Work Text:
December 31, 2024
Barracks, Hong Kong Shatterdome
It was the sound of a guitar being softly strummed that woke Gottlieb. He rolled over and squinted balefully at his alarm clock; 11:45 glared back at him in a livid red glow. He grumbled sourly and settled back on his pillow, only to hear singing accompany the ambling guitar. Unreasonably annoyed, Gottlieb rolled out of bed and hobbled stiffly out of his room, searching for the culprit.
“We’ve got a meeting in the morning, what on earth are you still doing up?”
“And a Happy New Year to you too, Hermann.”
Newt looked over at Gottlieb from the table in the tiny kitchenette, and smiled very slightly as he took in the sight.
“Nice pajamas.”
“At least I have the decency to wear something aside from goodwill t-shirts and undergarments to bed,” Gottlieb retorted. “If I say ‘Happy New Year’ will you quit that racket?”
“I’m not even being that loud.”
There was a soft, sad catch to Newt’s voice. Gottlieb hesitated, studying him uncertainly.
“Are you…alright?”
Newt’s fingers wandered over the guitar strings and he dropped his gaze, looking at the floor for a long moment.
“Another new year and things aren’t getting any better. Just feelin’ kind of wishful for something good to happen for a change, yenno? All that shit with the Jaeger program closing down, all the downsizing…not the way I wanted to ring in the new year.”
Silence spiraled between them awkwardly for a moment, and then Gottlieb sat down across from Newt, gesturing at the guitar.
“I didn’t realize you could play.”
“I kind of can,” Newt said, smiling a little. “Better with the keyboard.”
“Or those infernal bongo drums you keep in the lab.”
Newt grinned at the sour humor in Gottlieb’s voice, glancing up at him. The wandering notes took on a clearer tune, and soon Newt seemed to forget Gottlieb was even there, closing his eyes and singing softly under his breath.
“What song is this?” Gottlieb asked after a moment.
“The Parting Glass,” Newt said. “You…d’you want me to stop? I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Gottlieb glanced over at the clock in the microwave. 11:56.
“No. I suppose I can indulge you since it’s New Year’s Eve, though Auld Lang Syne would be more appropriate.”
Newt laughed a little bit, and sat up straighter. He cleared his throat for showmanship’s sake but his voice was soft and the music gentle as he started to play in earnest.
Of all the money that e’er I had, I spent it in good company
And of all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me
And all I’ve done for want of wit, to memory now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass – good night and joy be with you all...
---
Anti-Kaiju Wall, Alaska
Raleigh sat alone in the bar, off to the side and nursing a drink he’d pawned off two ration slips to get. It hadn’t been a wise decision, but it was one he didn’t regret; ringing in the new year with a little ceremony, thin and joyless as it was, was a solid thing to hold onto. So little else held meaning. Colorless days slipped into weeks, and weeks into months. How easy for a year to pass by when you didn’t bother to live.
The beer had gone warm as he held the tumbler between his hands, fingers tracing the curves of the glass. He looked over at the clock that hung under a dusty stuffed elk head on the far side of the bar, squinting to see the time. Minutes to midnight.
There were very few other patrons in the bar. Ration slips were precious things, and it was rare for Wall-crawler grunts like Raleigh to waste them on something as frivolous as a drink or two for celebration’s sake. A group of clerks and a foreman or two from the Wall offices were gathered in a tight knot in one of the booths, talking and laughing. The normality of it was alien to Raleigh, and he found he had to look away. He couldn’t even remember the last real conversation he had had with someone. Better not to think about it and add loneliness to the pattern of weary bitterness he settled so comfortably into.
He looked over at the clock again, and smiled very thinly.
“Happy New Year, Yancy,” he said, voice so soft it was barely there. He lifted his glass, and took a long drink.
---
Sydney, Australia
“Fine goddamned way to start the year, being kicked out on our asses.”
Herc gave Chuck a barely-tolerant look, then turned away with a shrug.
“You want to go wage a one-man war against the bureaucrats, be my guest. See how far you get with your chest-pounding.”
“You’re the one that’s such good friends with the Marshall, why didn’t you try standing up to them instead of casting your eyes down and letting them roll over you? Striker being decommissioned is-”
“Striker being decommissioned is a decision made by our superiors,” Herc said sharply, cutting off the tirade before Chuck could warm to it. “If you gave a damn for that authority rather than sniffing around for glory in a fight maybe they’d be inclined to listen to us more. You’re my co-pilot, what you do reflects on me. It reflects on the Corps.”
“I’m a Ranger,” Chuck spat. “I know my place and I follow my orders. Christ knows it’s all I’ve known my whole life.”
“Don’t play that card with me again,” Herc retorted. “You tout that resentment whenever things don’t go your way. I didn’t raise you to be such a goddamned cocky-”
Chuck made a disgusted sound and turned on his heel, throwing his hands up in the air as he left the room. Herc bit his tongue on the angry shout struggling to escape, reining his temper in as best he could as he followed Chuck to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked. Chuck wrenched the door open and didn’t bother looking back at his father.
“To go get drunk, maybe. Celebrate the New Year. Don’t wait up and all that.”
The door swung back and almost hit Herc, slamming shut in his face.
---
Barracks, Hong Kong Shatterdome
It was a brief bit of sentimentality that made him stay up into the night, when he knew he ought to be resting. Pentecost stood at glassless window that looked out onto the harbor and Hong Kong’s coast, watching the city lights flicker and glimmer in the rain. It seemed the rain was unending these past few weeks; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a clear blue sky or felt the sun. The wind whistled forlornly off the ocean and into the room, the wet chill of it feeling like it was settling into his bones. Pentecost coughed once, roughly, and then swallowed against the scratching in his throat.
He was tired. That was nothing different, really; he was always tired, working sometimes through sheer willpower alone when all he wanted to do was sit down and just…rest. Just for a moment. But it felt like there was no time to. Not for him, not when there was so much to be done, so much to finish and keep in order and prevent from spiraling out of control. So Pentecost lived with the constant tiredness, and the treacherous drips of blood that had ruined more shirts than he could even keep track of at this point, and a million other little things that threatened to drag him down if he acknowledged them for more than the briefest moment.
He wiped a hand across his face and checked, just in case. It came away clean, and Pentecost clasped his hands behind his back and stood a little straighter as he looked back to the city. Someone, somewhere out in that city, was surely celebrating another year’s start. The thought was a little heartening. One year of struggle and hardship gone and left behind, and a new year’s beginning. He almost dared to allow himself an optimistic moment.
Operation Pitfall would soon go into full swing. What better fireworks to set off to celebrate a fresh start?
Pentecost allowed himself the faintest, smallest smile, and admired the way the city glimmered in the rain.
---
LOCCENT, Hong Kong Shatterdome
“And old acquaintance be forgot, something something...for all mankind? No, that’s…ah, dammit.”
Tendo leaned back in his chair and stretched wearily, resisting the urge to yawn. LOCCENT was empty but for a skeleton crew scattered around the room, and it was sullen and quiet under the constant hum of computer monitors and buzzing machinery. He had drank several mugs of strong coffee sweetened with too much sugar already, and that hyperactive energy combined with a complete lack of anything to direct, report or monitor was frustrating.
He rubbed his eyes, tired from staring at the hard florescent light of his holo-display computer, and wracked his brain for the words to Auld Lang Syne.
“And old acquaintance be forgot,” he sang again, barely louder than a murmur. He stopped and hummed the rest of the song, trying to place words to the tune.
“You could just look up the words, you know.”
Tendo looked over his shoulder and smiled slightly at Mako, then gave a worldly kind of shrug.
“If a man can’t rely on his own memory, what can he trust?” he asked. Mako gave a faint smile of her own in return, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I was trying to. But then I started thinking of the hydraulics in Gipsy Danger’s replacement right arm and that got me worrying about the cannon array, and then that got me worrying about a hundred other things,” she said, looking out the window and out at the Jaeger Bay floor. A space was being cleaned up and prepared for Cherno Alpha for when it arrived – probably within the next twenty-four hours, all the way from Russia. Crimson Typhoon seemed to stand at attention in its own bay station, its Conn-Pod head crooked down towards the floor.
“Well, you’re more than welcome to fret here rather than in your quarters,” Tendo said, swiveling absently in his chair. “Nice to have some friendly company for the occasion.”
“I’m sorry I forgot the special hats and champagne.”
Tendo snorted.
“Well, take me somewhere nice for next New Year’s and all’s forgiven.”
Mako didn’t smile again, but her voice was quietly amused.
“I’ll make sure to.”
---
Of all the comrades that e’er I had, they’re sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e’er I loved, they would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls into my lot that I should rise and you should not
I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call, “Good night and joy be with you all.”
Newt fell silent and let the guitar strings thrum a moment more before he smothered the sound of them. He glanced up at Gottlieb and waited for the inevitable backhanded compliment or tart criticism. He was surprised at the strange look on Gottlieb’s face; not quite sad, not quite happy. Something strange and bittersweet that he quickly masked when he caught Newt studying him a moment too long. Gottlieb sat a bit straighter in his chair and nodded briefly towards the guitar.
“You’re…you play better than I expected.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Gottlieb smiled briefly, glancing over at the clock again.
“Well. It’s been 2025 for five whole minutes. I think we can wind down the raucous celebrating and go to bed, don’t you?”
Newt gave a snort, pushing away from the table and slinging the guitar over one shoulder by its strap.
“God, you’re such a killjoy. I could be living it up and stay awake ‘til 12:30.”
Gottlieb rolled his eyes, shooing Newt towards his room with a wave of his hand.
“Good night, Newton.”
“ ‘Night Hermann. And…”
Gottlieb had already turned away, but he looked over his shoulder at Newt with surprising patience.
“Yes?”
“Happy New Year, man.”
“And to you as well, Newton.”
Newt pushed his door open quietly, smiling to himself.
“Good night and joy be with you all…”