She only ever asks about one set of his scars. They're the kind of marks she envies, in a way, because it means he's done what she can only dream of. He's been a pilot, she's still the child staring at the Jaegers in awe and dreaming of being the hero inside one. Those are the battle scars that belong to legends. She doesn't ask about the little white lines that are too familiar. They mean you failed, you weren't strong enough, you gave up. She has those scars and she would trade them a thousand times for the others. The drivesuit lines mark a hero, like Stacker. The white lines on the wrists are for a failure, like her. She didn't think it was possible for one person to have both kinds of scars, and it gives her a little hope. Maybe the scars she has now doesn't mean she can't someday carry the others. When they come back from the Breach, she can feel the circuits in her suit burned into her skin, and feels like somehow those little white lines (the failure, coward, try harder, you lived when everyone else died for a reason and you're failing, you'll never be good enough, you'll never be a pilot, never get rid of the monsters that took everything from you, not good enough) should be gone. But they're there, still, on both their wrists. She touches her own, and then Raleigh's, and she can't help thinking, I'm still branded a failure. He hears her thoughts, and he takes her hand and presses his wrist to hers, so the lines match up just like the circuits in their heads. You are not a failure. You survived, and that's what those scars prove. Those are battle scars too.