It's just some useless fluff, because sometimes you just need to write Mako in Raleigh's big jumper.
Raleigh is always surprised at the way she can make herself so small, almost fragile. So used to the way she stands straight in front of boards and politicians and soldiers, squaring her shoulders with her chin high, her eyes hard. She is fierce, powerful, she could raise armies and kill a Kaiju with her little finger. Beautiful and dangerous, like the swords her father made.
So, really, watching her curled up in the sofa like a child always has him in awe, always reminds him how young and innocent she actually is. Or, just right now, the way she sits by the kitchen counter, wrapped in an oversized jumper - his - with her knees to her chest and matching fluffy socks. There's a mug of hot tea next to her, white smoke twirling, and her laptop on the table in front of her, arm leaning on her knee to move a finger on the trackpad.
Her watches her from the doorframe, silence and loving, until she notices his presence. She smiles sweetly before going back to the screen, crunching her nose in concentration.
"Watcha working on?"
"Nothing."
He comes next to her, close enough to kiss her bare shoulder, before turning around to help himself to a glass of orange juice. Still, he glances at the screen, out of curiosity, and chuckles at what he sees. It's been a while since the last time he saw that website, but the blue navigation bar on the top is easily recognizable.
"Facebook?"
"Newt sent me a friend request," she replies, very matter-of-factly. "He has a whole photo album of his tattoos, it's... disturbing."
He knows what she means, has seen too much of Newton during a poker game gone wrong - things he wished he didn't know, images he'd gladly erase from his memory. Raleigh was better off only seeing the one he has on his arms and chest. Of course Newt would be the kind of guy to be proud enough to post the pictures of his inks online for everyone to see.
"Wait until you see Hermann's tattoo."
Her head moves so quickly it might actually be painful, and she stares at him with wide eyes and an amused-yet-curious grin until she notices the way he's holding back a laugh.
"You idiot!"
He barks a laugh. "You're so gullible, I'm sorry."
She huffs, barely trying to look angry, especially when he hugs her from behind with another kiss to her shoulder. They stay like that for a while, as he plays with the hem of the jumper and she stalks everyone they know. They both ignore the twist in their stomach at Chuck's name in her list of friends, at the little "Jazmine Becket, sister" on his profile page.
(He knows she lives in New York and has a husband and a baby girl and a nice job. He also knows she tried to call him after he saved the world, but what's the point when she didn't even reach out when their brother died. Mako scolded him for that because Jazmine is family, still. But Mako is an only child and, even if she's been in his head, there's some things you can never truly understand if you haven't lived them yourself.)
"Do you have baby pictures on that?" he asks instead, and he can actually feel the eye roll.
"I only created it to piss off Chuck, I have nothing on it."
Once upon a time when Chuck and her were friends, they would post pictures of themselves all over the world, of the Jaegers they saw and the Rangers they met. It was competition to them, who would make the other the more jealous. It was fun, also, in its own twisted way.
"You should update your profile, then, put stuff and all."
She chuckles at the way he phrases it but knows he's right. She has already told him she'd like to find some of her childhood friends, find out who's still alive, and knows it's an efficient way to do it - to show the world where she is and what's she doing instead of letting the journalists do the job.
So she opens her profile and writes down her job, their current location, even the last books she's read. The 'relationship status' part remains blank.
"Too bad they haven't added 'drift compatible with' to the list yet," she says with what she wants to be a little laugh but sounds more nervous than anything.
They don't talk about it. Never. They kiss and hug and have sex, they still ghost-drift sometimes and finish each other's sentences, but they never talk about it. They don't need to, in a way, even if she'd like to have a way to describe what they have. But here's the core of the problem. You can't describe what they have, people who are not pilots can't understand.
"What about..." he starts, leaning forward against her back to reach the laptop.
A single mouse click is enough to have her eyes wide as she stares at the screen, than at him, tries to read his face, to know if he's serious or if it's only a joke. He only gives her a small smile and wriggle his eyebrows. She wants to roll her eyes but settles for a breathless laugh.
"You're quite the romantic type, you know."
"I'll take that as a yes."
She can't throw a sarcastic comment because he's kissing her, low and deep and loving, and she finds herself sighing against his mouth.
Her profile reads "Relationship status: Engaged."