[ For once she isn't wholly prompt, in so much that these shoes (kitten heels, red, with a peep toe in front) aren't the kind that she's used to walking in. Halfway between her room and the classroom, Mako decides to ditch them all together. They're hung from the hook of her middle and forefinger when she finally reaches her destination — dressed in something Chuck hasn't seen her in in a really long time.
[ chuck has never been in the habit of looking up with he's interrupted, but that isn't to say he's unaware. he hears the movement- tacks on details to the sound of footsteps like approximate height, weight, build. the pace. the scuff. he knows it's mori, and just pushes the brush back into their makeshift paint tin before turning back to the wall.
once it was about fixing the place. now he's just looking for something to do. ]
[ So this is new territory. For Mako, for Raleigh, for Mako and Raleigh — but also for Chuck and Mako, too. When they were younger and their lives as enlistees would overlap they pushed and pulled at one another in ways that spoke of being both equals and rivals — peers in an otherwise peerless landscape. The children of war heroes with the dust of fallout still clinging to the bottoms of their boots.
They'd given up trivial, everyday things far too young; things like dating and prom and holding hands with someone you like more than anyone else in the world. And yet when Mako finds herself wondering who to ask for a second opinion, she cannot come up with a more satisfying answer than Chuck. (As tempestuous as their relationship has always been, there are few people Mako trusts more.)
Smoothing her hands over her skirt she straightens and then clears her throat in an attempt to catch Chuck's attention. When that subtlety is lost on him (it was destined to be), she speaks up, her voice carrying across the classroom strongly despite the slight curb of hesitancy to its tone: ]
[ for the span of three heartbeats, chuck thinks about his mother. he doesn't have many memories of her, not ones that also contain his old man- but he knows the way those words sound. where they round out in the middle and go soft along the edges. like they're hesitant to break the silence and then get caught in the air when they're free.
it's not a sentence he ever tied together with mori's voice. she was supposed to be different. they both were.
but chuck turns around because he knows that's his cue, and his expression doesn't wrinkle, barely even flickers- but some undefined part of him seems to shut out. the closing of a door. ]
[ To his credit, he doesn't scowl at her. Doesn't frown or let his brow turn downwards in the way it usually does when he disapproves. It doesn't go the other direction either; doesn't turn into sharp angles and hard, impenetrable planes. He doesn't glower, his gaze doesn't bore. Chuck simply looks at her plainly, as if she were an object that he could take or leave. (And Mako soon discovers that it's so much worse than any sort of fit that Chuck could pull. She would rather have his disappointment than nothing at all.
A shut door An empty cup.)
Pressing her lips together, she steels her own expression but falters at the tail end of it, dissatisfaction creeping in at the edges. Mako looks down at her dress and suddenly it feels like a betrayal. (Had she come here wanting his opinion? Or was it his approval that she was hoping for?) ]
[ there's a smear of paint on his forearm. it's definition fades the closer it skates to his elbow, where the color turns into a smattering of dots. stars or freckles. chuck nods in the space her admission provides and continues to find himself at a loss- consoled only by the awareness that mori looks about as comfortable with this new dance as he does.
[ There's a smear of paint on his forearm. Mako stares at it for a moment but doesn't allows herself to linger because she's not the kind to lower her gaze in avoidance of the things in front of her. Disappointment, disillusionment, regret — even the most poorly-made decisions were still decisions, the result of her actions and the choices she made and Mako has never shied away from responsibility.
Even in her awkwardness, she owns what she's done. She told Raleigh yes and she chose this dress and she contacted Chuck, of all people, to be with her in this moment.
Mako cannot back down from it, only move forward. So, ]
[ the laugh isn't cruel in that he doesn't mean to be- that the sound only cracks the air like a lightning strike because he hasn't used it in so long. his vocal chords are warped, and his mouth doesn't remember how to move around it. the bark is brief all the same and there's a lingering warmth in the pit of his stomach (it reminds him of shame, or anger, or guilt- something he's lost the words for) as chuck shakes his head. waves it off. ]
[ He laughs and he's not laughing at her, just the ridiculousness of it all — which Mako can actually appreciate. Of all the things she saw herself doing tonight, this was not one of them.
Not this dress, not these shoes; not Chuck's mouth attempting to return a long-lost shape and failing in the process. Not those words; not Raleigh; not dancing. ]
That's what I said. [ Proof that despite this sudden difference in circumstance that Mako still thinks they're the same, underneath it all. Whether she's right or she's wrong — that's something that changes from day to day, from moment to moment. Her heels make a soft clacking noise as she moves towards him, doesn't hesitate to stand a little too close. Even though he might argue she hasn't earned his intimacy, Mako knows she has — a long time ago they were children together. ]
[ he starts to move away. not because away is safer, but because at least he understands away. it's familiar when everything else is a lesson in a foreign language. the sound of her shoes on the floor is a lot of things, but it isn't mako. or maybe it is. maybe it always was and chuck never looked up long enough to notice. never brought his hands down from a guard enough to see her right. ]
[ She wants to tell him our fathers want this for us because hadn't the marshal said as much when she'd come to him and asked. Both Pentecost and Herc had made soldiers of their children but with the war gone — what then? Were they allowed to unravel themselves in hopes of becoming more than just that? Would they want to?
(Of course Chuck wouldn't but Mako believes she has to try.)
When he moves away, she lets him. While some things have changed between them, other things have remained the same. ]
Chuck— [ It's still strange, calling him that. But he hasn't told her to stop yet, so she hasn't. ]
[ the fatal error in that line is that mori has always cared for pentecost. she's done so in a way that is unafraid, and bathed in the light of a jaeger touching down- of making her safe. our fathers want this for us her eyes tell him, but chuck has seen that result. he knows what his father wanted, what he chose. and it isn't a decision he'll ever trust him with again.
his feet stop, go quiet from their scuff on the unfinished floor at the sound of his name, and chuck pauses. the corner of his mouth pulls. spar with me after?, the syllables still move through the air, lodge in the walls but don't lodge in him. ] Sure.
All right, [ Mako says, doesn't fight him any more than she needs to now that he's given her a yes. With Chuck it's always been a case of picking her battles, knowing when to keep pressing and when to back down. For the longest time, they'd been estranged from one another, but Pitfall and the payload and all that's come after has given Mako another opportunity — one she doesn't plan on squandering.
Shifting her weight back and forth between her feet she doesn't turn to leave straight away. Though she doesn't come closer, she doesn't go either; just looks at Chuck for another moment longer before giving a slight dip of her chin. ]
Thank you, [ she says, though she doesn't say what for. For accepting, even after a rejection; for not shutting her out completely. For seeing her at what may be her most vulnerable and not being wholly unkind despite every opportunity to be.
They're words she knows Chuck doesn't know what to do with, so she doesn't wait for his response. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( x i : d 3 )
( x i : d 3 )
( x i : d 3 )
Yes or no?
( x i : d 3 )
when
( x i : d 3 )
Now.
( x i : d 3 )
( x i : d 3 )
[ For once she isn't wholly prompt, in so much that these shoes (kitten heels, red, with a peep toe in front) aren't the kind that she's used to walking in. Halfway between her room and the classroom, Mako decides to ditch them all together. They're hung from the hook of her middle and forefinger when she finally reaches her destination — dressed in something Chuck hasn't seen her in in a really long time.
A dress. ]
( x i : d 3 )
once it was about fixing the place. now he's just looking for something to do. ]
Yeah?
( x i : d 3 )
They'd given up trivial, everyday things far too young; things like dating and prom and holding hands with someone you like more than anyone else in the world. And yet when Mako finds herself wondering who to ask for a second opinion, she cannot come up with a more satisfying answer than Chuck. (As tempestuous as their relationship has always been, there are few people Mako trusts more.)
Smoothing her hands over her skirt she straightens and then clears her throat in an attempt to catch Chuck's attention. When that subtlety is lost on him (it was destined to be), she speaks up, her voice carrying across the classroom strongly despite the slight curb of hesitancy to its tone: ]
How do I look?
( x i : d 3 )
it's not a sentence he ever tied together with mori's voice.
she was supposed to be different.
they both were.
but chuck turns around because he knows that's his cue, and his expression doesn't wrinkle, barely even flickers- but some undefined part of him seems to shut out. the closing of a door. ]
Like you're going on a date.
( x i : d 3 )
A shut door An empty cup.)
Pressing her lips together, she steels her own expression but falters at the tail end of it, dissatisfaction creeping in at the edges. Mako looks down at her dress and suddenly it feels like a betrayal. (Had she come here wanting his opinion? Or was it his approval that she was hoping for?) ]
Raleigh invited me to the Pavilion.
( x i : d 3 )
the roller dangles lifelessly from his hand. ]
Bring'im flowers.
( x i : d 3 )
Even in her awkwardness, she owns what she's done. She told Raleigh yes and she chose this dress and she contacted Chuck, of all people, to be with her in this moment.
Mako cannot back down from it, only move forward. So, ]
Come with us.
( x i : d 3 )
I got work t'do.
( x i : d 3 )
Not this dress, not these shoes; not Chuck's mouth attempting to return a long-lost shape and failing in the process. Not those words; not Raleigh; not dancing. ]
That's what I said. [ Proof that despite this sudden difference in circumstance that Mako still thinks they're the same, underneath it all. Whether she's right or she's wrong — that's something that changes from day to day, from moment to moment. Her heels make a soft clacking noise as she moves towards him, doesn't hesitate to stand a little too close. Even though he might argue she hasn't earned his intimacy, Mako knows she has — a long time ago they were children together. ]
Say yes.
( x i : d 3 )
[ he starts to move away. not because away is safer, but because at least he understands away. it's familiar when everything else is a lesson in a foreign language. the sound of her shoes on the floor is a lot of things, but it isn't mako. or maybe it is. maybe it always was and chuck never looked up long enough to notice. never brought his hands down from a guard enough to see her right. ]
I've got work Mori.
( x i : d 3 )
(Of course Chuck wouldn't but Mako believes she has to try.)
When he moves away, she lets him. While some things have changed between them, other things have remained the same. ]
Chuck— [ It's still strange, calling him that. But he hasn't told her to stop yet, so she hasn't. ]
—spar with me after?
( x i : d 3 )
his feet stop, go quiet from their scuff on the unfinished floor at the sound of his name, and chuck pauses. the corner of his mouth pulls. spar with me after?, the syllables still move through the air, lodge in the walls but don't lodge in him. ] Sure.
[ the nod is short, barely there. ]
Get goin'. Gotta stop f'those flowers.
( x i : d 3 )
Shifting her weight back and forth between her feet she doesn't turn to leave straight away. Though she doesn't come closer, she doesn't go either; just looks at Chuck for another moment longer before giving a slight dip of her chin. ]
Thank you, [ she says, though she doesn't say what for. For accepting, even after a rejection; for not shutting her out completely. For seeing her at what may be her most vulnerable and not being wholly unkind despite every opportunity to be.
They're words she knows Chuck doesn't know what to do with, so she doesn't wait for his response. ]