I
The first girl you ever meet is your mother. You don't remember meeting her. You don't remember much at all before your fifth birthday and the toy trucks driving across the cake, but you remember Mom and the way she would make dinner and fix your hair and put band-aids on your boo-boos. Mom was a wonderful person and she could do anything; you were convinced she was a superhero.
The second girl you meet is Jasmine. Of course, you don't remember meeting her either. Unlike Mom, Jasmine wasn't magical. She could be downright mean, so Yancy would protect you. Jasmine had wanted a little sister so badly, and instead she got another little brother, so she sulked. If she had to help watch you, she'd try to make you play doll-house or Barbies or some other thing with too much pink. You'd get bored and start sending the dolls bungee jumping from the roof of the doll house or send Barbie to battle aliens, and then she'd yell at you that you were playing wrong. If Yancy was home, he'd come in and save you, but other times you didn't have him around and you'd yell back at her until Mom came in and put you both in time-out.
Jasmine did eventually grow out of her sulking phase, but first impressions run deep and you still can be on edge with her.
II
Your first crush (hell, your first real interactions with a girl that isn't related to you by blood) is the girl in the dress with the pink and white flowers. You meet her on the first day of first grade; her seat is next to yours because her last name comes after "Becket" in the class roster. When she smiles, you can see her tiny little baby teeth, still perfectly straight and without gaps. You have a gap where your top front tooth should be, like most of your classmates.
And while that pink and white sundress is lovely, you never see her in a dress again. She chooses to play soccer and kickball and climb the monkey bars. When her older brother picks her up from school, he lets her ride his skateboard, and when she asks, he lets you ride too. She gets hit in the face during a game of kickball and finally loses a tooth (and chips another one).
Everyone in the class thinks you love each other until she kicks the first kid to suggest it.
You do love her, but you love her the same way you love Jasmine or Yancy. You don't want to marry her or something stupid like that. Still, you let her hold your hand when your class goes to Adventure Land and she gets scared on the roller coaster.
She moves the next summer, since her dad's in the army, and you never see her again.
III
There are the girls in your karate class, the girls at school, the girls who live in the neighborhood. Not one of them leaves any particular impression, especially after you get in your first big fight after school (the bully thought your name was stupid, which quite frankly it kinda is). You gained a reputation as a brawler after that, but it somehow lead to more fights. Then again, it's not like you tried to avoid them.
Then, in your freshman year of high school, she entered in like a bolt of lightning. She was in your geometry class, and you knew she was on the girls' soccer team, but that didn't prepare you to have that black and white ball come and hit the face of the varsity football lineman. She came rushing up a moment later and stepped between the lineman and his intended target, some tiny kid who probably needed more sun and less video games. You're a gentleman, and already were on your way, with Yancy in tow, to help the kid, so you interposed yourself between her and the hulking son-of-a-bitch, who decided that going up against three was too much and left with a sulking pace. The nerd picked up his dropped backpack and Yancy checked to make sure he was alright.
"Where'd you learn to kick like that?" you asked.
"I've played soccer all my life," she replied. "You're Raleigh Becket, right? I think I sit behind you in geometry."
"Um..yeah." Her hair was the color of flame and her eyes were the color of a sea storm, and all you could think about is how gorgeous she was, soccer jersey and muddy cleats and everything.
Yancy jingled his car keys and interrupted. "Rals, let's go. I'm starving. And she has practice."
She was already running to the field as your brother grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you away.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Raleigh!" she called as she disappeared around the corner of the field house.
You sat in front of her during class the next day, and she hissed that "you're too tall, Raleigh Becket, I can't see the board". You leaned left and she whispered "thanks". When you whispered back "you're welcome", the teacher asked if you and your girlfriend could stop flirting and pay attention to class.
When you got your first test back, one that you failed fantastically, she casually offered to help you.
"Yeah, that'd be great," you told her, "but you've never even told me your name."
"It's Sarah Palmer," she laughed. "Did I really never tell you?"
You shook your head and she laughed even harder.
Two days later, you knocked on her door. Her dad answered and let you in. "So, you're dating Sarah?"
"No, Dad, he's not. I'm helping him in geometry. And he's not a bad guy."
Her dad looked back at you with an arched brow. "I hope not."
She lead you to the dinning room, where a pizza and a two liter bottle of coke sat on the table. "Hope you like pepperoni," she said.
You took a slice just to be polite.
Sarah was a genius, but she was patient and she explained things over and over and over. You spent every Saturday afternoon in her dining room for six weeks. You stared going to football games together. You bought hot chocolate to keep her warm, and she bought you sour-punch straws. Your high school's team sucked, but you liked spending the time with her. She asked what you thought about that Kaiju attack. You were friends. Then, abruptly, she moved your sessions to the library.
"One more comment from my dad, and I'm going to go crazy."
"Why?"
"We're not dating. Nor will we be."
"Oh." It felt like a blow to the stomach then. In fact, it felt worse than a blow to the stomach. You'd been punched in the stomach before and it didn't hurt as much. You turned to face your book, hoping that you could use it to hide your expression.
"I mean, we aren't, are we?"
You glanced over and saw her face tinged with pink underneath her freckles.
"I don't know, you tell me." You crossed your arms over your chest and grinned at her.
She grinned back. "If we are, you certainly have been a lousy date."
"Me? A lousy date?"
"Only if we've been dating."
"I'm going to show you what an excellent date I am." You slammed the book shut. "We're going to the movies."
"Right now?"
"Yes, now. Screw the proofs."
"But," she started to say, and then stopped mid-thought. "Y'know what? Let's go."
You already had your learner's permit, and today you had the keys to your brother's truck. So you let her in first, and drove to the theater. You don't even remember what it was you saw, but you do remember that Sarah held your hand and that when you kissed her goodnight on her doorstep, your heart was pounding and she sighed a little (and as a bonus, her dad did not try to shoot you with a shotgun).
She was a wonderful first girlfriend (and a damn good kisser), and your relationship ended neatly. There was no fight, no scandal, just a quiet growing apart after a few months. You were both ok with that, and managed to stay friends.
You cheered loudest when she delivered the valedictorian speech at graduation and made little references to the inside jokes shared by your circle of friends. You went to the Academy with your brother and she went to MIT and got a degree in chemistry.
And while you never saw her again, you know that she became a part of the K-Science program. As a matter of fact, Newt and Herman knew her, and said she was very well respected.
IV
You don't count any of the flings you had once you became a pilot. The girls threw themselves at you and at first you didn't care.
But then Yancy gets torn out of your life and you try to forget it all. Everything.
V
The only females you see on the Wall are working, and most would sooner piss off a Kaiju than sleep with any of the men there. If they're even interested in men.
And you're not interested. At all.
VI
Against your better judgment, you still follow Stacker Pentecost back to the Hong Kong Shatterdome. You still don't want someone in you head, and you still don't want to re-awaken your sleeping memories, but you certainly don't want to die on a wall.
When you step onto the helipad, your heart stops short. You don't believe in love at first sight, so you blame it on the fact that Mako Mori is the first female you have seen in over a year, and the first female who actually looks at you in five. You pretend that she isn't gorgeous and has an overly serious air about her that you can't resist poking at a little with your horrible Japanese. But, you can already feel her surprise in your mind. You haven't even stepped inside the 'dome yet, and your heart has already determined that she is perfect. Your mind tells your heart to be realistic.
The Marshal hasn't changed in the five years you've been away, still business and order and commanding. You can ask questions, but there's no guaranteed answer. Instead, you follow behind Mako as she leads you to "your" Jaeger. (Your Jaeger is somewhere in bits and pieces in Oblivion Bay and the Pacific Ocean near Alaska.)
And then there she is.
Gipsy Danger is perfect and whole and gleaming. And Mako was in charge of this. Your girl is alive because of her. You're in shock and wonder and awe and lost in the memories, and you can't even begin to articulate anything.
Once you finally thaw out enough to think again, you make small talk with Mako. You listen for the sound of her voice more than her story, though it does shock you that with her "fifty-one drops, fifty-one kills" she's not a candidate. (And this, of course, makes your heart clench, because it really, really, really wants your co-pilot to be her. Your brain tells your heart to get a grip on itself, but it thinks Mako should be at least given a chance.) You don't find it uncomfortable that she thinks you're too off the page in your tactics; you're somewhat inclined to agree with her. After all, if you and Yancy had followed orders, maybe he'd still be alive. Or maybe you'd both be dead.
Her mind is still bumping against yours two mornings later, but you don't need it there to know she's ten feet behind you looking displeased. Her expression gives that away.
"Ok, what? You don't like them? I thought you selected them personally."
"Excuse me?"
"Every time a match ends, you make this little," you pause and try to recreate it, "gesture. Like you're critical of that performance."
"It's not their performance, it's yours. Your gambit. You could have taken all of them two moves earlier."
Ah. So you're not good enough. You blink. Then it dawns on you that she's right. You're out of practice, the candidates are good, but not great, and she could probably knock you flat on your back in the ring.
And look really hot while doing so.
"Can we change this up? How 'bout we give her a shot?"
Her enthusiasm brushes against you.
"No. Stick to the candidate list we have, Ranger. Only those with Drift-Compatibility-"
She says something quietly to the Marshal, so you take advantage of the pause. "What's the matter, Marshal, don't think your brightest can cut it in the ring with me?" You're back to playing the part you played five years ago: cocky and self-assured. You know the Marshal will hate it, but if it gets you time with Mako...
Less than five minutes later you're on your back, looking up at her face, and your heart is beating in double-time, not from the exertion alone. She touched me, she touched me, she touched me, your heart sings. And I was right, she looks really hot. Your brain has given up trying to get your heart to shut up, and goes along, proclaiming that she is perfect and your co-pilot has been found. It's all you can do not to hug her, so you settle for resting a possessive hand on her back.
Since your brain and your heart are finally in agreement about something, it's a crushing blow to hear the Marshal say, "That's not possible."
You try to contain your enthusiasm for Mako, both as your co-pilot and as the object of your heart's affection, when you try to convince her to go against the Marshal. But there's something there that outweighs any jolt of electric connection she felt, and she refuses to tell you what it is.
You're left staring at her door before you decide to do anything except think about where your life decided to take this crazy left turn.
You can feel her, discipline fighting to restrain enthusiasm, before she steps in the conn-pod.
"You look good," you offer. Your mind does its best to make that sound like she looks like a pilot. Your heart does otherwise. Your mind wins (you hope).
The only way you can describe her mind is intense. It's a mesh of beauty and fear and hope and focus and drive and...is that Terror? (The only way to describe it is with a capital 'T'.)
It isn't Terror, it's TERROR.
And you live it with her. You feel every step, every emotion, every little thing. You know her innermost self. It's an eventual result of the Drift that you expect, but this is so early, so vivid, and so intense that you barely maintain your control over your body before collapsing on the floor, holding Mako just to remind her (or is it you?) that it was a memory.
So, when Chuck-who-needs-a-kick-in-the-ass says "one of you bitches needs a leash", you're more upset over his insult to Mako than to you. You can roll with it. You can deal with it. You've heard worse in your life. What you can't deal with is anyone talking to a lady like that. Ever. You throw the first punch.
I can take care of myself, she says to you. The connection is almost as strong as if you were drifting.
Next time, you reply. This one is for me.
You feel her mental shrug. I'll be here if you need me, she says with a little smile that you feel more than see. You know what that smile means. It means "I'll be here when you need me". Yancy used to do it to you all the time.
Next thing you know, your heart is breaking and part of your brain is too. And for once since you landed on that pad, it's not the romantic part of your heart that's saying anything. Your heart is breaking for Mako, for her crushed dreams, and for the pilot bond that could have been. And you had enough trouble accepting that you would let someone in, and there is no way that you could tolerate anyone else now. Your co-pilot is still alive, but you're not going through this again.
You plead.
You reason.
You beg.
The only result is a lecture from the Marshal and the closing lift doors.
You spend the rest of the day working yourself to exhaustion with a punching bag and barely wake up in time for dinner. You're not surprised that people look at you with that expression clear on their face. You don't know what language it is that they whisper to each other, but you know what they say. Mess hall E falls silent as you look for an open seat somewhere, anywhere, but you don't need the silence to know who it is that just entered. Your mind can already feel hers, now restrained through sheer willpower; she doesn't want to feel your thoughts, she wants them out.
Come on, you shout. It's not like there's empty seats anyway.
You spend dinner deepening the bond between Gipsy Danger, Mako and yourself. You don't care if the Marshal assigns you someone else, Mako is your co-pilot and there is no way around it. She buffers the uncomfortable edges of the hole in your mind. She doesn't come close to filling it; no one ever could. But there, bathed in the light of Gipsy's heart and serenaded by the sounds of workmen, you do your best to let her in, not just within the forced openness of the Drift, but in the way someone who only has words and actions does.
There is no time for celebration, no time for a reprieve. The choppers let you hitch a ride back to base, and the lifeless shells of the two remaining Jaegers are brought back for the fastest repairs possible. The clock begins to tick anew. Yes, your mind feels comfortable and whole and complete, but you're back to your dance with Death faster than you thought possible.
You stand with Mako in the conn-pod and run the start up for the second, and probably last, time. Even without the Drift or its residual effects, you both know what the other is thinking. There is so much hanging, unsaid, in the air.
"All those years, carrying around my past," you say, "I never thought about the future. I never did have good timing." You hope it says everything, but you know it says almost nothing.
Except it tells the truth. The truth that right there, running pre-fight checks, you realized there is a possibility for an Earth without Kaiju, a world with less fear, a life that you can spend growing old. Old. It never seemed a possibility before. And now you want to grow old and see the future (with flying cars and jetpacks), the oceans cleared, cleaned and swimable again, and your children. Your brain stands with your heart now; it has conceded this battle.
You don't have time to dwell on those things now, or for several hours, so you tuck them deep and save them for later (you hope).
You only think of her and her safety. You pray that God forgives you for leaving her like this (not that you're particularly religious).
Your life flashes before your eyes, and all you can think is that Mako will be alright, but you never got to say a real goodbye. You hope she understands.
Don't go.
It's like a prayer. No, like a call.
So you answer it.
Turns out that later did come and you have all the time in the (newly safe) world to figure out that future thing.