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He was going to die in his precious Striker.
He swore an oath to this.
He knew this was coming, no matter what the circumstances was. He knew it the day he stepped into this very con-pod at the very impressionable age of 16. He was resolved to it by the time he first drifted in the space and shared the most profound crevices of thought he had with his father.
Well, they said it would come to this.
Without his father, without the comfort of knowing that wherever he’s screwed to be going that his old man won’t be one step behind to (try to) keep him out of serious trouble. He imagines Herc standing in LOCCENT, old, talent gone. That old broken-down pilot fumbling for the word, the word that they won but his son would not be there.
At least, Max won’t be alone.
Chuck let the thought wash over him. It felt like a douse of warm water over his freezing form. The suits weren’t exactly made for deep-water diving. He feels something else in his head too, hearing something like footsteps there.
He almost forgot that he wasn’t alone in the drift.
To which the other replied: “not yet…soon enough.”
*
He dreams of Raleigh and Mako.
He wasn’t certain why- maybe it was the reassurance that his closest (possibly second to Max) friend and not-exactly-boyfriend were going to have each other and that he wasn’t really that important in their lives anyway. He was just a footnote in the grand romance of the two saviours of the world. That little line of letters that form a name in the acknowledgement section when one of them publishes a biography.
Chuck imagines that he opens his eyes and that he can see them. Sort of. Just wisps of colour that seem to be sitting, their background was a white but not quite white offset. He thinks that he may have blinked and that the larger of the wisps inched closer to him, mumbling something to his forehead.
There was a short sensation of warmth that made him believe that he was alive.
“Yes, it’s happened, he’s finished….it’s sad.”
“He never had a great deal, did he?”
“Well, no but now…”
He was ushered back into oblivion.
*
He doesn’t believe it when he woke up.
There was no one in the sickly white room when his eyes fluttered to adjust to the lack of light. It was night time, he was sure although the blinds were shut as he remembers sunlight peeking under his curtains in mornings back at the Academy.
Chuck hears the vague sound of celebration outside. He wonders how long he’s been out of commission, where was his welcoming committee, and who was to blame for his apparent lack of right arm. He spots a glass of water to his left, on a convenient bedside table. He takes a sip and realizes how extremely parched he was.
He doesn’t question if they’re cancelled the apocalypse.
The fireworks that go off in time with the nurse buzzer he was currently beeping was proof enough for him.
He didn’t get to see them because of the blinds but he knows the sound of missiles and bombs and the constant exploding noise coming from the outside was a sound he hasn’t been familiar with ever since he was around 10.
Chuck suddenly notices a shadow in front of him, slowly taking shape. He wonders who it could be but then immediately regrets it when he figures out who it is.
Marshall Pentecost in an immaculate suit and Chuck thinks he’s extended stay is over.
He tries to fight the slow retreat into dreaded dreams.
For a little longer, he tries to plea. Just to say goodbye, he promises.
But he can feel the once-promise dwindling.
*
Chuck smells cigarettes and a tinge of alcohol.
He sees his old man settled to near the open window and lighting another one.
Max was at his feet, snuggled there.
He knew the moment when his dad realised he was awake. It was a ghost-drift still present despite Striker Eureka’s demise.
“Oi, I thought hospital rooms are supposed to be no smoking areas,”he grins though it doesn’t have the same effect and feel as the old ones he flashed.
His voice had woken Max who then barked nosily at him and licked at his blanket covered feet. Chuck gave the dog a little pet of encouragement as it was all he could do for now. The dog seemed to take this as a dismissal and jumped down the bed and went out via a doggie door there. Chuck’s smile grew as he watched before setting his gaze back on the other Hansen.
A flicker of uncertainly glazed over his father’s eyes but the elder just chuckled and proceed to extinguish the cigarette in the ash tray, hidden by the window sill unless you really tried to look for it.
“Haven’t you heard? Your old man’s the marshal now, I call the shots around here,” Herc replied in the most playful tone that Chuck had heard in years. The smile on the new marshal’s face was one that split it into two and made crows’ feet appear right at the crinkle of his eyes.
There was a bark from the other side of the entrance of the door. Max came bounding in through his special entry point, right before it swung almost violent open. Raleigh Becket was there and he could faintly make out Mako running towards them from further away.
The expressions on Raleigh’s face changed too quickly for Chuck to analyse but then it had settled to this annoyingly relieved, satisfied, and happy smile. Chuck thought he may be wearing a similar one now.
“It has been a beautiful fight,” Raleigh offered.
“Still is.”
Chuck replied but he wasn’t referring to the war against the kaiju.
That was done with.