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He staggers out of the showers.
His legs feel like jello because four and a half hours of physical therapy will do that to even the most seasoned Jaeger pilot. Still he hates himself for his weakness. Next to him Max barks and shakes off the water as Chuck rolls his eyes at the dog.
"You can leave me alone, you know," he says, “I’m not going to fucking vanish."
Max ignores him and shakes again. The dog hates the water. Baths, rain, he hates it. But Chuck will be damned if Max doesn’t follow him everywhere these days, including in the showers. It’s like he’s got a pact with his dad. And that pact is that one of them has to be with him at all times. It’s infuriating as hell, especially when Max follows him into the showers, but a part of Chuck gets it.
Once again he’s an anomaly: a ghost that came back.
From a legal standpoint he was dead for a week and a half, which he doesn’t think his dad is ever going to let him forget. Now if it isn’t Max, it’s his dad but usually it’s both. They watch him like he’s going to vanish at any second and Chuck is trying to be understanding. He’s trying to be a lot of things these days. But it’s kind of difficult when his dog won’t even let him shower alone.
Someone knocks on the door and without thinking he goes over and pulls it open.
"Hey Mako," he greets, his eyes narrowing when hers widen for a moment before her expressions smoothes out, “sorry," he mutters looking at Max who barks, “he’s following me everywhere these days."
"I understand," she says with a smile.
"Yeah? You doing the same to pretty boy Raleigh?" he questions and receives a glare in response.
The teasing has taken on a good natured edge. After all, it’s hard to be mad at someone who saved the world and managed to pilot a Jaeger solo. But he’s not going to stop entirely. He reaches to the side and pulls out Max’s leash, holding it to her. She takes it and bends down to fix it to Max’s collar, receiving a wet kiss in response. He isn’t allowed out of the shatterdome yet and Mako’s walking Max when he and the newly christened Marshall Herc Hansen cannot. It’s also the only time that Max will leave him alone.
"He’s a sucker for a pretty girl," Chuck tells her. Mako looks up at him and then ducks her head to hide the distinct red he catches on her cheeks, “you feeling okay?" he asks.
"I’m fine," she straightens and smiles, “thank you for asking," she adds.
He nods. Being nice to pretty boy Raleigh is a struggle sometimes. Mako’s danger is how easy it is. Problem is that it always has been. Even back in the academy, being nice to her was easy. It wasn’t until later, after everything, that he learned to hate her. Or, at least, to pretend he hated her. Now though it’s more difficult. A part of him feels like most of what he pretended to be blew up with Striker in the ocean, leaving him completely untethered. The few anchors he has he finds himself holding onto with everything that he’s got.
"Come on," she says to the dog who looks at him and then trots towards her, “we’ll let you get dressed," she says to him and walks down the hallway.
Chuck fights not to groan as he realizes he’s still in a towel. Mako wouldn’t make a big deal of it but he feels oddly embarrassed all the same. He wipes the water from his skin and makes his way over to the drawers, pulling out a pair of boxer briefs and cut off sweats. He’s found it’s better to sleep in little, but he doesn’t want Mako to come in on him naked. It takes a couple tries for him to get the clothing on. The nerves on his left side are damaged and the re-stimulation seems to just make them hurt worse than they have any right to. Finally though he’s dressed.
He picks up the stress ball they’ve given him and closes his fingers around it. fighting not to yell as the contraction of the muscles aches. He’s in a constant state of pain and hates it, even if he knows that it’s a necessary thing for him to through. The ball drops from his fingers after countless reps, just as the door opens and Chuck swears at his own weakness before looking up at Mako. Concern flies through her eyes and he glares back.
"I’m fine," he says getting to his feet, his earlier desire to apologize evaporating.
"You will be," she begins and he glares harder.
"I am," he snaps back, “I’ve landed wrong on my arm before."
She looks at him calmly and he kind of wants to shove her just to prove he can. The sad thing is that he can’t. Not really. Not without hurting himself more than her. He’s landed on his arm wrong before. But he’s never been shocked, slammed and stuck in the bottom of the fucking ocean with his arm pinned behind him for two days. He pushes himself up and takes the leash from her.
"Thanks for walking him," he mutters.
She has to dig her fingers into his shoulder before he feels it. When he does he stops and his entire body tenses. People don’t touch him. Not past the firm touches from his physical therapists and the rougher ones from his father, an assurance that they are both alive. He turns and looks but her hand doesn’t leave his shoulder.
"You will be more fine," she says.
He smiles faintly at that. He sure as hell doesn’t feel that way. And all those promises he made of strength, of being unbreakable, they died on the bottom of the ocean with the one thing that ever made him feel invincible. He looks down at Mako. The blue in her hair has changed to a bright orange, like the warmth of Gipsy’s core and the one holiday the academy actually celebrated properly.
"Doesn’t feel like that," he admits finally, hating how her eyes soften.
"What does it feel like?" she asks.
"Like it hurts," he says, “it’s all just—" he trails off, “hurts," he finishes finally.
She nods and steps forward and though he wants to take a step back he can’t. He’s got no idea what she’s thinking about as her fingers soften on his shoulders and she pushes herself to her toes, gently pressing her lips to his. His eyes widen because her mouth is like velvet on his and he has no fucking clue what he’s supposed to do. Her mouth is soft and she moves slowly, deliberately until his mind seems to turn off and his lips follow hers.
She parts his and slips her tongue into his mouth. She tastes like mint and the green tea he know she keeps stashed away in her room cut with the sharper earl grey her Sensei loved. The name is on the tip of his tongue but she kisses it away, her lips soft and insistent on his. She leads and he follows until she pulls back. He drags an unsteady breath through his mouth and looks at her.
"Mako—what—" his voice is nothing more than a hoarse croak.
She silences him again with her mouth and though Chuck is confused, he is very happy to follow when she presses their bodies together. His hands settle on her back and she makes a little sound he knows is a yes. So he pulls her a little tighter and she nods. Her lips move from his mouth to his jaw, to the side that’s been tortured for days. She kisses it lightly, just enough for him to feel it.
"Mako," he says her name as she makes her way down to the hollow of his throat, “what’re you doing?" he gets out but his voice is so soft and choked it may as well be someone elses.
"Making it not hurt," she says against his skin and his eyes snap open.
"I’m—" he begins but she surges upwards and kisses him again.
It’s a whole different kind of torture now. Because the stubborn, childish part of him is saying that he’s fine and this is ridiculous. The rest of him is humming that it likes this very very much. Her lips are soft and one of her hands is buried in his hair. The other is dragging down his abs, getting closer and closer to the waistband of his sweat pants until she hooks two fingers inside, pressing her knuckles to the hair that leads from his naval all the way down.
She nips his bottom lip and he can’t help the sound that comes from the back of his throat. When he opens his eyes she’s looking at him and she’s smiling. There’s a glint in her eyes and he doesn’t know whether to feel ashamed, aroused, upset or relieved or some messed up combination of all of them. All he knows is that they all lead back to the woman pressing them together.
"Mako," he breathes her name. She looks at him and for the first time he ducks his head and kisses her.
He’s clumsy and unsteady but, hell, he doesn’t do this. Not the kissing, not the touching and definitely not what she’s doing when her knuckles dip lower on his pelvis. He pushes distractions away. And the little sounds she’s making to tell him what she likes are very, very distracting. And yet he wants to hear more of them. He wants to hear them all the time. He nudges her forward and she steps back perfectly, her fingers still hooked into his sweatpants.
She turns him and he feels the bed at the back of his knees. She gives him a little nudge and he bends them, sitting down. He drags his lips away from hers when she hitches a leg over him and sits on his lap, her legs on either side of his thighs. He stares at her for a moment before she leans forward and kisses him again, her hands smoothing along his shoulders. He pulls back and looks up at her, feeling oddly unsure because men are supposed to know what to do and he’s got no fucking clue except that he wants more of—whatever this is.
"Mako," he repeats her name but his voice comes out differently. She smiles and she’s so fucking beautiful he can’t imagine what she’s doing sitting in his lap, “I don’t—" he begins hoarsely and she wraps her arms around him.
"I’ll show you," she says and if he can think of an argument it’s silenced when she rocks her hips against his, “it a conversation," she whispers in his ear and he buries his face in her shoulder because that he understands.
She rocks her hips against his again and he’s helpless to stop his own from rocking to meet hers. Her hands bury themselves in his hair as he presses his face into her shoulder and then lower, feeling the softness of her body. She’s all tight lines and lithe muscle but there’s a softness there that sends his brain into overdrive.
She pulls back and shrugs out of the jacket she wears before pulling off her shirt. Her skin is smooth and unbroken save for several short lines that cut into her upper arm. He turns his face to those and presses his lips to them as their bodies rock together. She whimpers softly and he stills for a moment, disbelieve coursing through him that he can elicit that sound from her lips.
She shifts her body and he wants to pull her down but her hands slide into his pants before he can say that. She ducks her head and kisses him roughly as her hand wraps around his shaft. He stills, breathing roughly because the only person whose hand has been down there is him. She slides her hand along him, almost teasingly light before her fingers squeeze and he moans. She kisses his neck, behind his ear, her lips moving in the same tempo as her hand. Chuck squeezes his eyes shut as his hands press to her shoulders, feeling her muscles working under his palms.
He groans her name when he finally breaks apart.
They’re both breathing hard as Mako’s fingers leave his member. He presses his head into her shoulder, trying to regain his bearings and dimly aware that it has stopped hurting. When he feels like he can move, his hand slides around her as he turns them, laying her on his sheets. She shifts under him, pushing aside the second stress ball he keeps in bed. He tries to mutter an apology but his mouth is occupied by hers.
His hand drags to her belt and stills, unsure until she nods against his head, not breaking their kiss. He opens it one handed following it by her pants. He skirts the edges of her underwear, unsure of what he’s supposed to do, only that he can’t be the only one to feel something. She threads her fingers through his and guides his hand down.
"There," she breathes.
Then it’s all soft nudges and directions. This is his comfort zone. he is very, very good at following directions. He learns her body as much by what she says as by what she doesn’t. When she starts to make all those little sounds, he knows he’s doing something right. She clenches around his fingers, her back arching and he watches, spellbound by how uninhibited she is. He keeps moving his fingers until she settles back down, flushed and perfect.
Flushed and perfect because of him.
For the first time in a month he doesn’t feel entirely useless. A tremor races up his bad side but he doesn’t even feel it as her hands sooth his muscles. He slips his hand out of her and presses himself to the bed as he kisses her. She leans into his kiss, angling her body so that he has to lower himself onto his good side.
When she pulls back she’s breathing just as unsteadily as he is. But she gives a little know-it-all smile and runs her fingers down the length of his arm. His eyes follow her fingers.
"Does it hurt?" she asks and he can’t help the smile on his face.
"Only in a good way."