[fair warning: this piece is 1.2k words. if you're looking for a snippet, this isn't it.]

[not super accurate to the prompt, just wanted to write some dialogue.]

“He’s like some neurotic trapped prey animal. Look at him,” Rally says, jerking his head in Voraček’s general direction across the kindergarten classroom. “He deserves a break, at least this time.”

Yen looks up from where he’s directing one of the kids as she builds Legos on the floor. “You don’t even like him,” he replies, expression blank, as he reaches around the girl to grab at another box of bricks. “It’s Tyler. If he wanted a break, he’d ask Hoshi or the admin. He’ll deal.”

Rally looks back at the man in question. He’s got his hands behind his back, legs closely pressed together, and he seems like he’s trying really hard to win a staring contest with the far wall. He’s a freaking statue, really.

Rally stands for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest, before turning his gaze to the amalgamation of colored bricks that Yen is attempting to put together. The other man catches him looking, raising an eyebrow.

“Like you could do any better.”

_Huh,_ he thinks, glancing at the camera crew that’s been meandering around the room. _I guess I’m doing this now._

“Scoot,” Rally mutters, tapping his shoe against Yen’s leg to get him to move over so he can sit.

“Have at it, kid,” Yen says, rattling the box of plastic bricks in front of him.

For maybe the next ten minutes, they make random objects. A lot of it is just Rally accidentally putting two half-pieces together and being unable to pry them apart.

Suddenly, the toddler that’s been playing with them pipes up. She says something in Japanese, and Rally turns to look at Yen, who scoffs, shaking his head. 

“Just because I’m Asian and drive a Miata doesn’t mean I speak Japanese,” he says, and Rally knows there’s no heat to it, but he still feels a familiar pang in his chest. He pretends to brush it off, continuing his attempts to use his fingernails to separate the Legos he’s messing with.

Someone clears their throat from behind them. 

“I do. Speak Japanese, I mean.”

Rally looks up to see- oh, whaddya know- Tyler Voraček, standing there. He looks like he’s either about to explode or break down and scream. Or both. Either way, Rally’s never seen him so uncomfortable.

“Hi, Tyler,” Yen says, far too casually, like teleporting is something Mazda drivers just _do_ on the regular.

“Hello, Sato. Korolyov,” Voraček says, nodding at Rally. It’s been a while since he’s heard his last name addressed to him, so he forgets to respond until Yen throws a two-by-one Lego at his ear. It stings, but he has enough restraint in him that he manages not to swear in front of the little girl.

“Uh,” Rally fumbles for words. “What are you doing over here?”

Well. At least he said _something_. 

Voraček tilts his head with narrowed eyes, staring at Rally.

Actually, maybe nothing would have been better. The man doesn’t give him a moment to recover, though, and Rally can’t blame him.

“Hoshi said I need something to do. A disassociating driver isn’t typically what the media is looking for when it comes to promotional content,” He mutters, and Rally notices the slight jitter of his right leg.

_Itching for the pedal and the clutch. I get it, man,_ is what he wants to say, but he’s still got some semblance of situational awareness left to his name, so he stays quiet.

Voraček looks down at the girl sitting before him, and it’s like his whole demeanor shifts. His eyes soften and he says something in Japanese, but all Rally can make out is the word ‘cute.’ The girl beams up at him, returning with a quiet thank-you, before going back to playing with her blocks.

Yen huffs, turning his head to look at his teammate. “You gonna stand there like some sort of gargoyle the whole time, or are you gonna play with this kid so I can go take a piss?”

Voraček makes a _“Tcht!”_ sound with his teeth at the same time Rally baps the back of his head with his palm, so at least they share that common ground. Yen’s got two kids, for God's sake, he should know better. And sure, the girl doesn't even understand anything they're saying, but kids her age still copy mannerisms, right?

Yen waves them off. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, shooting a glance up at his friend- and, after sort-of struggling to stand up, he just. Walks away. 

His shoes leave impressions in the kiddie foam that spans the floor. Rally watches them disappear.

Good grief. This is the second time his friends have abandoned him with Voraček. He looks up at the other man, his own gray eyes meeting sharp brown ones.

The other man doesn't move to sit. He doesn’t blink, either.

“How’s Dallas?”

Uh. What?

“Huh?” Rally says, before realizing that Voraček is asking about his navigator.

“Oh. He’s doing okay, I guess. Less stumbling in the pacenotes.” He turns his attention back to the child in front of him, who’s currently trying to rip apart the toy house he had given her to destroy with her tiny hands.

Voraček hums. “That’s nice.”

It’s- well, it’s not _un_comfortable silence, but it’s definitely a few beats before Rally realizes.

“You ain’t gonna sit?” He asks, before he can really think about it.

Voraček just does that head-tilt thing again, like a dog that doesn’t understand its name just yet. “No.” He pauses, before adding, “Thank you for the offer.” 

Rally nods and makes a noncommittal noise that he thinks should convey ‘suit yourself’ pretty well.

“So, you speak Japanese?” He tries. “That's cool.”

“Yes, and you.. how do I say this. You are Russian, and speak Russian, but have a Southern accent?”

Rally chuckles, clicking a circular piece onto the blue snake he’s building. “Yeah, it throws a lot of people off. Born and raised on a ranch in Texas, but my dad’s from Samsa and my mom’s Puerto Rican.”

Voraček doesn’t reply, but when Rally looks back at him, he looks lost in thought, like he’s trying to remember something that’s told through the scar across his crooked nose and the furrow of his eyebrows.

He taps the ground beside him with his pointer finger until the other man meets his eyes. “Sit,” he says.

And Voraček does.

He postures stiffly, on his knees and shins, his spine ramrod straight. He puts his right hand over his left in his lap, and when he smiles, it almost looks painful. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.

“I don’t like to feel small,” He whispers.

Rally deliberates for a moment, handing the little girl the snake he’s just finished.

“But you’re still taller than me. You’re never small around me,” Is what he settles on.

Voraček turns his head to look at the cameras. “I don’t want anyone but God looking down on me.”

Rally stands up, a little too quickly if you ask him, because the room is spinning for a moment. The Mazda driver practically leaps up after him, some wild look in his eyes.

“Hold on,” is all Rally says, and he goes to find Voraček a chair.