Work Text:
Worry
Herc/Raleigh, Chuck
AU
The Hansen’s are complete mother hens. This is something most of the Australian Shatterdome had known and most of those in the know couldn’t help but find endearing. What wasn’t adorable about a 16 year old boy hand making chicken noodle soup for his dad when he catches a cold? Basically it should come as no surprise at all when they take Raleigh Becket under their wings.
It’s the exhaustion Herc notices first, the haunted look in Becket’s eyes that makes him want to take care of him. Even covered in grime and swimming in the too large pants and sweater, beat up backpack hanging off one shoulder his whole countenance projects weariness.
It’s a strange feeling, one he hasn’t since the day he pulled Chuck into that Bell Kiowa rushing out of Sydney to beat an atomic blast. Becket is polite and distant and obediently follows Stacker out of the Jaeger bay.
Chuck is frowning at the back of Becket’s head and Herc sighs a bit in relief when he places it as the ‘what’s wrong with Max’ look the kid gets whenever his dog is acting a bit peaky.
“He doesn’t look so good,” Chuck says. Herc claps his son on the shoulder and gathers up Max’s leash and follows the little tour group. Somewhere around Crimson Typhoon’s bay something loud clatters and yelling starts up. Herc speeds their little group up before they get roped into repairs.
***
“Raleigh Becket is wasting away,” Chuck tells him worriedly in a low voice while they’re lining up for lunch in the mess hall. “He left his door open while he was changing a shirt, dad, you could see his ribs! They can’t expect an emaciated shadow to pull his own weight in a Jaeger. He’s going to get his ass kicked at the trials.” Chuck is wringing his hands and Herc tracks down a J-Tech who worked on the wall months ago.
“Is it bad on the wall?” Herc asks her. She stares at him incredulous.
“It’s the worst,” she says and he gets the feeling she thinks he’s an idiot. He doesn’t help matters with his next question apparently.
“But they feed you right? You get three squares?” she barks out a disbelieving sound at him but she finally answers when it’s clear Herc isn’t leaving without an answer.
“Sure, you get the good ration cards if you work the top of the wall, they always have openings. Not that the good ration cards are worth much more than the regular, just another pint of milk and a chocolate bar if you’re lucky.” Herc grimaces. Right.
***
At Dinner Herc sees for himself how much weight the kid’s lost since Manilla when he comes in wearing dark pants with the belt on it’s tightest notch, a standard issue PPDC shirt that hangs off his broad shoulders. He’s practically a ghost. Long and lanky, more attractive than he has a right to be, but less muscle mass, easier to break. Raleigh’s also looking a little lost and Chuck is holding down the fort at the table while Herc gets their trays so he doesn’t hesitate to scoop Raleigh up on his way back to Chuck.
“Come on, sit with us then,” he says and Raleigh follows like a little duckling. Herc hands him one of the trays, Chuck doesn’t like meatloaf night anyway, kid is bound to fill up from the potato and veg plate instead.
Chuck is watching them with narrowed eyes when they sit down and Herc automatically drops the chocolate pudding cup in front of the kid which seems to mollify him somewhat. There’s no conversation for a few minutes until Chuck gives in and starts blathering something about the new couplings in the elbow joint he’s been working on in Striker, about how those joints are going to make something smoother and Herc grunts and agrees in the appropriate places until he notices that the food on Raleigh’s tray isn’t getting eaten so much as moved around and decimated to a pulp.
“You feeling alright?” Herc asks Raleigh. The man jerks his head up wide eyed and looks around wildly for a minute.
“Yeah,” Raleigh smiles down at his tray like it’s the first time he’s really seen it. “Haven’t seen an apple in years.” The table creaked ominously under Chuck’s hands.
“Okay, right,” Chuck points his pudding spoon at Raleigh. “Get yourself together, Mate, I’m not having you run point on me when you can’t even eat a fucking apple without gettin’ teary. Christ.” Chuck takes Max and stomps out of the mess hall and Raleigh casts a bewildered look over at Herc.
“Is he always so…”
“Well, he’s my boy, but I’ll admit that was a bit crazier than we’re used to around here.” Herc mutters. “Eat the fuckin’ apple,” he advises Raleigh. He doesn’t add ‘try not to cry about it’.
***
The next three days are filled with Chuck and Herc ambushing Raleigh with food whenever they have the chance. Raleigh observes them with an bemused sort of expression whenever he catches them at it.
Chuck blusters and challenges Raleigh to a kwoon match and promptly loses.
Herc brushes an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt sleeve and shrugs. “You got no one to take care of you, you haven’t been taking care of yourself. The kid has the kwoon and working on Striker and I’m at loose ends whenever the Marshall doesn’t need a helping hand. Might as well keep an eye on you.” And Raleigh blushes like a virgin on prom night, red from the tip of his ears to the collar of his shirt, and then walks away quickly.
“Wow, old man, you’ve got game,” Chuck grins and laughs. For the insult Herc takes him on in the Kwoon. Like usual, they end up dripping sweat and tied at 2 - 2 before they finally call it 15 minutes later.
***
Herc finds Raleigh wandering the halls at 01:30. Most of the Shatterdome is asleep with the exception of the night watch, Herc himself is heading to bed after a council meeting with the PPDC talking heads. The other man looks like a zombie stumbling around empty hallways. Herc catches up to him in a few long strides and pulls the younger man down his own hallway.
“Hey, what are we doing?” Raleigh asks. Herc just keys in his code and opens the door.
“Not what I want to,” Herc answers. “Considering Chuck lives here to.” The soft ‘eww’ he gets from his son makes a smile break out on Raleigh’s face as well as his own.
“C’mon old man, it’s late, tuck in already,” Chuck orders from his own bed. Herc dumps his vest on the desk, slips his boots off and tucks them under the desk out of the way. Max huffs from his dog bed.
“Yeah, yeah, shut it Chuck. Raleigh is going to kip here a bit.” Raleigh looks more like he’s been slapped in the face than like he’s ready for bed but Herc gamely pulls the bottom of the sweater up until Raleigh’s forced to help or be smothered. Raleigh’s boots join Herc’s under the desk and Herc pulls him down to the bed, wraps himself around Raleigh and the blankets over both of them.
“This is a bit weird,” Raleigh mutters into the dark of the room. He gets identical groans from father and son and a balled up t-shirt in the face from Chuck for his troubles.
“Maybe all I can offer right now is someone who worries about if you’re hungry or sleeping well, but…”
“Shut up and sleep, you arse,” Chuck grumbles and rolls over back to the room. Raleigh chuckles and sinks into the arm Herc has under his head.