Chapter Text
By the time Arthur wakes from sleeping fourteen hours straight he doesn't feel rested, he feels hungover and disoriented. Even though his hands are unsteady, he shaves because of regs he's not even sure are being enforced anymore, and the unrelenting itch is more than he can deal with right now. As he towels off his face, he wonders what Yusuf reported to Saito and what orders have been doled out accordingly. Nobody's been knocking on his door and he's pretty sure, given their nature, Sasha and Aleksis would have checked on him by now unless told not to.
As for Eames?
He has no goddamn idea what Eames will and won't do anymore and he's nowhere near the right state of mind to try and sort that out. Christ, he's not in much shape to do anything right now. It's something that becomes glaringly apparent when he ventures out of his quarters around noon and heads towards the mess hall, his body having skipped right past the benign feeling of hunger and barreling right into feeling queasy and even more sluggish.
After spending so many days in seclusion the loudness and bustle of people is jarring and grating. He's honestly torn between either aborting, taking the next asshole that invades his personal space in the food line to their knees, or just gritting his teeth and keep his shit together. He opts for the last one, even though there's a few near misses with number two.
The moment he enters the dining area, though, the air takes on a nervous edge, honed by a titter of whispers and quick not-so-subtle glances at him. In the middle of the room Penny's and Ringer's crews have taken over two tables. There are some hand motions, welcoming him over, but Arthur isn't ready. He's not sure he will be for a while yet. So, he just nods in acknowledgment and thanks, and then heads for an empty table at the far end of the hall along the perimeter and puts his back to the wall. Amazing how old habits come back with a vengeance when you feel a shaky, because while he's not explicitly watching the comings and goings, he's aware. Aware enough to know that Ariadne is going to join him long before she does.
He gives her points for not asking for permission and not offering an awkward greeting. She just claims the spot across from him like it was saved just for her.
"So I'm guessing by the way Sasha was glaring at me before the briefing that you've already been given the rundown," she says conversationally as she tears her roll in half.
"Your name's Ariadne, part of the last batch to graduate from the Jaeger Academy, and you're Eames' copilot."
She takes a bite of bread, chews, swallows, and nods. "Sort of with the Academy thing. Most of my training was actually in the Proving Ground labs."
That causes Arthur to take pause and really look at her. "As a J-Tech or labrat?" he asks because he'll be damned if he assumes anything at this point.
"J-Tech. I was a postdoc working on the next generation PONS. During testing I accidentally impressed all the right people and given all that was going on they had me switch to pilot training and kind of follow in Dr. Lightcap's footsteps." Ariadne leans forward a bit, catches his gaze and holds it, her expression far too knowing. "Just so you know: when I was a J-Tech, Miles was my mentor."
Arthur goes still.
Miles.
Mal's father, Miles.
Jesus Christ, the PPDC is a god damn soap opera.
"How many live drops have you had?" he forces himself to ask because he'll be damned if he looks away first.
Ariadne tilts her head to the side at the question and studies him before she answers. "Three, all with Penrose and Eames. First two were a double deploy though."
"Lab to CONN-pod had to be quite an adjustment."
"Yeah. I guess so. It's just, piloting a Jaeger, the Drift…it's so much more than I could have imagined even understanding the systems and mechanics inside and out. It's pure cause and effect on a scale so much larger than ourselves. I just…it's incredible." Sheer joy and wonder lights her face and words. Arthur smiles softly in return and envies her. It's that envy that provokes him to needle her.
"Your first live drop was with Cherno?"
Ariadne finally looks away and winces. "Yeah. It…wasn't one of my best."
"Chased the R.A.B.I.T.?" he asks even though he knows the answer and knows he's being an asshole.
"Given the Kaidonovskys' high opinion of me do you really have to ask?" Ariadne replies, both her tone and small smile self-deprecating. God, he wants to hate her, but she's a good kid. She's just so damn green and clearly still in the honeymoon phase of being a Ranger it's enough to give him a headache.
She hasn't been severely injured yet.
Hasn't lost anybody in combat.
Hasn't lost herself.
Arthur forces himself not to wince but apparently he doesn't get control of his expression quite fast enough or she's damn observant.
"How are you feeling?" she asks and is disarmingly sincere.
He can see how she's Drift compatible with Eames and that thought turns his stomach and nauseates him.
"I'm fine," Arthur automatically replies and swallows down bile as his gaze flicks past her shoulder to Sasha approaching them, her expression unreadable. She comes to a stop in front of their table, puts her hands on her hips, and focuses completely on him.
"Good. You have crawled out of hole before you needed to be drug out. Now, come. There is a meeting."
Arthur smirks and shakes his head as tosses his silverware on the tray, Sasha's briskness a familiar comfort. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
"I'm glad we finally had a chance to talk," Ariadne offers as he stands.
"Me too," he replies and nods his goodbye and follows Sasha. As they leave the the mess hall, Arthur tosses his tray on the little conveyor belt.
"Is she giving you trouble?" Sasha asks once they make a left down a less busy corridor heading deeper into the Shatterdome.
"Is there really a meeting?" he replies.
"Yes."
Arthur stops because doing this in the middle of a not-so-busy hall is going to be better than waiting until later. Lord knows how long it's going to be until he falls apart again. "Sasha."
She turns and takes a few steps back towards him, eyebrow arched and gaze scrutinizing. He knows that what he has to say is going to go over oh so well.
"Ariadne's young in ways we never were."
Fury snaps Sasha's expression tight and feral, pulls back her lips and bears her teeth. "Things are not right. Things have happened and things are happening that should not be and you will not convince us differently. We know you."
Arthur winces and forces himself not to recoil away from her. His reaction is so very against his nature that it just serves to underscore how fucked up he is and that summons his anger. "It's not things, Sasha. It's me," he grinds out and Jesus fucking Christ why can't she see that? He's the one that couldn't keep his shit together, couldn't keep memories straight and he let them twist and stretch his mind until his psyche snapped.
"Idiots. All of you are idiots. And now we are late," she snarls. Pivoting sharply she continues stalking down the corridor. Arthur balls his fists, follows her through twists and turns to Saito's small office, feeling threadbare and shaky. By the time they enter and the door closes behind them, they've both managed to mostly swallow down their anger because they are god damn professionals and that's what professionals do.
"Mr. Levine. Please, have a seat," Saito says and gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Sasha pivots the other chair as Arthur sits so that she has a view of both Saito and him. When she drops down into it a wicked haughty little smirk cants her lips but her eyes take on a much more playful light which means that whatever this little meeting is about, it's going to be a doozy.
"I have been informed by Marshall Pentecost that we will soon come to a crossroads. One that requires a Leap of Faith," Saito says.
Arthur sits back in his chair heavily at the decade-old codename. Leap of Faith. Nukes. One of the few things they had stayed the hell away from while they were running not exactly aboveboard paramilitary ops and spy games at Proclus Security. Back when sixty-meter monsters only existed in fiction.
Correction: there was one time they tried to procure a nuke. That had ended in a clusterfuck.
"You want to revisit the Cobol Job?" Arthur says and lets his expression and voice show how little he thinks of that idea.
"We are not men who have the luxury of thinking that we will grow old."
Arthur gets the message. "Who will the mark be?"
Sasha takes a break from smirking like the cat who ate the nuclear disarmament treaty canary to answer. "Package was acquired three days ago by my contacts. Fischer-Morrow Syndicate is not as organized when founder is on death bed."
Arthur arches an eyebrow. Of course Saito would want to fuck over Fischer-Morrow one last time. Saito just inclines his head regally in acknowledgment.
"So what's the problem?"
"My contacts saw a window of opportunity and took action two weeks early. Transport will take package no further than Hanoi. We are not ready for pick-up."
"When's it suppose to arrive?"
"Six days."
"And we have to trek it the rest of the, what? Eleven hundred kilometers?" His mind is already at work.
"Close enough. Given road conditions, will take a day by land driving straight through to complete delivery. Provided no problems."
As much as Arthur hates it, modified semi is probably still the best and safest way to transport nukes.
Saito re-enters the conversation. "As you can see, we find ourselves in need of your old skill set."
"Have you spoken with Yusuf?" Arthur asks.
"I have. I am confident in your abilities. You were the best at what you did. I doubt that has changed."
What Arthur used to do was research and logistics. Crossing t's, dotting i's, making sure their people got in and out OK, and kneecapping assholes who jeopardized that.
"We'll need aliases and proper docs if you want to fly under Interpol, the UN, and the PPDC's radar. What's the pickup protocol?"
Sasha smiles tightly, a blatant challenge. "Aleksis, you, and I will handle pickup along with small squad of Strike Troopers. As for papers: Eames."
Of course. Eames. And even though suddenly the Shatterdome is too small and entering a world he hasn't really been a part of for six years is better than staying in his quarters, he has to protest. He's still shaky and raw just from his exceedingly brief confrontation with Sasha. If he can't handle something so familiar as her temper there's no way in hell he'll be able to handle the chaos of being in the field. Arthur shakes his head. "Given recent events I have no business being on an OP."
"I disagree," Saito replies and it's clear that there's no arguing with him. His mind is made up.
God dammit.
Saito reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out an overstuffed manila envelope. He hands it to Arthur. "The passport will be ready in two days. Until then, might I suggest you take some time and explore Hong Kong."
It’s not hard to translate that suggestion. Anything Arthur does to get the job done needs to be off the books and outside the Shatterdome. No surprises there. Arthur pulls out the identity dossier from the envelope and as he skims it he can't help but wonder why the hell he didn't wait another day or three before trying to rejoin society.