[ He doesn't look any different and neither does she (he doesn't stand taller, his eyes aren't softer; their gaze they share is still lined with things left unsaid and swallowed) but there's a sense that something has come into realignment, like a part of themselves that had been thrown out of kilter the moment Chuck woke in this place to air in his lungs and blood pumping through his veins. Even without a word Mako knows it because she feels that same piece shift inside her as well. Like a lens racking forward only to finally find focus, indistinct lines sharpening again, gravity pulling once more on their feet. When they were children they used to speak this way for hours, but simply looking at one another and knowing without having to ask. (It's what had convinced them, once upon a time, that they would be copilots, that there wasn't anyone else in the whole wide world who could possibly understand themselves they way they understood one another.)
It's not exactly a comfortable sensation (they're different people now and had put that aside for a reason) but it's there and makes manifest in the moment that follows, in the way that Mako mouth forms a slightly bowed shape and she turns, stepping back to let Chuck in a little further into her room. ]
You're not in your suit, [ she observes. (The moment lingers but Mako refuses to talk about it. That wasn't her way and it wasn't theirs either.) ]
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It's not exactly a comfortable sensation (they're different people now and had put that aside for a reason) but it's there and makes manifest in the moment that follows, in the way that Mako mouth forms a slightly bowed shape and she turns, stepping back to let Chuck in a little further into her room. ]
You're not in your suit, [ she observes. (The moment lingers but Mako refuses to talk about it. That wasn't her way and it wasn't theirs either.) ]