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He steps into the cockpit for the first time in five and a half years and almost loses his footing.
Not because he’s inside Gipsy, or because he’s in a shatterdome or because the little shadow Mako Mori knows enough about Jaegers to let him have this moment alone. He almost loses his footing because against reason and logic and what he knows the Jaeger can and cannot do, Gipsy is standing in front of him. Not the massive Jaeger but her heart, the thing that he sees when he connects. Who roared with them in battle and gave him and Yancy shit when they’re the slightest bit hungover. When Yancy died she screamed with him. It’s her screams he hears in his head when he thinks of that day. Hers and Yancys.
His throat closes because she’s standing in front of him, all dark colors and pale skin and with a wave of her hands the door slides shut, locking them both inside.
"You’re filthy," she says.
"It was a long fligh—" he trails off as she appears besides him.
"You’ve broken three fingers in the last year," she continues, her voice low and steady. She locks her blue green eyes, eyes the color of Yancy’s first girlfriend, on his and gives him a look of pure venom, “how do you expect to pilot with a shot side?"
"I’ll sit on the other," he says with a shrug.
She strides over to the other rig and drags her fingers along the rig which hisses under her fingertips. The smale smile never leaves her lips, but he doesn’t quite expect her to. She isn’t in his head right now, hasn’t been for a long time and the distance between them makes his throat tighten. She isn’t pleased to see him and he can’t blame her. He’s ecstatic to see her, but he wouldn’t be too thrilled to see him either.
"My body’s not the problem," he says.
"Don’t bullshit me," she snaps back, “I was in your head."
"Five years is a long time," he tries.
"Not long enough," she says and he swears to god that his arm hums along the neural suit burns, “and now you want to play big damn hero," she drawls folding her arms over the consol and looking at him, “just step in, suit up and save the world?"
"I have to find a copilot first," he says.
"I’ve already found you one," she replies. He raises his eyebrows, “Mako Mori."
"MIss Mori?" he questions looking at the door, “she’s the one whose compiled the list of candidates and restored you," he looks at the Jaeger, “she’s not a pilot though," he says, “she’s still just—"
"A candidate, I know," Gipsy says folding her arms, “perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Mako Mori is your co-pilot."
"That decision isn’t up to me."
The Jaeger folds her arms and looks at him steadily. Raleigh wants to shout because she knows the decision isn’t up to him. He has absolutely no say in who is or isn’t his copilot. It’s about compatibility. Pilots fall into two categories, ones who are compatible with one person and ones who are compatible with a few people. Pentecost and Hansen are like that. Raleigh definitely doesn’t think he is.
"Look this is ridiculous to begin with. I’m probably not going to find anyone," he says, “i’ll be back on the Wall before you know it and another crew can pilot you—"
She isn’t supposed to be able to slap him.
Really she isn’t. Their touches are done through the circuit suit. But he’ll be damned if she doesn’t back hand him and drop his ass to the ground like he’s a ton of bricks. He can’t move his hand to slap and exhaling doesn’t happen so the air gets slammed out of him with a whoosh. He chokes and tries to remember how to gasp as the round toes of Gipsy’s fuck me pumps—one of his kinks—come into view. She kneels down elegantly and grabs his chin between her fingers, forcing him to look at her and making it harder to breathe.
"Raleigh Becket and Mako Mori are my pilots," she says, “I will accept no others."
"Have you told the Marshall that?" he chokes out.
"I’ve communicated it to Miss Mori," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “she told me something about obedience and apologized," her fingers dig into his jaw, “I don’t like being given excuses for things that are easily fixable."
He nods in the cradle of her hands before she rises and his muscles are pretty much pulled along with her. Her fingers tug his jacket and sweater into place and a look of disgust crosses her features. Gipsy’s no stranger to dirt and rough and tumble, but her cockpit is a sacred environment. Not a place for filth from a monument to fear and flight.
"You’re sure about this?" he asks finally.
He doesn’t phrase the actual question. Does she want to inflict the fucked up things in his head on some poor girl? He remembers someone dying, remembers the pain and horror and the terror that people go entire lifetimes without feeling. He doesn’t want someone else to feel that. But Gipsy seems to know something he doesn’t. Her fingers linger on his chest as she smiles faintly.
"She’ll do fine," she says.
"Then how am I supposed to get her?" he asks, exasperated, “she’s not on that list."
"Yes," Gipsy says, “Marshall Pentecost is holding her back. He took her off the list himself."
"I repeat," Raleigh says, “how am I supposed to get her then?"
Gipsy smiles up at him.
"Convince him that the others are poor choices," she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “if no-one in the first round works, they need to go to the second. Widen the scope," she looks pleased with herself before she’s behind him, humming through the scars on his shoulderblade, “she’ll be watching your Kwoon time, they both will."
"And what?" he asks, “I just walk up to the Marshall and demand to spar someone standing next to him?"
"Change it up," Gipsy corrects, “you want to change it up."
"You realize he’s probably going to say no," Raleigh says as the Jaeger’s spirit hums through him, relaxing tension he didn’t know he was holding.
"Then you’ll ask him again," Gipsy commands, “until he says yes."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat as the tension positively seeps out of his neck and shoulders, erasing weeks of carrying machinery up and down the wall. He can practically feel her disgust at what he’s become and for the first time in a while he kind of agrees. He belongs in this cockpit, with this Jaeger. Not on a wall.
"This is going to be humiliating," he mutters, thinking of how the Marshall looks at him already.
"Good," Gipsy says, “then we’ll be even."
He opens his eyes but she’s gone. The doors are hissing open. He collects himself as best he can and walks out. He sticks his hands into his pockets as he falls into line behind the small woman Gipsy has commanded him to get as his co-pilot. If she thinks his silence is strange she doesn’t comment on it as they make their way to his room.
He jams his hands into his pockets and frowns when they connect with something hard. He draws his hand out to see two small candies wrapped in foil done to look like a strawberry and shakes his head at the sight of them. Mako gives him a look and he holds out his hand.
"I’ve got two left," he says, “want one?"