[ he makes his way outside even before he's cut the feed. there's a list long enough to turn into a novel of all the reasons he doesn't want to be doing this. that he doesn't want to see mori because seeing her means they'll end up talking, and maybe there's too much that needs an explanation. but words have never been enough for chuck, never meant more than what actions have bought and paid for. they're all alive, for whatever that counts as, and he wants that to be the end of it.
chuck doesn't take the time to pull his boots on because he hasn't taken them off. there are bruises under his eyes that betray a lack of sleep (he's lost track of the days) and he's paler than he should be (eating isn't the same when he still smells copper, still tastes blood.) ]
[ Mako is alive and it's a fact that she has no intention of forgetting. Alive because Raleigh sent her back up to the surface while he finished the job; alive because Chuck had to put her down, just because she couldn't keep herself under control to keep on working. Success for Mako has never been measured in whether or not she lives. She's a ranger and the value of her own life has never been part of the equation — and yet it somehow keeps coming up. The constant reminder tastes of disappointment. (Chuck's not the only one who doesn't look well.)
There's a stiffness to Mako's gait as she favors one side of her body over the other. Under her clothes is the handiwork of Chuck's father, makeshift stitches keeping her closed, reminding her of things she would much rather put behind the both of them. Chuck sees her approach from a distance; she comes from the direction of the academic building rather than the dorms. ]
[ he keeps to his post like it's an appointed duty (to be a fixed point, the last man standing) and clocks her gait somewhere outside himself. it's in his nature to shoot first ask questions later, to jump before he gets a proper line, to open his mouth before he things better of it. this isn't anything like that. the ishimura and the hellhole it'd become (turned them into) has punched holes in his armour. chuck shuts it up tight because he doesn't know what else to do with it. doesn't know how to ask for help when he's too busy trying to plug holes- when he's trying to bail himself out. he isn't like mori. he doesn't have a partner that fits into him like the valves of his beating heart. he doesn't know how to be (share, exist) with another person. chuck and his old man have the drift and nothing more. he's told himself this is enough so many times that he can't afford to believe otherwise.
but mori- mori shouldn't be locked up like that.
she closes the distance, comes in to meet him, and chuck doesn't know what she's trying to outrun- but he knows she's running. ]
[ Despite outward appearances (so calm and collected, so reserved and withdrawn with her carefully rolled sleeves and her bloused slacks tucked into polished boots) Mako has spent much of her life trying to outrun things. First Onibaba (literally), then Onibaba again (figuratively), the taglines of all of the global papers having stuck to her despite efforts otherwise. First Toyko's daughter then Pentecost's project, always being defined by other people's merits and achievements rather than her own. Never once has Mako Mori ever wanted to ride coattails and yet that was the assumption that's dogged her for the past ten years. Trying to escape her past, trying to do right by her family; trying to be her own person but by holding to impossible standards; trying to shake off the trauma of the past despite dyeing it ritually to the tips of her hair.
There had been a moment — brief and beautiful — when Mako had thought she'd put it all behind her. That moment when they'd landed in the stadium of Hong Kong, the shock of impact still ringing in her calves, but a feeling (like laughter) bubbling up from inside her, fogging the glass of her helmet as Raleigh had asked you okay.
That feeling seems so far away now, standing awkwardly across from Chuck Hansen, her gaze lingering on the cut that cuts across the corner of his left eyebrow, the scar that's forming there bald and accusing. She had done that with her bare hand, Mako had. The knuckle of her right hand still bares the evidence of it from where the skin had split over bone, and maybe she'll have her own scar there too. (It seems only right. Fitting, almost, for the two of them.)
Her hand clenches loosely at her side. She has the impulse to touch it, to feel connected to Chuck in so much as she wants to feel connected to anyone in this moment. Ishimura has left her distant and disconnected and while part of her thinks that's okay, drifting with Raleigh has taught her that healing (proper healing) only comes from interconnectedness, not standing apart. ]
You look horrible. [ It doesn't come out concerned. More like fact. ]
[ they've never stood on formality. not between the two of them. it was one thing for mori to carry herself with a straight spine- with rigid shoulders and a sharp gaze. she has always been the inverse of chuck's tightened fists and gritted teeth.
but his gaze makes it's way over her features- drawn and exhausted, and ultimately, ends in silence. it isn't for him to address. they don't share that kind of connection (not anymore) but then they're left exactly where they are now. standing opposite one another, wearing cuts and bruises like medals of honor. she has a pair of gloves in hand, and chuck nods in their direction in the absence of further greeting. she's avoiding becket, chuck's been trying to avoid her, and here they all are. he needs something to do, something to occupy his hands (occupy his nights) because he isn't sleeping, isn't eating- and the hunted look mori fixes to his features tells him she's the same.
[ Chuck nods at the gloves and Mako holds them out into the space between the both of them. Anyone else and they would be a peace offering, a kind of token, some sort of acknowledgment of the past week and what has happened between them. But for Chuck and Mako — people who have long since stopped extending those sorts of gestures to one another and to the world as a whole — it's simply this: a passing between hands. An object belonging to one becoming an object belonging to another. No further meaning beyond simple practicality.
(Chuck needs gloves. Mako has them. Deal done.)
Her gaze lingers on Chuck's face for a moment longer, eyes skirting the shape of his mouth and the hood of his brow. There would be meaning in that look too if she just allowed it, but she doesn't, just accounts for what is there and what isn't like marking off boxes on a laundry list. ]
How long has it been? [ Since he last slept; since he last ate; since he last spoke to his father or to Raleigh. ]
Long enough. [ it's as much an answer as it isn't an answer at all. it gets the point across all the same. if mori's going to try to come in close, chuck's giving her a warning shot. as far as he can wager, she's sidestepping just as much and just as wide as he is, and chuck has no intention of dragging his boots in until he's good and ready. (that much, on the other hand, has always been a matter of speculation. chuck sulks too long and nurses his pride because he has nothing else to nurse and enough rope to hang himself. he comes charging back in when he's called or not at all- he just kicks the door off it's hinges on the way as if it'll make the choice more his own.)
chuck pushes off the wall, pushes into motion, so they can distance themselves from the entire conversation, the facsimile of exchanges they'd had as children. (there are some things you can't go back to) his gait, however purposeful, is a half beat slower all the same. a wordless accommodation for mori's injury. ]
[ Chuck doesn't make a big deal about Mako's injury, simply adjusts accordingly as if equilibrium was something they were capable of, even though it isn't. He doesn't draw attention to it, doesn't mention or ask or even give her side a lingering glance. (And that's because, between the both of them they could teach a master class on self-denial as self-realization but Chuck, at the end of the day, has always been better than Mako at compartmentalizing based on the broadest of strokes.)
Even though he slows his gait to match hers, she immediately tries to pick up the pace of her own. Not enough to manage a normal stride but enough for the effort to be seen for what it is: a compromise and an unwillingness to hinder the other members of the team with her own failings.
There's a spare pair of gloves tucked in the back of Mako's slacks, she pulls them free and holds then in her own hands, the other pair having been given to Chuck in the moment before. She glances sideways at him. ]
[ chuck tugs them on half to have something to do. a place to turn his attention, something tangible (safe, neutral) to focus on. it's always been in his nature to turn outward- avoid introspection at every possible turn, and this isn't any different. chuck won't let it be any different. ]
[ There's a moment when Mako simply looks over at Chuck and glares at him, glares as if he's broken some cardinal rule to the limits of the conversation. Not that Mako should be surprised, that was what Chuck did after all. He look the carefully constructed confines of things and then proceeded to unapologetically break them down, one by one by one.
[ the divide comes in the lessons they've been taught. words about propriety and decorum and discretion. where mori learned respect, chuck chose brashness. avoiding me? she fires back, and while chuck's gaze cuts sharply to her features (it isn't like her, to cut to the chase) he doesn't flinch from the accusation. ]
[ They glare at one another for a moment, their behavior teetering between angry children and a couple of brawlers about to break out into a fistfight. Chuck has always had that effect on Mako, even when they were still young. Over the years she'd learned how to curb the impulse, how to take that frustration and turn it into focus for other things, but the previous week still lingers, running her ragged and making her tired. ]
You'll get over it, [ she says and then moves past to reach for a large bit of debris just beyond him. ]
[ chuck sets himself to the first available task- one that will expend enough energy that it'll feel like hitting something, one that puts him out of arm's reach, and one that keeps him in earshot. it isn't really a wall that stares back at him so much as the remains of one. weathered by the elements as much as by age. chuck smashes it's fractured surface on a handful of times with the blunt end of his hammer, and starts pulling it down by hand. whatever it might mean that he and mori spend their spare time comfortable in a city of rubble (in the ruins of what was) chuck resolutely declines to ask. ]
[ She'd assumed that conversation was over already and that the first swing of Chuck's hammer would welcome a period of drowned-out silence between the both of them. Which was fine with Mako — she wasn't expecting any more from him — so that he says something at all once a plume of plaster dust settles takes her by surprise enough to stare at him for a long moment.
She could not answer, could let her gaze do the talking. Mako wonders if being together makes Chuck that uncomfortable, that it would wring something out of him when he might otherwise have remained stubbornly silent. ]
Because we're not going to talk about it. [ That's how things were between them, weren't they? Mako straightens, tosses a half-rotted beam into the junk pile and places her hands on her hips. ] Unless we are.
[ It doesn't sound like an offer, but it is one (even if Mako isn't sure we wants to talk about it either). ]
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fine
im going
[aka i'm not sleeping and will accept this list of tasks to do ]
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The hardware store is currently inaccessible.
We'll need to attempt salvage instead.
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how much we need
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Enough to reconstruct most of the south wall.
The rot has gotten to the beams so they'll need to be reinforced.
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ill see what i can scrounge up
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You'll need the spare pair of hands.
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[ Don't make her say she might actually need the company. ]
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meet you by the gate then
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Five minutes.
I'll bring spare gloves.
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chuck doesn't take the time to pull his boots on because he hasn't taken them off. there are bruises under his eyes that betray a lack of sleep (he's lost track of the days) and he's paler than he should be (eating isn't the same when he still smells copper, still tastes blood.) ]
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There's a stiffness to Mako's gait as she favors one side of her body over the other. Under her clothes is the handiwork of Chuck's father, makeshift stitches keeping her closed, reminding her of things she would much rather put behind the both of them. Chuck sees her approach from a distance; she comes from the direction of the academic building rather than the dorms. ]
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but mori- mori shouldn't be locked up like that.
she closes the distance, comes in to meet him, and chuck doesn't know what she's trying to outrun- but he knows she's running. ]
( v i : d 3 ) action
There had been a moment — brief and beautiful — when Mako had thought she'd put it all behind her. That moment when they'd landed in the stadium of Hong Kong, the shock of impact still ringing in her calves, but a feeling (like laughter) bubbling up from inside her, fogging the glass of her helmet as Raleigh had asked you okay.
That feeling seems so far away now, standing awkwardly across from Chuck Hansen, her gaze lingering on the cut that cuts across the corner of his left eyebrow, the scar that's forming there bald and accusing. She had done that with her bare hand, Mako had. The knuckle of her right hand still bares the evidence of it from where the skin had split over bone, and maybe she'll have her own scar there too. (It seems only right. Fitting, almost, for the two of them.)
Her hand clenches loosely at her side. She has the impulse to touch it, to feel connected to Chuck in so much as she wants to feel connected to anyone in this moment. Ishimura has left her distant and disconnected and while part of her thinks that's okay, drifting with Raleigh has taught her that healing (proper healing) only comes from interconnectedness, not standing apart. ]
You look horrible. [ It doesn't come out concerned. More like fact. ]
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[ they've never stood on formality. not between the two of them. it was one thing for mori to carry herself with a straight spine- with rigid shoulders and a sharp gaze. she has always been the inverse of chuck's tightened fists and gritted teeth.
but his gaze makes it's way over her features- drawn and exhausted, and ultimately, ends in silence. it isn't for him to address. they don't share that kind of connection (not anymore) but then they're left exactly where they are now. standing opposite one another, wearing cuts and bruises like medals of honor. she has a pair of gloves in hand, and chuck nods in their direction in the absence of further greeting. she's avoiding becket, chuck's been trying to avoid her, and here they all are. he needs something to do, something to occupy his hands (occupy his nights) because he isn't sleeping, isn't eating- and the hunted look mori fixes to his features tells him she's the same.
lean and starving ghosts. ]
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(Chuck needs gloves. Mako has them. Deal done.)
Her gaze lingers on Chuck's face for a moment longer, eyes skirting the shape of his mouth and the hood of his brow. There would be meaning in that look too if she just allowed it, but she doesn't, just accounts for what is there and what isn't like marking off boxes on a laundry list. ]
How long has it been? [ Since he last slept; since he last ate; since he last spoke to his father or to Raleigh. ]
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chuck pushes off the wall, pushes into motion, so they can distance themselves from the entire conversation, the facsimile of exchanges they'd had as children. (there are some things you can't go back to) his gait, however purposeful, is a half beat slower all the same. a wordless accommodation for mori's injury. ]
Should find you a wheelbarrow.
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Even though he slows his gait to match hers, she immediately tries to pick up the pace of her own. Not enough to manage a normal stride but enough for the effort to be seen for what it is: a compromise and an unwillingness to hinder the other members of the team with her own failings.
There's a spare pair of gloves tucked in the back of Mako's slacks, she pulls them free and holds then in her own hands, the other pair having been given to Chuck in the moment before. She glances sideways at him. ]
We'd be better of building a wheelbarrow.
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Avoiding Becket?
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He asks about Becket. She returns the favor. ]
Avoiding me?
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Not well 'nough.
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You'll get over it, [ she says and then moves past to reach for a large bit of debris just beyond him. ]
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Why aren't you avoiding me.
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She could not answer, could let her gaze do the talking. Mako wonders if being together makes Chuck that uncomfortable, that it would wring something out of him when he might otherwise have remained stubbornly silent. ]
Because we're not going to talk about it. [ That's how things were between them, weren't they? Mako straightens, tosses a half-rotted beam into the junk pile and places her hands on her hips. ] Unless we are.
[ It doesn't sound like an offer, but it is one (even if Mako isn't sure we wants to talk about it either). ]
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