The motel is small and run down, and probably Narvin’s fault. The whole excursion was mostly her idea, if Romana was completely honest: she had wanted a break, a retreat, and of course Leela was coming, and if she was going to be off Gallifrey than Narvin had to be there, as the closest Gallifrey to had a foreign policy advisor, and at that point it wasn’t surprising that Braxiatel had invited himself along.
So that they’re on Earth, with a rental car and a map that should take them from one airport to another, that is her fault, and she’ll take credit for it.
The motel was Narvin’s choice.
Which makes it completely his fault that they’re standing in a room theoretically built for four, probably built for two, and Romana is sure something just scurried across the floor.
"I will take the couch," Brax says, possibly heroically.
Leela gives him a look. “There is room in the bed.”
Leela is, Romana thinks, stretching it a bit. The bed is king size, absurdly large for the room it is in, but even that cannot fit the four of them.
"My lady," Narvin says slowly, like he’s turning an idea over and isn’t sure if it’s the right time to speak.
She raises an eyebrow at him.
"If Cardinal Braxiatel can cope with touching…" Narvin cuts himself off, stops, starts again. "The bed’s apparent size is reduced by the number of pillows on it."
That fully deserves both raised eyebrows it gets, and Narvin goes red.
Still. Brax is a hedonist and prefers touching more than the average Time Lord; his refusal to share a bed is purely due to a misplaced sense of devotion.
She looks at Leela, who somehow is the only one not stiff and cramped from nine hours in the car. “The bed it is, I suppose.”
Leela, who cares nothing for personal privacy, is in first, situating herself just off centre, eschewing both blankets and clothes.
Romana, by dint of rank, gets the bathroom first.
By the time she’s changed and out, Brax and Narvin have apparently come to an agreement, because the suitcase is on the couch and Narvin is reluctantly removing layers. He sleeps in his undersuit and changes in the morning, for reasons she doesn’t know and hasn’t pressed him on.
She joins Leela on the bed, also forgoing blankets in favor of pulling the human close against her. Leela disagrees, wiggling downwards, and resting her head against Romana’s stomach.
Narvin climbs on as Brax vanishes into the bathroom. He looks like he would rather be in the car than here, about to share a bed with Braxiatel. He tucks himself under the covers and situates himself diagonally, so that his head is near Romana’s and his body curves around Leela. Only under the blankets, because Narvin, for all his asceticism, is absolutely obsessive about being warm.
It seems hours before Brax comes out—he’s shaved. Again. He too goes under the covers, on Romana’s side this time, and presses up against her back.
Leela makes a sleepy noise, not unlike a contented gallicat, wiggles a bit, and to all appearances falls unconscious.
Brax smirks, she can tell by the way his lips curl against the back of her neck. “Good night, Madam President.”
She wants to smack both of them, she has been very firm about how none of them are to stand on ceremony, but apparently the only one who has listened is Leela, who doesn’t do that anyway.
Narvin goes tense and says, grumpily, “Good night, my lady.”
Romana ignores them, reaching a hand down to Leela’s hair. “Good night, Leela.”
Leela mumbles something and wiggles closer.
With a sigh, Romana surrenders to sleep.