For tielan
She had grown used to the quiet type of affection. The type that occasionally had her second-guessing herself, that made her unsure whether or not it was acceptable to openly demonstrate her love. She knew she was appreciated, loved, though it was shown in small, yet meaningful ways.
Stacker Pentecost had been her father when she had lost hers, and he had looked after her.
He had taken her with him wherever he went, wherever they needed him. He had made sure she was comfortable when they traveled and more so when they didn't, checking her bunk for whatever he deemed unsafe or strange enough to warrant attention. He had taken the time to learn and master her language and he had made himself approachable, freeing his afternoons from busy Shatterdomes for them to have a meal together.
She knew he loved her because there were times, - though far more common when she had been a child than later on, - when he had pulled her close and told her so.
She had met Tamsin and had known he also loved this woman quietly. Together they would visit her when they could, and he would easily drop his "tough guy face" as Tamsin had liked to call it. Mako had liked seeing them interact together, Stacker fussing gently over Tamsin and her health and then cooking for the three of them.
So she did not feel abandoned if there were days when he forgot to tell her he loved her.
Yet she was being unfair if she said he was never affectionate. He bought her everything she needed and more, dresses when she had been small enough for them, Jaeger action figures when she asked for them. In his day, he'd been one of the best of the rock stars, and he could afford to delight her with gifts. He dedicated time and attention to her. He protected her. So when she had been old enough and insisted on attending the Ranger Academy, she knew it was fear of losing her that had made him acquiesce, for he knew she would go with or without his consent. And it was love for him that made her ask for his consent in the first place.
When his fixed, sure, and grounding presence was finally gone, she knew she would miss his quiet love. She would miss the warmth in his sincere dark eyes, the feeling he was watching, making sure she was well, the deep rumble of his voice calling her name.
But where Stacker Pentecost's love had been quiet, Raleigh's was anything but.
His was loud in less than discreet ways. Finding her in a crowd of admirers demanding signatures and pictures, his blue eyes would burn through her until they met hers and he would remain distracted until he was beside her, his palm on the small of her back, her shoulder almost brushing against his chest. In and out of Shatterdomes, in front of cameras or out walking in search of peace, he would offer his hand for her to hold. Of course she would, to avoid the crestfallen expression that would surely mar his features, only to be rewarded when he would bring her hand up to his lips and tenderly place a caressing kiss on the back of her hand.
He would bring her food to where she was sitting, remember which was her favorite drink and gift it to her, surprise her with a long stemmed rose, red as Gipsy's war paint. He would brighten just by making her smile, and through whatever remained of their Drift she could feel his simple joy at having her near, and the thrumming love he already nurtured for her.
"You do know of the dangers of this?" She asked one day when he was cooking for her and she was sitting on the countertop, wearing one of his shirts. They had sneaked into the Shatterdome kitchen, after having decided to visit all of them privately.
Raleigh looked up from the poofy and very delicious-looking omelette he was making and she felt his brilliant blue eyes search her gaze. "Dangers of what?"
Of course, he knew what she was asking, and she knew that he was a little scared of her question. She had never told him she loved him, though he had made his affection clear many times now. He was afraid of her refusal.
"You cooking for me. The domesticity."
He frowned down at the omelette, pretending to focus on it.
"I like domesticity." Raleigh remembered, and through the Drift they thought of Yancy, of Tasmin, of the meals made.
Mako sighed and looked away from his omelette.
"Your omelette, Mako. I never dream about food I'd like for breakfast." Now he was hurt, and she was sorry.
"Raleigh, I didn't-"
"I know. It's fine." He turned off the stove and reached for dishes to serve the omelette.
It was only later, when they were in the Kwoon room, sparring like demons from another world, blows blocked, received and thrown back, and the smacking sound of solid wood against wood, that she realized how much sense everything made. They were play fighting, their moves increasing in speed, and before her mind registered why, her body was already moving. She jumped as Raleigh moved, his hanbÅ whistling beneath her and she swung hers over his head even as he ducked and stepped away. They smiled at the continued synchronization of the way they moved and she felt a pleasant warmth in her chest.
She could feel the compatibility in their harmony, their sparring like a dance, one never ahead of the other. It was then she knew. She was anchored by his presence. She was helped up by his caressing gaze. She was loved so loudly by Raleigh, she could not help but admit she loved him too.