Might as well ask something, then. "May I put my head on your shoulder?"

There's probably a better way to put that, but she's too tired to rephrase.