[ Mako relaxes further when Raleigh settles, tugging the covers back up over the both of them as she contemplates the question. ]
It never came up. [ It's not like she could just dump that on him one day, could she?
Usually the dreams were tolerable, things she can take on her own -- and when it's not bad enough to rouse Raleigh from his sleep, she sweeps it under the rug and keeps it out of sight. ] And it was never this intense.
[His other arm settles around her waist easily, just another point of contact between them. He wants to say, since when does that matter but no, she has a point. It'd be kind of weird to have that dumped on him out of nowhere but no weirder than being woken up in the middle of the night by her and they're co-pilots. Nothing's off the table.]
Wish I could say those got better with time.
[Which she knows, the nightmares don't. Not when they're born of losing a co-pilot, for a few seconds or for forever, that kind of fear and loss doesn't go anywhere.]
[ Because Mako isn't an idealist, not in any sense of the word, and they both know better than to embrace the precious, precious lie that time could heal all wounds.
No, it doesn't go away. They've both lost family, they've both lost everything that could have mattered to them, and their wounds are things time cannot touch. Mako moves closer without thinking, seeking warmth, their connection. The weight of his arm is reassurance, and she exhales, her thoughts on him and Yancy, on what she'd seen in the Drift, and all that he had endured in silence.
Her hand brushes over the circuit burns on his bicep, the scars that would never go away.] You're not a very good liar.
[Raleigh laughs softly at that, because he knows he's a pretty shitty liar. It's something he's accepted about himself, never really considered to be anything like a fault. He just can't lie, doesn't like to lie, doesn't see the point in lying.
A thin thread of tension runs through him when she touches his scars, like it always does when anyone touches it or tries to, but he doesn't shake her hand off. She's probably the only one he would let do that.]
[ She knows. She likes that he's as honest as they come -- it's such a rare trait these days, and Mako appreciates it whenever it comes along. She pauses, aware of what it does to him, how her touch introduces that same flicker of tension; a visceral reminder of what happened that day in Anchorage.
She exhales, because nothing could compare to having a loved one die in his head, and presses her forehead to his chest. ] You're not alone. Not anymore.
[ She knows he knows that, but it never hurts to offer a reminder now and then. ]
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Raleigh settles down a moment after she does, laying on his side towards her with his arm acting as a pillow even though there's already one there.]
How come you haven't told me about this before?
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It never came up. [ It's not like she could just dump that on him one day, could she?
Usually the dreams were tolerable, things she can take on her own -- and when it's not bad enough to rouse Raleigh from his sleep, she sweeps it under the rug and keeps it out of sight. ] And it was never this intense.
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Wish I could say those got better with time.
[Which she knows, the nightmares don't. Not when they're born of losing a co-pilot, for a few seconds or for forever, that kind of fear and loss doesn't go anywhere.]
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[ Because Mako isn't an idealist, not in any sense of the word, and they both know better than to embrace the precious, precious lie that time could heal all wounds.
No, it doesn't go away. They've both lost family, they've both lost everything that could have mattered to them, and their wounds are things time cannot touch. Mako moves closer without thinking, seeking warmth, their connection. The weight of his arm is reassurance, and she exhales, her thoughts on him and Yancy, on what she'd seen in the Drift, and all that he had endured in silence.
Her hand brushes over the circuit burns on his bicep, the scars that would never go away.] You're not a very good liar.
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A thin thread of tension runs through him when she touches his scars, like it always does when anyone touches it or tries to, but he doesn't shake her hand off. She's probably the only one he would let do that.]
You're too stubborn to believe it anyway.
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[ She knows. She likes that he's as honest as they come -- it's such a rare trait these days, and Mako appreciates it whenever it comes along. She pauses, aware of what it does to him, how her touch introduces that same flicker of tension; a visceral reminder of what happened that day in Anchorage.
She exhales, because nothing could compare to having a loved one die in his head, and presses her forehead to his chest. ] You're not alone. Not anymore.
[ She knows he knows that, but it never hurts to offer a reminder now and then. ]
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Raleigh dips his head down to press his lips against her hair for a moment.]
You're not either.
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It's time we got back to sleep. Long day tomorrow.