co_pilot | (no subject)

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The next leg of their tour is the European section - there aren't as many cities that were directly affected by the kaiju here, though the people seem no less effusive in their enthusiasm. Mako is at an equal disadvantage when it comes to the talk shows - her languages are better, perhaps, than Raleigh's, but she doesn't possess complete fluency in this particular part of the world.

The interviews are fairly easy to get through, though they always manage to end up fielding some question about the two of them.

("Mr. Becket, Ms. Mori, can you talk to me about the status of your relationship?")

Too many shared glances, too many moments alone; people don't want to talk about the losses of the past. They want gossip, sensational news. It's enough to make her want to scream, or tear her hair out in frustration.

She settles for the next best thing - the exercise room of the hotel they're staying in is empty at night, and there's enough space for her to wind through the movements that calm her.

She doesn't need to watch her form in the mirrors around the room; she merely closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing - and lets the stress slip away.

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"You know there's talk of reconstructing a Jaeger to turn it into some kind of amusement park ride?"

For as much as Raleigh thinks that piloting has its fun parts, it is obvious he disapproves.

"And then the Dome will probably end up a museum."

"Mmm."

From the tone of her response, it's clear she doesn't approve of the idea either.

"Well, there is one Jaeger that won't end up in a museum."

"Nope. But she doesn't even exist anymore, so I'm not quite sure which one's worse."

"She held her own until the end," Mako murmurs, stepping to him.

Her fingers gently encircle his wrist.

"I know. So did Yancy, Hansen, Stacker, everybody - that doesn't make it easier.

"Sometimes," he admits, "It does make it better, but it's a damn fine line."

She nods.

Her hand drifts away, and she takes a few steps further into the hangar, the sound of her footfalls echoing off the empty shapes.

Currently, they're standing in front of the bay where Crimson Typhoon was housed, before.

"...What came first, the pilots or the Jaeger?" he tries to joke.

"Well, you were first, before me," she points out, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

"And I suppose we were both the last."

"Mmm."

Raleigh walks over to the base of the stairway that would have taken a pilot to the cockpit section, plopping himself down on the step and taking another long drag from the bottle.

"Did you know I was going to send you up first? In the Breach?"

"I might have guessed as much, when you gave me your air."

She joins him at the bottom of the stairs, sitting one higher.

"The rest is somewhat of a blur."

Raleigh moves and impatiently taps on Mako's knee so that he can sit with his back facing her, between her legs on his step.

"Likewise. I just remember thinking that I was blowing up Yancy. You. Me. But it needed doing."

"I wouldn't have let you, you know."

She nudges his shoulder with her knee.

"If I had not been slightly unconscious."

"Only slightly, huh?" Raleigh looks up at her, at the staircase behind them both.

"Maybe more than slightly."

There are flashes in her memory, brief flickers of awareness - but she hadn't completely realized what had happened until the brightness of daylight had blinded her - and she'd waited for him to surface, for any sign of life.

"It seems you gave me no choice in the matter."

"I wasn't about to lose another partner. Especially you."

"And if I had lost you?"

There's a sudden spark in her voice, a brief spike of emotion.

"I..."

Definitely don't have an appropriate response.

"You and Tendo would've thrown me the best of memorials."

She smacks his arm, gently, and then steals the bottle from him, discreetly sipping.

"I mean it! You would've read some sort of poetry about my biceps and everyone would miss me."

She scoffs quietly around a swig from the bottle, thumbing the edge of her mouth.

"It would be a short poem. A haiku."

"Brevity is the soul of wit, said...somebody I don't remember."

"Are you drunk, Mr. Becket?"

"Possibly." Enunciated awkwardly.

"Feels nice to be drunk on something I didn't have to beat a guy up for. Working on the Wall wasn't fun."

"If it wasn't fun - what was it like?"

"...A hustle. Jobs were fought for hours after the last guy that had them fell off the Wall or burned himself or anything. Always only half-full.

"Some of the things were fun. Building was something to work on, 'specially..."

Especially after the last ride with his brother.