[ Chuck isn't a ghost to Mako — or at least, he hasn't always been. For the longest time they were the only things the other would allow themselves to hold onto and it had anchored them and focused them, creating a tiny eye of calm amidst storms so much larger than them both. But that, like most things, had its time and then passed. And in that passing, they both became shadows of their former selves, living reminders of what the other had lost and what they had set aside to become better soldiers.
If Mako feels the impulse to move forward and embrace Chuck — to take his shoulders in her arms and tighten just to feel the tangibility of him — that's the parts of Raleigh in her talking and not her. Those kinds of expressions are lost on her now, foreign. Part of a language she no longer speaks, except in the sacred, silent tongues shared between copilots.
Just like with compatibility, it takes trust to be close to someone. And it's not that Chuck doesn't trust her — he'd stood beside Mako without complaint as they'd strode down into Challenger Deep together — but trusting someone with your life isn't the same thing as trusting them with your heart. (She's fairly certain Chuck would say he didn't have a heart anyway. But that look on his face, how lost he seems in the wake of knowing she's here for him and no one else — it tells Mako otherwise. This isn't the sort of mission either of them were ever trained for.)
Shifting forward her weight, her hands uncurl at her sides and reach for him uncertainly. In the end all she manages is a half-aborted squeeze of Chuck's forearm as she looks at him and then glances away. ]
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If Mako feels the impulse to move forward and embrace Chuck — to take his shoulders in her arms and tighten just to feel the tangibility of him — that's the parts of Raleigh in her talking and not her. Those kinds of expressions are lost on her now, foreign. Part of a language she no longer speaks, except in the sacred, silent tongues shared between copilots.
Just like with compatibility, it takes trust to be close to someone. And it's not that Chuck doesn't trust her — he'd stood beside Mako without complaint as they'd strode down into Challenger Deep together — but trusting someone with your life isn't the same thing as trusting them with your heart. (She's fairly certain Chuck would say he didn't have a heart anyway. But that look on his face, how lost he seems in the wake of knowing she's here for him and no one else — it tells Mako otherwise. This isn't the sort of mission either of them were ever trained for.)
Shifting forward her weight, her hands uncurl at her sides and reach for him uncertainly. In the end all she manages is a half-aborted squeeze of Chuck's forearm as she looks at him and then glances away. ]