Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pilot Training Camp, 6 years ago

Gable hates parade day.

The cadets have to dress up, stand to attention in stiff lines, while the crowd of rich sponsors and government officials coo and praise them on their strength, their bravery. They don’t have time for this, they could be training. They should be training. But being Jaeger pilots, even ones still in training, carries a reputation. And as much as Gable wishes it were otherwise, it’s a reputation that Marshal Youngblood, the man in charge of the training camp, has decided is vital to uphold.

The changing room is packed, bustling with cadets pulling on jackets and polishing boots. All sharp, hungry faces, people with something to prove. Gable kneels to lace their boot up, and as they do, someone walks into them. They look up, annoyed.

“Oh, sorry,” Travis says loftily. He’s holding someone’s kit in his arms, already wearing his own. “Didn’t see you down there.”

It obviously isn’t true. Gable is the tallest of the cadets by a long way. They scowl at him. The need for pilots is so desperate that the training period for Mark III pilots is barely three months, but it had been easily long enough to form a bitter and enduring rivalry with Travis Matagot.

“Careful,” they say. “What if you were in a Jaeger and you didn’t see someone?”

“I think you’ll find that the purpose of a Jaeger is to, you know, hit really hard,” he says. “Not see things.”

There isn’t really space, but people are still trying to clear a bit of a circle around them, as they begin to raise their voices. Everyone has become aware, willingly or not, of their… explosive dynamic.

Before Gable can respond, Margaret calls from across the changing room. “Hey, Matagot, you got my stuff?”

Gable doesn’t know Margaret well, but they know she and Travis signed up together. They’re obviously partners. Pity, because from what they know of her, Margaret is actually a decent human being.

Travis moves off with a glare, which Gable pointedly returns.

—

The striplights bathe the sparring hall in harsh, fluorescent light. There are people crowded around the edges of the hall, sitting in layered seating, from down here they look all hats, ruffles, smart suits. The two rows of trainees stand facing each other, across the long mat that runs down the middle of the hall. Gable can feel people staring at them, prickling across the back of their neck, but they grit their teeth, because they love piloting, and that’s why they’re here. Ostensibly, it’s why everyone’s all here. Maybe that would have been true, once. But nowadays, no one is immune to the glamour that comes of piloting Jaegers.

The opposite row is standing stiffly to attention, Gable notes, except for the person standing opposite them. They sigh. Travis gives them an innocent look in return. The whole point of parade day is to showcase the effectiveness of the training program, and that culminates in the fighting demonstrations that the trainees are awaiting with bated breath. There’s no way that Travis would have been paired with Gable because everyone knows how much they hate each other, which means that Travis skipped the line, and somehow that just isn’t very surprising. Fine.

If they’re being honest with themselves, their sigh is as much performative as it is real, because parade days are very long and very boring, and playing this game with Travis is definitely more interesting than just staring into space.

Marching the line, Marshal Youngblood continues giving his speech, droning about sacrifice and strength and the power of the collective human spirit, and Gable tunes it out, contenting themselves with making faces back and forth at Travis when no one is looking.

“— and now, our trainees have a demonstration of their fighting skills, for your entertainment. Cadets! Ready positions!”

Everyone in both rows tenses. There are several long beats of silence, and Gable’s heart is racing. They hate all of this, and they’re itching for a fight. Across the line, Travis smiles, all bright eyes and sharp teeth, and they grin back. Everyone waits for the starting signal, breath held, everyone’s hearts beating in unison.

Then the signal goes, the fighting starts, and Gable is alive, alive, alive.

—

Military Hospital, 1 year later

The tragic loss of the Forest Queen in the seas of Alaska is hushed up. Travis had known it would be. He’d been dumped in this hospital, and at first he’d been too injured and too heartbroken to care, but now he was starting to realise that this was a way of shutting him up. Hiding him away. A failure of humanity’s best and brightest.

It’s night, and the hospital is dark, but Travis isn’t asleep. It’s hard to stop reliving it, the moment that… well. There was no point skirting around it. The moment that they’d been completely and utterly obliterated by a kaiju. Mariner, it had been codenamed, and Forest Queen had been dispatched to deal with it. Instead, Margaret had been killed, right next to him, in his head, while all he could do was watch, and scream. The kaiju had disappeared back into the waves, and Travis had limped Forest Queen home alone, collapsing onto the icy beach. He’d barely been conscious at the time, but he was told that when people asked him what had happened, all he could say was I was supposed to die with her, over and over. The thought still haunts him now.

God. Fuck this.

He pauses by the door, listening for any sound in the hallway outside. Nothing. Good. The first clue he was a prisoner rather than a patient had been when he’d discovered that they locked the door at night, but he was right in guessing that the lock wouldn’t be a challenge to pick— it clicks open easily. He slips out into the hallway with the quiet grace of a thief.

Travis Matagot disappears into the night.

—

Flat 184

Across the world, Gable starts awake from dreams of fire and falling and— they can’t remember. They already can’t remember. They try to run through it in their head, the mission, the kaiju— then it’s nothing but pain until they woke up in the water. Then, nothing but the deadly, trickling certainty that they were going to drown out there, alone, in the dark, stinging waves.

Listlessly, they get up. It’s too hot in their tiny little room. Their back aches. They don’t even remember how they got the scars.

They’d left the Jaeger program before they had a chance to kick them out. They couldn’t stay, not after the disaster that they don’t even remember the details of. The kaiju, codenamed Sovereign, got past them, got to the city. Millions of people died because they were defeated.

Gable couldn’t stay there then, and they’re filled with the same feeling now, like they’re suffocating all over again. They can’t stay. So they leave. So they walk into the velvety darkness, with guilt as bitter as poison on their lips.

They don’t stop running.

—

The Wall of Life, Five Years Later

Travis and Gable meet again on the wall.

Everyone who’s lost ends up at the wall at some point. It’s dangerous, mindless work, but no one wants to talk about their pasts here, and no one recognises Gable. They’re tall and strong, it’s been easy to follow construction up along the coast. It’s not a life, not really, but they’re settled into their routine, good at disguising their scars and passing off their nightmares as insomnia. No one asks questions out here.

Then, one day that they’re working the top shift, they happen to look up from their work and see across the rusty scaffolding Travis Matagot, staring at them like he’s been stunned.

He recovers quickly, quicker than Gable does, and the shock disappears like it was never there to begin with. He replaces it smoothly with the smug grin that Gable spent all of training hating.

“Well, well, well,” he says, like they’re meeting at some kind of fancy party and not the worst shift of the worst job in the world. “Long time no see.”

“Five years, four months,” Gable responds, trying to recover their composure. Travis looks different than he had five years ago. His hair is completely grey, falling around his shoulders. It’s similar enough to their own new silver, courtesy of the trauma that they don’t even remember, that it makes them pause. “What happened to you?”

Travis gives them a look. “I can’t believe that you wouldn’t know. They tried to hush it up, but… news travels fast.”

They had heard the story of the wreck, distantly, but at the time, they’d been very busy drowning their sorrows and pretending they didn’t exist. The Forest Queen, stumbling to shore, down a pilot. They’d wondered, at the time, who had been the survivor, but the knowledge was just one more burden they couldn’t bear to carry.

They wonder if he’s heard their story, too. He must have. If the Forest Queen’s disaster had failed to be hushed up, then the Sovereign’s definitely had. It’s hard to hide the destruction of an entire city.

“Yeah,” they say. “I— yeah. Same here.”

He touches his hair, and gives a look to Gable's matching silver. “I can tell.”

It’s been so long. They’d lost touch after training. Of course they had, they’d hated each other, what reason would they have to stay in contact?

Gable still remembers the last evening before deployment. Everyone had been awkward, teetering on the edge of that new beginning, and Gable had been lurking in a corner, stiff and uncomfortable. Travis had walked straight up to them, slammed a bottle down on the table, and challenged them to a drinking contest. They’d never had enough common sense to refuse. Looking back, they can see it had been Travis’s way of saying goodbye, but at the time all it had meant was that Travis Matagot was the reason that Gable started their first ever mission brutally hungover. It had seemed a fitting farewell gift.

Travis’ face is unreadable, as they stare at each other across the gap in the scaffolding. “You look awful,” he says eventually.

“Right back at you. This place sucks, huh?”

“God, it sucks so bad.”

“Can’t believe they think this is gonna protect the cities from the kaiju,” Gable says. This is easier. They’ve always been good at this, it’s familiar territory.

“I’ll complain to the manager,” Travis replies. “Seen any others around?”

“Others like us? No. Couple of old Mark I people, though. Nothing useful to say.”

“Oh, so like you?”

“Oh sure,” they say sardonically, but it’s followed by a laugh, a genuine laugh. The sound echos on the cold stone, and it kind of startles them both.

From somewhere above them, a foreman shouts “Hey, get back to work!” and they both roll their eyes before turning back to the wall.

—

It’s that evening, as Gable descends the scaffolding to return to the little camp of tents that the workers sleep in, that they are approached by Marshal Orimar Vale.

They recognise him at once. They never worked with him directly, but everyone knows his face. He’s a powerful leader, inspiring people to acts of greatness wherever he goes. Or he had been, back in the day. Now, his face is grim as he outlines his proposition. The Jaeger program is being discontinued, so he’s gathering all the remnants and stragglers and failures for one last ditch attempt.

“We’re the only ones who can protect the world,” he says, as if he doesn’t know that Gable failed to protect millions, or doesn’t care.

“Marshal,” Gable says, poker faced, even as their world is shaken apart by his words. They thought they’d never even see a Jaeger again. They’d wanted to never see a Jaeger again, or so… or so they’d thought. “Before I— decide, there’s someone I need to talk to.”

“Of course. If you happen to see a man by the name of, let me see—” he checks a sheet of paper. “—Travis Matagot, be sure to pass on my message. Our records show he’s working this region, and this applies to him, too.”

“Getting the band back together?” Gable says.

“Something like that,” he responds, and his eyes are heavy and fierce. “Ranger, this is our last chance.”

“I know.”

—

It isn’t hard to find where Travis sleeps. Gable just follows the annoyed talk of an asshole who always beats people at cards, and it leads them to a little tent on the outskirts of the camp. Travis is sitting just outside, cross legged on the ground, tending to a tiny fire. Gable sits down opposite him without a word.

He looks at them quizzically. “What do you want?”

“I…” they put their chin in their hand. “Hm. It’s…”

Travis looks bemused at their hesitancy. “Did you kill someone? Because if so, you wanna talk to the guy in that tent over there, I can’t help you—”

“—They’re searching for pilots,” they interrupt, words jumbled in a sudden rush to just tell him, to not have to carry this information alone. “Mark III. Us.”

All the levity drains from Travis’ face. “What?”

“The Jaeger program is being disbanded—”

“Yeah, that’s been all over the news, what are you talking about?”

“Stop interrupting me and I’ll tell you,” they snap. “Marshal Vale is here. He’s recruiting old pilots back, for a last push. He says we’re the last hope. We both know this wall isn’t going to do shit to protect people.”

“Why us?” Travis says. He puts his hands into the pockets of his coat, like he’s trying to hide the fact they’re shaking. “Why you and I? We’re— we’re wrecks! He has to know that.”

“Travis, we’re the only ones left.”

Travis’ shoulders slump. “Right.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. Then, Travis looks up at them, and his face is deathly, deathly serious. “Are you going?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Gable,” he insists.

“I never wanted to pilot again,” they say slowly. “Not after… well. But also, I don’t want to die out here.” Their voice breaks slightly.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

The fire crackles and throws up sparks into the night sky.

“They need us,” Gable continues. “And I don’t know if I— if I even can get back in a Jaeger, not anymore. But there isn’t anyone else, and I think I’d rather die there than here.”

“Okay,” Travis says. “Okay. Then we’re going.”

Gable looks at him in confusion. “We?”

“Oh, you think I’m going to let you pilot Jaegers and sleep in an actual bed and all that shit while I’m stuck here, working? Do you?”

“Can’t imagine why I thought that.”

“‘Cause you’re a big, dumb idiot, that’s why. No way.” His words are light, but he’s still watching them closely. “Together or not at all, blah blah blah.”

Gable still feels the world right a little, despite themselves. They nod. “Together, then.”

Neither of them sleep. As soon as dawn begins to break, they head for the main office, and Orimar Vale.

Chapter Text

Burza Nyth Shatterdome

Jonnit’s lonely, but he’s used to it. That’s just what being the youngest person in the Shatterdome is like. People give him strange looks, and ask if he’s lost, and every time he explains no, I live here, I’m a runner, he gets a little more impatient. Still, it’s far better than the alternative. Here, he gets to make a difference.

That doesn’t mean it’s always interesting, though, especially not yet. Once Marshal Vale finishes gathering the pilots then there’ll be more messages that’ll need running, he reckons, but for now Jonnit has a lot of free time. He hangs around Dref’s lab a lot, because while Dref’s almost twenty, he’s still the second youngest person in the Shatterdome. But a lot of the time Dref’s so engaged in his whole kaiju research thing that he’s no fun to hang out with, so Jonnit goes exploring.

The Shatterdome is always quiet. It’s all concrete and shadows, and Jonnit sometimes feels like he’s going to get so lost he’ll never find his way back to the residential area.

The corridor he’s found is wide and straight, and he follows it curiously. There’d been doors back when the corridor had started, but all the rooms had just been full of dusty equipment from when the Jaeger program was in its prime. Now the doors have stopped entirely.

He trails his hand along the smooth wall, kicking at a clump of dust drifting across the floor. He’s contemplating turning and going back when the hallway comes to an abrupt end at a door. Authorized personnel only, the sign reads, but it’s ajar. He shouldn’t open it, he knows that, but he’s so bored. He pushes it, just a little, and sticks his head inside the room.

Immediately, his breath is taken away. It’s a Jaeger.

Jonnit’s used to being around the Jaegers. There are three in the shatterdome, piloted by various members of the team, but this one is different. From the moment Jonnit sets his eyes on it, he knows it’s different. It’s tall, a Mark III, he thinks, a deep brown-bronze. It has spaces for three pilots, unlike the others in the shatterdome, and for a moment, Jonnit thinks it has three eyes, all staring him down.

There’s a sign fastened to the railings in front of it. Freedom Call.

“Whoa,” he breathes.

—

Dref reaches out a hand to steady himself on the worktop as the world goes fuzzy for a moment. How long has it been since he last ate? Or slept? It’s a bad sign that he isn’t sure. The lab is cold. It’s too big for him, it’s meant for a whole team— but there’s no one else. He’s the only one doing this research. Certainly in the Jaeger program, possibly in the whole world.

No, that isn’t true. Researching kaiju, there are other people who do that. But there isn’t anyone doing it like he is. Marshal Vale is a clever man, he knows that the Jaegers or the walls aren’t going to be enough to stop this conflict. There has to be another solution, and Dref believes— fiercely, desperately believes— that it lies in the kaiju. He doesn’t know if Orimar believes it too, but he’s willing to give Dref a space to work and that’s what matters. It’s the only thing that matters.

Dref knows that most people in the Jaeger program wouldn’t approve of his work, and he knows that at the most extreme end of the spectrum, there are pilots who would kill him for even suggesting the ideas he’s testing. So it’s vital his work remains secret, locked away in this big, cold laboratory.

He’s got his eyes closed against another dizzy spell when the door bursts open. He flinches, before he realises who it is.

“Jonnit, pl— please knock,” he says, resigned to the knowledge that he never will.

The boy’s covered in dust, and he’s bouncing on his toes. Dref likes him. He’d grown up with siblings, but it had always been strained by competing ambitions and sibling rivalry. He’d never once felt like he could relax around them, or trust them not to stab him in the back. Jonnit is what Dref imagines having a normal brother would have been like.

It’s kind of lonely, here at the end of the world.

“Dref,” Jonnit says, out of breath as if he ran all the way here, “Dref, Dref, I found something—”

“What?”

“It was— I found a Jaeger.”

Of all the things Dref was expecting Jonnit to say, that was not one of them. “A— a Jaeger?”

“Yeah!” he brushes cobwebs off his shirt. “Not one of ours, a different one. Hidden away like it’s a secret or something.”

“Show me,” Dref says, and stumbles just a little as he steps forward. He catches himself, but Jonnit narrows his eyes at him.

“Sure, but we’re getting something to eat on the way. Deal?”

Dref nods, because he knows from experience that Jonnit won’t budge on this. “Fine.”

“I’m gonna start setting you an alarm or some shit to stop you forgetting to, like, eat and sleep,” Jonnit says, tugging Dref out into the hallway.

“I am an ad— adult,” Dref protests. “I can f— feed myself.”

“But you literally never do though, man,” Jonnit says, hurrying him down the corridor.

He has enough of a point that Dref shuts his mouth, and allows himself to be pulled along.

—

The main hangar of the Shatterdome is full of people, and Travis has spent so long running from place to place that he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to be in a crowd. The good thing about being in a crowd with Gable, however, is that all you have to do is follow them as people move to get out of their way.

Marshal Vale is standing at the centre of the crowd, and Travis and Gable come to a stop close enough to see him across people’s heads. Gable looks a little unsure, like they always do in a room full of people— Travis doesn’t think other people notice their uncertainty, but he always does. It’s like they’re a little embarrassed for taking up space. He plants his feet firmly and crosses his arms, because he’s not uncertain. They’re pilots, aren’t they? They deserve to be at the front of this crowd.

It is strange, being back in a shatterdome. They all look the same, really, unfinished metal and spray paint. He tries not to think about it.

“Welcome, crew,” Vale says. Travis studies him closely. He’s worked with a number of marshals in his time, but never Vale. He’s tall, handsome, extremely charismatic— the crowd falls silent at once to listen to him speak.

As Travis looks around, he notices people looking at him and Gable with open curiosity. Of course. He’d almost forgotten what it’s like to be in a room with people who’d recognise them.

“Welcome to our final chance to save the world,” Vale continues. “We’ll begin matching up pilots, starting with Mark IVs and working backwards. Report to Spit, over there, he’ll get you sorted.”

A man who’s got to be older than anyone else in the crowd nods and waves with a grin.

“Marshal,” someone calls. “Are we gonna have enough Jaegers?”

Vale sighs. “We’ll never have enough Jaegers, but we have three here, which is more than exist anywhere else right now. Three will have to—”

Travis stops paying attention, because behind the Marshal, across the hangar, a side door is creeping open. He nudges Gable, who glares at him before following his gaze.

The door opens more, painstakingly slowly, and a kid with an Afro and a red bandanna tiptoes into the hangar, followed by someone who’s almost as pale as the white lab coat he’s wearing. They’re both covered in visible patches of dust, like they’ve been crawling around in it, and clutching steaming containers of food.

Travis makes eye contact with the kid, and he freezes, scrabbling out with a hand to get the other guy to stop too. They both stand there, completely still, and Travis realises Vale has stopped talking.

The Marshal turns around slowly. “Doctor Wormwood,” he says dryly. “Jonnit. Good to see you made it.”

The doctor turns bright red, and the kid, Jonnit, laughs awkwardly. There are sniggers from the crowd. For a moment, Travis isn’t sure which way it’s going to go, but then Vale winks and the two latecomers visibly relax. They hurry to join the back of the crowd, clutching their food.

Travis smiles to himself in satisfaction. Looks like he’s found the only people in this whole base who might actually be interesting.

—

If Dref thought that having Jonnit bursting into his lab at all hours of the day was bad, it was three times worse since Travis and Gable had arrived at the shatterdome. He was permanently jumping out of his skin, thinking someone was about to discover the exact nature of his research.

Well, at least Gable had knocked, this time. They were sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, idly watching him work. They spend a lot of their time doing that, since he’d explained to them what it is that he does. It had felt like a confession, as they’d stared down at him sternly. But they’d kept his secret.

“So the Marshal really believes that the answer to the Breach...”

“Is in th— the kaiju, yes.” Dref twists something in the model he’s building on the holoscreen. “Af— after all, the Jaeger program wasn’t going to solve the problem, even at the height of its success. It was a st— stop gap measure, at best.”

“You’re not wrong there,” they mutter.

“But, but there has to be an answer to all this. Th— there has to be.” He deactivates the screen, and leans on the desk to look Gable in the eyes. “And I’m going to find it.”

“I believe you,” they say slowly.

“If you have any insight, I’d w— welcome your—”

They snort, shake their head. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. Nothing useful.” Their eyes have slid away from Dref’s, staring into space. “I remember being deployed, and seeing the kaiju on the horizon— I presume you know the story.”

“I do,” he says. “S— Sovereign.”

“A cat-4,” they say with a nod. “Heading for this city on the coast, Akaron. I remember the fight, and then we got hit, and it’s all a blur until I woke up in the water.”

“And now Akaron’s a gh— ghost town.”

“Yeah.”

“You know Jonnit was fr— from there?” Dref says. Gable’s face remains stony. “Orimar, he picks up people w— with nowhere else to go.”

“Like you?”

“I suppose.” Dref fiddles with the cuff of his shirt, and Gable’s eyes follow the movement like a hawk.

“Is that a tattoo?” they ask, getting up and coming to stand opposite him, on the other side of his desk.

Dref rolls his eyes, but he tugs up his sleeves reluctantly. The black lines swoop across his skin, outlining the empty silhouettes of kaiju. Gable looks somewhere between horrified and impressed, which is an expression he’s becoming used to seeing on them whenever they interact with kaiju related things.

“Mariner,” they breathe, ghosting their fingertips across his forearm. “Changeling, Maiden— why?”

Dref shrugs, and speaks his next words casually, like is isn’t the first time he’s admitted this to anyone, including himself. “I wanted to make su— sure that I c— couldn’t go back. No one’s go— going to want me now, except here.”

Gable looks at him worriedly, and puts their hand on his wrist. Their words match his casual attitude, however: “Are you going to get them filled in?”

“At some p— point. It’s been a lit— a little busy, recently, with the new r— recruits.”

“Mm, I see.” They still haven’t taken their hand off his wrist, and he’s realising how long it’s been since he’s had any physical contact with anyone that isn’t Jonnit pulling him around the Shatterdome. Touch starvation, along with sleeping, has been the least of his worries recently.

Before they can say anything else, the door flies open and Travis saunters in. He stops when he sees them, and closes the door behind himself.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

“No,” Gable says, taking their hand off Dref’s wrist. Dref pulls his sleeves down hurriedly, but apparently not fast enough, because Travis crosses the room and grabs his arm.

“That’s Mariner,” he says. It’s not a question, but Dref still feels compelled to confirm it.

“It is.” Dref had read the files on all the new pilots, he knows about the untimely demise of the Forest Queen. He watches Travis carefully.

“Travis…” Gable says warningly, but Travis doesn’t seem angry. He just stares at the tattoo for a long moment, before dropping Dref’s arm and stepping away, putting a safe distance between himself and Dref and Gable.

“You’re a creepy, creepy guy,” he says.

“Th— thank you?”

The door slams open again, and Dref jumps violently enough that both Gable and Travis laugh at him. Jonnit races in, out of breath.

“Jonnit?” Gable says.

“You good?” Travis adds in amusement.

Jonnit waves a hand, and slumps against the desk. Once he’s regained his breath, he says “I ran all the way here, I was sent to tell you— they’re doing the compatibility tests for the Mark III pilots.”

“What? When?” Gable asks. They look uncomfortable, and when Dref checks, Travis does too. It’s been a few weeks since they’d both arrived at the shatterdome, but he’s noticed that they both start to look mildly nauseous every time actually piloting comes up in conversation.

He wonders if they’re drift compatible. The two of them certainly seem to be close, even if their relationship seems to be some kind of “old enemies” deal rather than something more amicable. He’d always struggled reading other people’s emotions, but there was a certain kind of synchronicity that was very distinctive between co-pilots. Then another thought strikes him: maybe they aren’t sure, themselves.

“This afternoon,” Jonnit says, brimming over with excitement. “The Marshal’s holding them this afternoon, in the training rooms.”

“Oh boy,” Travis says quietly.

“I wonder if they’d let me try out,” Jonnit says. “I’m, like, really good at the sim tests they have over in R-wing.”

“You’ve done those?” Gable asks. “Why?”

Jonnit shrugs. “There’s not much to do round here.”

“A— are you two going to be okay?” Dref asks suddenly.

All three of them turn to look at him. He shrinks a little under the attention, but his point still stands, pressing. Travis and Gable look at each other briefly, then look away.

“Yeah, if you need me to tell the marshal you need more time or something,” Jonnit says. He’s a perceptive kid. “That’s all chill, I can do that no prob.”

“What are you talking about?” Travis says airily. “Why wouldn’t we be fine?”

“Shut up,” Gable says.

“If the kid’s gonna try out,” Travis says, waving a hand at Jonnit, “I’m going to, for sure.”

“Bet I’ll score higher than you,” Jonnit says.

“Wait, is that how compat tests work nowadays? Jonnit, tell me the rules, right now.”

“Well,” Jonnit begins, and Dref looks at Gable. They shrug.

Well, this is certainly going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

In the training room, Gable has deja vu.

It’s a large room, but it still feels crowded. There are more people than they’d expected there’d be, all crowded around the edges, leaving the fighting mat laid out on the floor clear. Gable doesn’t recognise any of them specifically, but they’re clearly all rookies, trying out for the first time. There are little groups of friends standing close together, talking excitedly, obviously wondering who’s going to be drift compatible with who— probably making bets on it, Gable reckons. The anticipation is electric, catching from person to person, and it mixes with the anxiety settled deep in their stomach.

Once they’d entered, Dref had hurried over to stand at the top of the room, by Marshal Vale’s side. He’d taken the clipboard handed to him by Spit, the old man from the briefing, and is examining it, critically. Gable watched him exchange words with the marshal in a low tone, pointing at various people. He carefully avoids picking Gable, Travis and Jonnit, they notice. They don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse really, but it still stings, for a moment.

As they glance around the room, they can see people giving him dubious looks. Dref had explained that no one else knows about his experiments with kaiju, but apparently keeping that secret hasn’t been enough to avoid whispers about him.

God, it reminds them of training. Except this time, Travis is standing by their side, instead of opposite them. It’s strange that nowadays, he’s often the most comforting thing in any given room, by merit of familiarity if not pleasantness. He notices them looking at him, and shoots them a sideways grin. Gable looks away.

Jonnit’s straining on tiptoes to see the fighting mat over the crowd. They’d ended up at the very back of the room, and Jonnit’s small for his age. Every time Gable looks at him, they find themselves thinking of Akaron, the disaster that they’d only found out about in the days after the crash. The disaster that had been their responsibility to prevent.

Jonnit has to know. If Dref knows who they are, what they’ve done, there’s no way that Jonnit doesn’t. But seemingly oblivious to their turmoil, he tugs on their hand.

“Who is it? Who's fighting?” he hisses.

“Uh,” Gable says, peering across the room, “Two… people, they’re… uh, do you want to sit on my shoulders?”

Jonnit’s eyes widen. “Yes!”

Travis takes a smart step back to avoid being hit as Gable lifts Jonnit up, and he scrambles to hold on. Once he’s settled, perched on their shoulders, he whispers down “That’s Daisy and Fuentes, they co-pilot one of the Jaegers in the main hangar.”

“They’re good,” Gable says, watching them closely.

“Yeah, they’ve been piloting together, like, always,” Jonnit says. “No one’s ever seen them apart.”

The routines the co-pilots are running through are so familiar, and yet so different to what Gable’s used to. There’s none of the violent, competitive ambition of the training camp where Gable had last fought like this. It’s much less formal, much more friendly. But the knowledge that this isn’t just training hangs heavy over everyone. This isn’t a game anymore. It’s for real.

They look across the room, and make eye contact with Dref, still standing by the marshal’s side. He doesn’t smile, but he gives them an almost imperceptible nod. They nod back, and wonder how the hell a tiny acknowledgement from a spooky young man managed to become a comfort. It’s not like Dref tries to befriend anyone. He’s not like Jonnit. Jonnit’s bright and friendly and enthusiastic, and the idea of not being friends is so far off his radar that somehow, he makes you forget about your carefully built walls. Dref doesn’t do that, he’s nervous and standoffish, always keeping people at a careful arm’s distance. He’s like Travis, in that sense, very good at keeping people a couple of steps removed. A form of protection a Jaeger could never offer.

And yet. And yet, somehow, they’d all fallen together— and it’s just… stuck.

They watch Daisy and Fuentes swap out for two other people, one with a prosthetic arm.

“That’s Nodoze and Wendell,” Jonnit says. “They’re our other co-pilots, apart from Jane and Pliff. I think they’re having the people who they already know are compatible go first to make it easier to tell with the others.”

“That would make sense,” Gable agrees.

They look up at Dref again, but he’s checking something off on the clipboard, and the realisation hits them, all at once. “Huh,” they say quietly.

“What’s up?”

They shake their head. “Don’t worry, it’s not— it’s not important.”

Gable’s always struggled to find people who they’re drift compatible with. People are complicated and difficult, and they feel a little like an outsider, just slightly too strange to fit in. But this feeling is unmistakable, even after all this time.

They’d always struggled to find co-pilots. Now they’ve found three.

Huh.

—

They only get through half the room before the dinner alarm goes off. The marshal surveys everyone, and for a moment Gable thinks they see disappointment flash across his face, quickly hidden under determination. “We’ll finish tomorrow,” he barks. “Everyone, go eat.”

People begin to file out, and the marshal strides out via the other door. Gable lets Jonnit down from their shoulders, and then the three of them linger awkwardly, waiting for Dref. The room empties as he crosses the fighting mat to join them.

“Well,” Travis says. “That was dull.”

“You didn’t pick us,” Gable accuses Dref, because if they don’t, they’re going to say something about drift compatibility and it does not seem like the time or the place for that. “Why not?”

Dref gives them a strange look. “I pr— presumed you and Travis would prefer to not have to spar for the first time in, what, fi— five years, in front of the en— entire s— shatterdome. Was I incorrect?”

“No. No, you’re right,” Gable admits. “I just…”

“I would guess this big idiot thought you didn’t pick us because you didn’t believe in us or something similar,” Travis says. “That would seem their style.”

“Shut up,” Gable says, because he’s right, that is their style, and they both know it.

“Of c— course that wasn’t it.”

“You believe in us, Dref?” Jonnit asks.

“Should I not?” Dref asks.

“No! Believing in us is good,” Jonnit says, firmly taking Dref’s hand. “C’mon, we’re going to get food.”

Dref shoots them a look that says “help” over his shoulder, as Jonnit pulls him away. Gable shrugs in return. No one has the power to change Jonnit’s mind when he’s set on something.

Then it’s just Gable and Travis, alone in the training room.

Gable sinks to the ground, and then lies out fully on the training mat. The ceiling is uncovered, pipes and cobwebs visible as they stare up at it.

Beside them, Travis sits cross legged. He cocks his head to look at them. “This is weird.”

“What?”

“Being here.”

“Oh,” they say. “Yeah. Sure has been a while, huh?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been to compat tests like this since training.”

“Me neither, actually.” They sit up, twisting the end of their braid around their fingers. “Travis, I—”

He gives them a knowing look, and god, Gable hates the way he always seems to know exactly what they’re thinking about. “This about the others?”

“Yeah,” they breathe. “I’m not just imagining it, right?”

“Nope,” Travis says, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. “That’s drift compatibility, baby.”

“All four of us,” they say. “You’re not concerned?”

“Am I supposed to be?”

“I don’t want them to get hurt,” they say slowly. “I don’t want to… to hurt them.”

“Then it’s simple— we’ll just have to guarantee they won’t get hurt.”

“There’s no way we can do that, though!” Their voice echos on the bare concrete walls.

“Fucking watch me,” Travis says.

“Ugh,” Gable says. “I hate you.”

“Wanna fight about it?”

They look at him quickly. He looks back, carefully nonchalant. “You want to spar?” they ask, just to make sure.

He shrugs. “May as well get some practice in for tomorrow.”

“I, uh… sure.” He’s right, it probably would be worth reminding themselves of the motions before being watched by half the shatterdome. “We’re, you know. Due a rematch.”

“Sure has been a while,” he says, mimicking their earlier tone, and they suddenly can’t wait to kick his ass.

They circle each other, on the mat. The staff feels awkward and unfamiliar under Gable’s fingers, but they don’t let Travis see it. The mat is cold under their bare feet.

Travis shakes out his hair, silver as the frost, then brushes it out of his face. “Hey, you got a hair tie?” he asks.

Not breaking eye contact, Gable tugs on one of the many that secure their braid and throws it across to him. He catches it with ease, and balances his staff on the ground as he ties his hair back.

“Scared?” Gable asks.

He gives them a look. “No, I just couldn’t see.”

“Sure,” they say, and lunge. Travis catches the blow on his staff, and flips it away, immediately coming back for another strike, which Gable whirls to catch before it hits them.

They laugh at him, and he narrows his eyes, before striking low, which Gable saw coming a million miles away. But as they begin a downwards strike, he dodges sideways without even looking, quick on his toes.

“Who’s laughing now?” he says lightly.

Ever since they arrived at the shatterdome, Gable’s been beset by memories. As they settle into the rhythm of the fight, they can’t help but let their thoughts drift the last time they’d fought together like this. That stupid parade day. They’d both stepped out onto the mat, so young and so full of bravado, and the moment their staffs had collided it was like the jagged edge that always caught between them, sparking like flint meeting steel, had finally smoothed.

They’d looked at each other, and— in what was, back then, a rare moment of understanding— they’d silently agreed to just... not address it. Not after they’d built such a reputation as enemies, not when training would be over in mere weeks and they’d probably never see each other again. They didn’t talk then, and they didn’t talk afterwards.

It had worked. It continued to work. Not talking about things is kind of both of their specialities. But their moments of quiet understanding had grown more frequent as training drew to a close, even as the irritation never lessened.

Today, things were different, and they were exactly the same. Just one of the many variations on the theme that is Travis and Gable.

They fight in silence, the heavy thunks of the staffs making contact filling the empty room. The rhythm they’ve found falls apart so slowly that Gable doesn’t even notice the way their hands are shaking until Travis misses a blow and stumbles forwards, and Gable can hear how shallow his breathing is, suddenly. Like he’s afraid.

Somehow, that’s enough to kick Gable’s own fear response into overdrive. It’s so easy to do that, since the disaster of Akaron, and they find they can’t make eye contact as they drop their staff.

The clatter of it hitting the ground makes them both flinch.

Gable walks to the edge of the training mat, and sits down. Travis stays where he is, still holding his own staff tightly.

Before they can say anything, he says “Shut up.”

His voice sounds strange. Gable isn’t used to hearing fear from Travis Matagot.

“I’m not going to…” they try and fix the crack in their voice. “I’m not going to say anything.”

“What exactly is it you’re doing now, then, if not talking? Hm?”

“I’m just… What the hell are we doing here?” Gable says flatly, staring at the wall. “This is stupid.”

“Well, it was one of your ideas.”

They ignore him. “When I said I didn’t want to hurt them. I, you should know that you’re included in that.”

“You didn’t do this,” Travis says, but it doesn’t sound like a comfort. “To either of us.”

“But I don’t seem to know how to not hurt people, Travis! I know that Akaron, and Margar—”

“Shut up,” Travis snaps. “Shut up, Gable.”

They close their eyes tight, as if they blot out the memories that won’t leave them alone. “We can’t pretend nothing happened.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“I—”

They’re interrupted by the door opening. For a moment, Gable tenses, but it’s just Dref and Jonnit. They’re both holding food packets from the canteen, the same way they had been the first time Gable had ever seen them, sneaking into the back of Marshal Vale’s introductions. But this time, they’re each holding two— they got extra for them and Travis.

“Got you… food…” Jonnit says, trailing off as he takes in the tense atmosphere. “You, uh. You good?”

“Of course we’re good,” Travis says. “Is that food?”

“Dref, we can’t take the compat test,” Gable blurts. “It’s— I— it’s been so long, I—”

Dref comes and sits by Gable’s side, and hands them one of the food containers. “Eat,” he says. “J— Jonnit is right. It does make you feel b— better.”

They open the styrofoam box. It’s some kind of curry, with rice. There’s a little plastic fork. The container is warm in their hands. Jonnit sits down on Dref’s other side, still looking concerned. Gable gives him a weak smile, which he returns uncertainly.

“It has been years since I’ve had shatterdome food,” they say distantly.

“Wasp’s a good cook,” Jonnit says. “But, apparently she’s poisoned people before, so, uh. Let’s hope she likes us?”

Gable pauses mid bite, then quietly decides to accept their fate.

Travis stalks over and sits on Jonnit’s other side, taking the container offered to him. “I can’t believe that I find myself in the position of needing to say this,” he says, “But Gable is right. We can’t take the test.”

“No one’s g— going to make you do any— anything you do not want to do,” Dref says, and Travis snorts.

“My dear doctor, that’s bullshit and you know it. They need co-pilots.”

Dref gives Travis an intense look. “If th— they try and f— force you, they will ha— have to go through me.”

Travis laughs again, but he looks away. “You can’t stop them,” he says to the ground. “You’re not a pilot.”

Dref looks down too, and Gable catches his expression for a second— bitter and conflicted. “That is n— not what we are talking about right now.”

“Dref?” Jonnit says, surprise filling his voice. “You…?”

“We are n— not going to talk ab— about this,” Dref repeats, stumbling over the words. “Th— this is a— about— you, I—”

“Bottom line,” Gable says, swooping in to save him, “Is that Travis and I can’t do this alone. Right?”

Travis nods, then makes a face. “Agreeing with you twice in one night. What am I becoming?”

Gable rolls their eyes.

“Oh, well, if that’s the problem we can handle that easy,” Jonnit says, through a mouthful.

“We c— can?” Dref asks.

“Yeah! I’ll do the compat test with you.”

“Well, we can’t all pilot,” Travis says. “Only room for two, remember?”

“Actually. About that...” Jonnit says slowly, and exchanges significant looks with Dref.

“Whoa, wait, what’s happening right now?” Gable asks.

Jonnit jumps up to his feet. “There’s something both of you really need to see, like, right now.”

Chapter Text

“I found it the same day you guys arrived here,” Jonnit says, as all four of them stare up at the huge bronze Jaeger.

“Freedom Call,” Gable says, trailing their fingertips over the nameplate affixed to the railing.

“It is not recorded in the sh— shatterdome’s inventory,” Dref says.

“It’s like it’s a ghost or something,” Jonnit says. He clambers up on the railings and perches there, craning round to keep his eyes on the Jaeger.

“Freedom Call,” Gable repeats. “Freedom Call, as in, Marshal Vale’s Jaeger?”

“Gotta be,” Travis says, joining Jonnit up on the railings. He still has his food in one hand, and he begins to eat it again. “Can’t imagine there are many other reasons that he’d keep a whole Jaeger just lying around.”

“Sentimental value,” Gable agrees. They look at Dref. “You know there’s no way he’ll ever let us pilot this.”

“The w— world is ending,” Dref says. “I don’t th— think he has much of, well, a choice.”

“Why doesn’t he pilot anymore?” they ask.

“Ah, we do know that one,” Dref says. “One of h— his co-pilots died. The other ran away to st— start a rogue unit.”

“You mean like the Bandit Fleet?” Travis asks, and Jonnit nods.

“Not just like the Bandit Fleet,” he says. “The Bandit Fleet.”

“The marshal of the Bandit Fleet used to drift with Orimar Vale,” Gable says. “Huh.”

“Yeah, that was kinda our reaction too,” Jonnit says.

“How did you find that one out?”

“Spit told us,” he explains. “He’s been the head of J-Tech for a million years or something. He probably knows the marshal better than anyone else in the dome.”

“Wait,” Travis says. “Does that mean Spit is technically your boss, Dref? Spit?”

“No,” Dref says. “I’m sp— special division. Th— thank god.”

“Because of the weird kaiju stuff?” Travis says.

“Well, that isn’t how I would p— put it,” Dref says. “B— but yes. I suppose.”

Gable tunes out the bickering. They can’t seem to take their eyes off the Freedom Call. They move over to lean on the railings beside where Jonnit is perched. He looks across at them and smiles. They’re still taller than him, even when he’s sitting on the top bar of the railings.

“Jonnit,” they say, not really knowing how to begin. Behind the cheerfulness, there’s a steadiness to Jonnit’s eyes. The look of someone used to shouldering responsibilities that no child should have to. How much of that is Gable to blame for?

For a moment, they imagine the moment before Seraph Hawk had engaged Sovereign, in the choppy waters outside Akaron. The last moment they remember before the fight, their determination inseparable from Hildred’s in the drift. They try and imagine doing something different in that moment, something that would change the inevitable outcome, but.

It’s no good. They know that. Akaron was destroyed, they haven’t spoken to Hildred ever since they ran away, and Jonnit is sitting in front of them, looking at them expectantly.

They draw breath to say something about piloting, or the Freedom Call, or anything, but all that comes out is “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at them in concern.

They take a deep breath, trying to sort out their words. “For Akaron.”

“Oh, Gable,” he says. He hops down from the railings, and hugs them tightly. “That wasn’t on you.”

“No,” they say into his hair. “It was. It was my job, and I fucked it up. But I won’t let it happen again.”

“We won’t let it happen again.”

“An— and anyway, as you told me earlier,” Dref interjects, “It was a c— category four. You didn’t ex— exactly stand a chance, unprepared. No offense.”

Travis snorts. “Don’t pretend that you didn’t know that Sovereign was a cat-4 until Gable told you.”

Dref glares at him. “This is n— not about me.”

“Actually, wait,” Jonnit says, pulling away from Gable to look at Dref. “I wanna know what you were talking about earlier. You were a pilot?”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—” Gable says.

“But we want you to, very much,” Travis interrupts.

“It— it was a long time ago,” Dref says, and he’s starting to flush again. “Two years, be— before I came here, I— I did tr— train as a pilot, yes.”

“Why didn’t you...?” Jonnit says.

“It’s c— complicated,” Dref says. “But primarily, because I h— hated it. It— made me sick, I couldn’t—” He twists the cuff of his coat between his fingers.

“Dref,” Gable says, because they have to say it, they have to make sure he knows. “You know chances are the four of us would all be compatible, right?”

“Yes,” he says. “I d— do know that. I didn’t realise— until the testing, earlier, but. Yes. But it doesn’t matter, b— because they will n— never make me drift again. O— okay?” He looks at all of them with terrified determination.

“Yeah,” Gable says gently. Hildred had once told them that they needed to stop bestowing mercies like some distant angel, but they don’t really know how to stop. It’s just who they are. “That’s okay.”

“You’re still our best friend, Dref!” Jonnit adds.

Gable looks pointedly at Travis, who’s swinging his legs idly up on the railings. “What?” he says. “You’re not going to get an emotional confession out of me. I don’t do those.”

Gable glares harder.

“Fine! Dref, I promise never to drift with you.” He turns his eyes back on Gable. “Good enough for you?”

“Of all the people I could be drift compatible with,” Gable says, “I had to be cursed with you. I was literally in love with my last co-pilot, Dref and Jonnit are sweethearts, then… you.”

Travis smirks at them. “And what exactly does that say about you, my dearest co-pilot?”

“God knows,” Gable sighs. “But I’m absolutely sure that it’s nothing good.”

—

Dref finds himself not wanting to leave this corner of the catwalk that surrounds the Freedom Call’s hangar. It’s been so long since he’s felt comfortable in the same room as Jaeger, but it’s quiet up here, away from the hustle of the other staff. No one to stare or snigger behind their hands. It takes a while, but he finds himself relaxing.

It doesn’t take Gable long to find a spot on the floor to sit on, leaning back against the wall, exactly like they do in his lab. At first, he’d sat next to them awkwardly, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone after the discussion of drift compatibility, but as the evening passed he’d slowly sunk into their side, and now they have an arm thrown around his shoulders as they talk to Jonnit and Travis. Everyone seems content to let him sit quietly, but it doesn’t feel like he’s being ignored. It’s unusual that he gets it both ways. All of this, in fact, is unusual.

God, he’s tired, and Gable’s strong and warm. He’s almost falling asleep when he catches something from the buzz of conversation that makes his blood run cold.

“Oh,” Jonnit says, “You guys know, like, who pilots are and shit, right?”

“We sure do,” Travis says.

“Most of them, anyway,” Gable agrees.

“Okay, when I was given the brief about the compat tests, the marshal also mentioned that a guy, a pilot, was coming through for repairs on his way somewhere else. A, uh, Youngblood?”

Dref stiffens against Gable’s side as they snort, and Travis rolls his eyes.

“Oh god, not one of the Youngbloods, are you kidding?” he says. “Which one?”

“It was Tiberius, or something like that?”

“One of the kids, right,” Travis says. “Good. I do believe having to listen to Youngblood Senior say one more word would finally be enough to kill me.”

Jonnit’s looking between Travis and Gable. “What? Who are the Youngbloods?”

“They’re this big old family,” Gable explains, “Pilots, every one of them.”

Dref tries to hide his flinch.

“Of the worst kind,” Travis adds.

“You just think that because they rival you for stupid dramatics,” Gable says. “They’re superstars, not pilots, really. Youngblood Senior, as Travis says, ran the training camp we met at, and he was notorious for incredibly long and dull speeches— Dref, are you okay?”

Dref wrenches away from their grip, and stands up. “Jonnit,” he says, and he’s trying to keep his voice steady but he can’t, it’s been so long, he thought he’d— well, not escaped, he knows he’ll never escape, but he’d hoped that he’d have… more time. “D— did you say Ti— Tiberius is coming here?”

“Yeah, he’s getting repairs or something, Dref, are you doing okay?”

“Wh— when is he coming?”

“Like, two days time.”

Dref takes a deep breath. Okay. He can just stay in his lab, he does that most of the time, anyway. Had done that, before he’d met—

They’re all staring up at him, Gable and Jonnit worried, Travis’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He’s always known he wouldn’t be able to hide forever, but oh, why did this have to happen after he’d found… Whatever they are. Friends. Family?

Something to lose. He can’t stay here.

“I— I need to go,” he manages. “I will s— see you all t— tomorrow, good night—” he turns and hurries towards the door, pulling his coat close around his shoulders. He doesn’t look back, but he can hear their confused voices all the way down the corridor.

In his head, it turns into Tiberius’s laughter.

—

That night, Gable dreams of the Seraph Hawk.

When they think back to that time, the first thing that they see— before Akaron, even before the pain— is Hildred Gastaur. They can picture her so clearly, head tipped back, laughing with a vicious, deliberate joy.

God, Gable had loved her. Maybe they still do. It’s been so long since they last had space to think about anything except day to day survival.

It’s her laughter that follows them into their dreams. She’s laughing, and dream-Gable flushes, because they know that they were the one who made her laugh like this, with their quiet and dry comments about the people around them.

“Hildred,” they try to say, “I had to leave, I had to. Do you— can you forgive me?”

The dream changes before she can reply. Now, Gable’s in the cockpit of the Seraph Hawk, just sitting there, staring out at the open harbour. They see Dref, down on the ground, studying a holodisplay closely, and suddenly they’re terrified, even though they can’t remember what’s supposed to happen next—

The water’s rising. It rises in huge, crashing waves, each one hitting the walls of the base with more ferocity. There should be noise, the crashing of the waves, the screams of people in the harbour, but there’s nothing. Just silence. Dref doesn’t make a sound as the water rises up over his head. The sea consumes everything, silent and gray.

They wake up gasping for breath, and they don’t even have to bring a hand up to their cheek to know they’ve been crying.

—

Travis wakes at sunrise.

He isn’t, by nature, an early riser. But being a Jaeger pilot on call first, then a near-fugitive beating people at cards to survive after that does tend to fuck up your sleep schedule— in his case, irreparably. He gives up on sleep with a long suffering sigh, and sits up.

His room is small, one of many along that particular hallway. The walls are dark, reinforced metal, and he guesses it’s supposed to be for safety, but he knows that a kaiju would make short work of this place. For anyone else, it would be bleak and timeless, with no windows, but he’s stolen plenty of watches in his time. It’s good to have a backup on your person at all times, in case something goes wrong and you find yourself with nothing to eat that day. Watches are good for that, especially the nicer ones. They sell for quite a bit, if you know who to ask. And Travis makes sure that he always does.

Not that he needs that insurance anymore, here. At the shatterdome, everyone eats the same, and he knows better than to try and play games with Wasp. But it’s a habit he has no interest in shaking— better safe than sorry.

Travis, in general, tries very hard to not spend any time on self reflection. But he can’t stop his mind from drifting— ha— back to the fight with Gable yesterday. The sparring, and then the arguing, that is. Gable had been about to talk about Margaret, before he’d stopped them. He’s become so used to being the only one who remembers her, the only person left in the entire world who remembered her as something other than a pilot who died too young. A person, not a symbol.

But he… isn’t.

He can’t decide how he feels about it. Did he interrupt them out of grief, or, or… jealousy? Fear that if the memories are disturbed, they’ll fade, like photos left on a sunny windowsill?

“This is stupid,” he says, and gets out of bed. He snags the hair tie Gable had lent him yesterday, ties his hair back again, and pads across the room to where his coat is hanging on the back of the door.

He hadn’t brought any kind of luggage to the shatterdome, but his coat is full of all kinds of things, tucked away in the pockets. Bags can be lost. It’s safer to keep things on his person.

“Am I doing the right thing?” he mutters, as he scrabbles through the pockets. “Being here, doing this?”

A moment later, another thought strikes him: “Do I have a choice?”

It takes him a moment before he finds it. It’s wrapped in an old waterproof bag, and he opens it gently. He pulls out a little sleeve of cards. The sleeve was clearly once a handsome blue, but it’s worn and faded now, stained with water damage. He doesn’t open it. He holds it for a long moment, head bowed, before pocketing it and going to get dressed. It’s a warm and familiar weight in his pocket.

In a strange kind of way, it feels like progress.

Chapter Text

Travis catches Gable in the corridor outside. They’ve clearly just come back from the showers, despite the early hour, and their hair’s still down. It’s so long, nowadays, reaching their waist in a waterfall of white. They also have a bag slung over their shoulder. They freeze when they see him, like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. That immediately catches his attention.

“Morning,” he says breezily. “What’re you up to, then?”

“Nothing,” they say, guiltily.

Travis gives them a doubtful look. “Okay, there are three options here. One, you wanted to get extra breakfast by getting to the mess hall first. Which is, of course, the reason I’m up at this ungodly hour of the morning,” he lies easily. “Two, you spent the night with someone, and are trying to sneak back to your room without anyone noticing.”

Gable makes an undignified noise of outrage, which is about what Travis had expected. They’re still secretly in love with their last co-pilot, or something.

(He truly wishes he could tease them about that with impunity, but the weight of the wedding ring he still wears on a chain around his neck softly calls him a hypocrite. Not that that’s stopped him before, of course.)

“So!” he says. “That brings us to the final option.”

“Which is?” Gable asks wearily.

“You were running away,” he says. They wince— bingo! Another stunning logical deduction from Travis Matagot.

“I— I wasn’t going to leave forever,” they say defensively. “I was just—”

“I thought,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at them. “I thought I was supposed to be the emotionally detached, ready to jump ship at any moment one. You’re supposed to be the dependable, responsible one.”

“I convinced you to come here in the first place,” Gable protests, as they cast a quick look up and down the corridor. There’s no one else up, yet. “Is that not responsible enough for you?”

“Look at you now!” he says, pointing at their packed bag. “I think that cancels out. You’re as bad as I am. I don’t want to hear any more of your judgy judgy bullshit, you’re just as bad as I am.”

“I—” they stutter to a standstill, and he knows he’s got them. Now they have to stay, if only to prove him wrong.

“Come and get breakfast and grow up, you big, stupid baby.”

“Uh,” they say. “I’ll just go and— put my bag down? And do my hair?”

“Don’t take too long,” he says, “Or I will eat your breakfast.”

They head back towards their room, giving him a deeply confused look as they go, as if they can’t work out what just happened. As soon as they’ve closed their door, and Travis is alone in the hallway, he sighs. He wasn’t sure, before the very moment he spoke to Gable, whether he was even going to stay or not himself. But… he does miss it. Drifting. It would sting, like salt in an old wound, to get this close and have to run away. He could do it. He’s good at running. But it would hurt.

“What am I doing,” he mutters, and heads towards the mess hall.

—

He isn’t even half way there when he runs into Dref. Or, well, he runs into someone, and it takes a moment for him to recognise it as Dref because of the whole… wig situation. He, also, has a bag over his shoulder, and a conflicted, martyr-like expression of fear on his face when he catches Travis’s eye through the wig.

Travis throws his hands up. “Did you two plan this? Or is running away just catching this morning?” he demands. Someone else, one of the engineers by the looks of it, awkwardly shuffles around them. They both pause as they pass.

“W— what?” Dref says, once the hallway’s clear again.

“I caught Gable doing the exact same thing you’re doing barely ten minutes ago.”

“What? W— why?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, always been a bit of a runner, that one. You know, people always accuse me of being the emotionally avoidant one, but I was actually married for, like, a number of years. Don’t let them fool you with their high and mighty act.”

Dref looks like he might start crying out of sheer confusion. Part of Travis relates, it’s entirely too early to have to be thinking.

“I— what— you were married?” he manages, then shakes his head. “Actually, that doesn’t matter ri— right—”

“Anyway,” Travis says. “I sent Gable to save us a seat in the mess hall. Run along and find them, would you?”

“I— you’re not going to ask why I’m l— leaving?”

Travis gives him a calculating look. “No. I’m not. I didn’t ask Gable, either. I don’t care.” He’s incredibly curious, actually, but he’s learning how to play the game that is Dref Wormwood. He won’t let his curiosity cost him the win.

Dref frowns under the wig. “Th— then why do you c— care that we’re l— leaving at all?”

Gable was easy to bait. They don’t really want to leave, is the thing, not actually. Dref is different in so many ways, but Travis thinks that he has that in common with Gable. He drapes an arm around Dref’s shoulders, and starts leading him in the direction of the mess hall. “When you’ve lived as many lives as I have,” he says, “You can spot a good thing when you see it. Why mess with a winning formula?”

“L— listen to this,” Dref says shakily. “Tr— Travis Matagot has a h— heart, after all.”

“Oh, well now I am offended.” He lets go of Dref, and points at him. “I’d lose the wig, if I were you. Meet you in the mess hall. And hurry, I think Gable’s going to eat your breakfast.”

—

He meets Jonnit lurking outside the doors of the mess hall, and he peers at him carefully.

“You good?” Jonnit asks him, giving him a weird look.

“You’re not about to pull a runner, are you?” The kid doesn’t look like he is. He looks like he’s just waiting to eat breakfast with his friends. But god, after the morning Travis has had? It doesn’t hurt to ask.

“No?” Jonnit offers.

“Good. Because you’ll never guess who I caught trying to sneak out this morning,” Travis says, pushing the door to the mess hall open. “Dref and Gable.”

“They were sneaking out without us?” Jonnit says. The room’s pretty empty, and they head over to a table in the corner.

“That’s the thing!” Travis says, as they sit down. He makes a point of sitting away from the projection of the war clock, high on the wall. The benches are cold metal, riveted to the ground, and he grimaces as he sits. Shatterdomes have no sense of style. “They were sneaking out, on the same morning, entirely independently of each other.”

Jonnit still looks worried. “I know Dref,” he says. “I didn’t think there was anything that could get him to leave his work here. It’s super important to him. And Gable didn’t even say goodbye.”

“With Dref, it’s something to do with the Youngbloods,” Travis says. “Which is fair, I would also run away if it meant I didn’t have to talk to the dear ol’ marshal again, but. Still.”

“Weird,” Jonnit agrees. “I’ve never seen him act like that before.” He sighs and puts his elbows up on the table. “I can’t believe they’d try to leave without us.”

Travis reaches across the table to pat his wrist. “My boy,” he says. “People suck. Look, there’s Gable now. You can yell at them.”

“I’m not gonna yell at them,” Jonnit says.

“Your loss. Hey, over here!”

Gable’s hair is braided again like normal, and they don’t have their bag anymore. They look a little sheepish as they come over and sit beside Jonnit on the bench. “I was going to come back,” they say, before anyone can say anything. “I just— needed some air.”

“You know I caught Dref—” Travis begins, then pauses. “Actually, let’s wait ‘til he gets here. I’m not going over this for a third time. You guys really know how to tire a man out, don’t you?”

“You don’t think he left after all, do you?” Jonnit asks, leaning out to scan the room. No Dref.

“Wait, what?” Gable says. “Why…?”

“Wow, way to spoil the story, Jonnit,” Travis begins, but before he can explain (again!), they’re interrupted by the appearance of Wendell and Nodoze. Travis mimes sealed lips and mouths later. He isn’t going to air Dref’s private business to just anyone, he’s not a monster.

“Mind if we join you?” Wendell asks. He’s a burly man with a friendly smile, tattoos peeking out from under his shirt at his collar and on the arm that isn’t a prosthetic. Nodoze is a little taller, and a lot tireder looking, but his face is calm and open.

“Sure,” Jonnit says, reluctantly giving up on spotting Dref. “Is this because Spit still mad at you for cheating at cards?”

“We did not cheat,” Nodoze says, as they both sit on Travis’s side of the table. He shoots a subtle look over to the table where Spit is sitting, two tables over. “Spit’s eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

Wendell winks conspicuously, and Nodoze elbows him.

“Cheating or no, we’re still in search of other company this morning,” Wendell says. “And who better than our budding young pilots?”

Travis snorts. “Young?”

“Younger than Spit,” Gable says morosely.

“That’s not hard,” Jonnit says. “He’s, like, three hundred.”

“I can hear you!” Spit calls over. “My senses are as good as they ever were, thank you very much, eyes and ears both!”

Everyone laughs. It’s kind of nice, actually, for a moment. Feels a little like being part of a team again. Travis takes that feeling and files it firmly in the “do not ever admit to anyone especially not Gable” box.

“So, you guys trying out later?” Wendell asks, and goes to swipe something off Nodoze’s plate, but Nodoze swats his hand away easily. God, but Travis misses that easy dynamic. He misses, despite himself, piloting.

He looks at Gable and Jonnit, who are looking at each other. It feels like so much has happened since their quick, impulsive decision to pilot together the previous evening, but…

“We are,” Gable says, and it’s the most definite they’ve sounded all morning, like they’ve finally found their resolve.

Nodoze puts a solid hand on their forearm. “Welcome to the team,” he says.

There’s still no sign of Dref.

—

Gable feels like they’re still in a dream.

They hadn’t been lying when they told Travis they weren’t planning on leaving the shatterdome forever. They really had only intended to take a break— but maybe Travis is right. If they’d left, would they ever have come back?

They don’t know.

But that doesn’t matter now. They’re still here, now. They go through the motions of getting ready for the compatibility tests on muscle memory alone, and then they’re standing in the crowd in the fighting room and everyone is buzzing with excitement once again. The room is more empty than it was yesterday, and they wish Dref was with them so they could thank him for his foresight the previous day. But he isn’t.

Distantly, they check in on their team. Travis is channeling his nervous energy into impulsively stealing trinkets from the cadets, while Jonnit, matching Travis’s energy, keeps tapping out rhythms with his fingers— first on the tabletop at breakfast, now on his own leg as they stand waiting. Travis occasionally passes him a bracelet or a wallet and Jonnit frowns at him and gestures for him to put it back where he found it. Travis does so with a shrug.

Dref hadn’t joined them at breakfast at all, but on the way over Travis had hastily whispered the story of meeting Dref in the hallway— and emphasised the apparent importance of the name Youngblood. They can see him now, standing by the marshal again, clipboard in hand. He looks pale and ill, like he’s trying to will himself out of existence, and there’s something wrong there that they’d don’t know how to fix.

But at least he’s still here.

There’s an irony in that relief that they don’t let themself examine. Maybe Travis is good for something after all.

It’s only once they’re done with sparring that everything finally snaps back into sharp focus. They’re out of breath, and everyone is watching them, silently— now they all know what Gable’s known somewhere deep in their soul ever since they first met the others. The three of them, Gable, Travis, Jonnit, are drift compatible. They’re co-pilots, or could be. It’s terrifying, like jumping off a bridge— falling, falling, falling.

The marshal’s watching them, face implacable and a little cold. Gable tries to make eye contact with Dref, but he stares straight through them, and that… that kind of hurts. Despite being surrounded by people, Gable suddenly feels lonely. On impulse, they put an arm around Jonnit and Travis, on either side of them. Jonnit immediately puts an arm around Gable’s waist in return. Travis doesn’t react, but Gable can tell he’s scanning the crowd, gauging reactions as imperceptibly as he can.

“They’re my co-pilots,” they blurt out, and they manage to keep the tremor out of their voice. Freefall. There are murmurs from the crowd, but Gable doesn’t let themself waver. They give one last look at Dref, but he’s still staring down at this clipboard, so they look up and make direct eye contact with Marshal Orimar Vale. “Or I am not doing this at all.”

Vale frowns. He glances down at Dref, as if to say aren’t these ones yours? but Dref doesn’t seem to notice. The marshal looks back up at Gable.

“No,” he says, and Gable feels like they’ve hit the ground, hard. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Dref jerks his head up at that, like he’s coming out of a reverie. He looks up at the marshal sharply.

“We don’t have a three pilot Jaeger here,” Spit adds, pushing his way to the front of the crowd.
“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be a good idea if we could do it, but that ain’t possible.”

“But— that’s not true,” Jonnit says. “There’s, it’s not in any of the records, but I found it and I’m meant to— we’re meant to—”

The rest of the crowd stir uncomfortably. Vale is stone faced, and Gable hasn’t seen him like this the entire time they’ve been here. They feel cold and numb.

“Jonnit, I ain’t sure what you’re talking about,” Spit says kindly, “But there’s no three pilot Jaeger in this here dome. I’d know about it if there was.”

“But—” Jonnit’s practically vibrating with frustrated energy. “That’s not true, there’s…”

Travis shrugs free of Gable’s grip and steps forward. “Marshal,” he says, “I understand sentimentality, but these are desperate times— which call for desperate measures, as they say.”

“S— sir,” Dref begins, but the marshal interrupts him abruptly.

“It is not my permission you need to seek in this case,” he says. “This is not my gift to give.”

Gable can feel everyone staring like it’s a physical weight, and suddenly it’s all too much. They feel sick. They pull away from Jonnit and rush for the exit.

They make it all the way back to their room before they start to cry.

—

The other people in the room seem to take Gable leaving as their cue to awkwardly head for the door. It doesn’t take long for everyone to filter out, just leaving Jonnit and Travis standing on the mat, with Vale, Spit and Dref looking down at them.

“What d’you mean, it’s not your permission we need?” Jonnit asks. He looks over at the door briefly, but there’s already no sign of Gable. He’s itching to go after them, but first he needs to understand.

“I am not discussing this further,” Vale says. He turns to leave, but Jonnit hurries after him. He shoots a quick look back at Travis just before leaving the room, but he just waves Jonnit onwards.

“Marshal,” he says, as they go out into the corridor, the door falling shut behind them. “With all due respect and all that, we need Jaegers, we can’t just… do this.”

The marshal doesn’t stop walking, his footsteps echoing. Jonnit has to run a little to keep up, but he does so with determination.

“Orimar,” he asks. “Who are you keeping it for? Freedom Call? Who’s is it?”

He stops, so suddenly Jonnit almost trips at his heels. He looks at Jonnit seriously. “Someone that I love very much,” he says, “And who isn’t here right now.”

“The Bandit Queen,” Jonnit breathes, staring up at the marshal. Orimar nods. He looks so much more human, here in this random corridor under the flickering striplights. Not a figurehead and a leader. A person, doing his best with what he’s been given.

“Yes,” he says.

“But they already have Jaegers, the fleet,” Jonnit says, “So why…” He thinks it through, thoughts jumping quicker than he can form the sentences. “Wait. Does that mean the Fleet is coming… here? To get it?”

Orimar sighs, and shakes his head. “It’s not as simple as that. You’re young,” he says. “So you’re special. You’re the future this place is all about saving, you know. But even if it will doom us all, there are people who either don’t believe in our cause, or don’t care. There is a lot of fame to be had out here, after all.”

“Like the Youngbloods?”

“Yes. Like the Youngbloods. They’re replacing me, Jonnit. They’re sending Tiberius Youngblood out here to see if he would like to take over this place. It’s a tour.”

Jonnit freezes in shock. Dref, is his first thought, but it’s quickly followed by “What about the city? What about Burza Nyth? If there isn’t anyone actually protecting…”

“Exactly.” The lights flicker again, casting Orimar’s face into shadow for a moment. “So, we’re…”

“Joining the Bandit Fleet?”

“I hope. It has been a… while, since I have spoken to Si— to the Bandit Queen.” He sighs. “This uncertainty has led me to be wary with passing on this information at present, especially with Youngblood’s visit imminent. The secret would have kept nicely, but unfortunately I didn’t anticipate… this.”

“Sorry?” Jonnit says uncertainly, but the marshal shakes his head.

“I’m telling you this now because you were raised here. You understand what this place means. One day, you will save the world. But for that, there needs to be a world left to save, and that is my job.” He looks a little sad. “But. Please apologise to your co-pilot for me. These past few years haven't been easy for any of us.”

“I, uh, okay,” Jonnit says. “This is all a lot.”

The marshal puts a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to the Jaeger program.”

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been difficult for Dref to take advantage of everyone’s distraction to slip away.

His hands are shaking with anxiety as he locks the door of his lab, and after he’s certain no one could possibly get in, he sinks down onto the floor where Gable normally sits, and puts his head in his hands. It’s all falling apart, for all of them, and it’s at least partly his fault, but— he’s no idiot. It was probably always going to come to this, sooner or later. This is the end of the world, after all. He just wishes… he just wishes he could have kept Jonnit, Travis and Gable out of the fallout. He wishes that they weren’t going to learn the truth about who he is from Tiberius.

He can’t bring himself to regret loving them. He’ll keep that tucked away in his heart, a final transgression that no one can ever make him repent of. He loves them all.

The day passes slowly, and he stays hidden in his lab for all of it. He gets part way through reorganising his paperwork, but listlessness overtakes him.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, curled up back on the floor. If he pretends hard enough, he can almost picture Gable sitting next to him, slouched against the wall, keeping an eye on him as he works. It’s almost like they think the kaiju data he studies is going to corrupt him or control him, somehow. Before, he’d been bemused at best and annoyed at worst by their watchfulness. But now he misses it. He misses Jonnit’s quick mind and easy company. He even misses Travis’s companionable bullying.

His dreams are troubled.

—

When Jonnit awakes the next morning, it’s raining, hard. There aren’t any windows in his quarters, but it’s close enough to the outside of the base to hear the rain falling on the metal roof. It fills the room with gentle white noise. He lies there and stares up at the ceiling for a very long time, Orimar Vale’s words echoing in his head: you will save the world.

It doesn’t feel like it. Yesterday, Gable had locked themself in their room, and although Travis pretended otherwise, it was clear— to Jonnit, at least— that he was worried and at a loss without them. He kept finding excuses to pass outside their room, lurking the corridor like a lost soul. But Gable hadn’t opened their door, or even made a sound. It was like they were never there in the first place— apart from the door, firmly locked.

Dref, also, had locked the door to his lab. He hadn’t done that since Jonnit had first started hanging out with him, months ago, so he didn’t have to stop working and open the door every single time Jonnit dropped in. He still flinched every time someone forgot to knock, but he left it unlocked for Jonnit— then, later, for Travis and Gable too. But now it’s locked, and like Travis, Jonnit finds himself kind of at a loss of what to do about it.

(He can’t stop thinking about how if Travis hadn’t happened to be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time, they wouldn’t even have the locked doors of their dearest friends to wait outside of.)

He’d told Travis about what the marshal had told him. The Youngbloods trying to take control of the base, the Bandit Fleet. Travis had chewed his lip thoughtfully, then tried to laugh it off with a couple of jokes at the Youngblood’s expense. The seriousness in his eyes had given him away. The conversation had trailed off into tense silence.

Jonnit sighs. He’s so tired of building lives for himself, only to have them taken away by forces beyond his control. So tired.

He kicks off the covers and dresses quickly. It’s cold as well as rainy, so he grabs one of the blankets off his bed and tugs it around his shoulders. It almost reaches his knees. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs another and bundles it up in his arms to carry. Then, he heads out into the shatterdome.

The last time his world had been destroyed, it had been sunny— a glorious summer’s day, down at Akaron’s beach. He’d been teaching Zana how to swim on her back. Neither of them had seen the kaiju at first, but then it was too close to ignore, and suddenly they were swimming for their lives as the huge waves crashed over their heads. They hadn’t been able to escape the water, and it had been a miracle that they’d managed to both hold onto each other and not drown, instead washing up on the beach miles downtide. They’d been lucky, but other people hadn’t— so many other people hadn’t.

He hasn’t been back in the water since. Not swimming pools, and definitely not the ocean. It makes him shudder just thinking about it.

But this isn’t that, he tells himself. This collapse is slower, people being pulled apart by situation and circumstance. He couldn’t outswim a kaiju, and he never got to finish teaching his sister to swim, but this? This, he can change. This, he is going to change.

You will save the world.

—

Outside the door to Dref’s lab, he hesitates. The door is still closed, but after a moment, he raises his hand and knocks. The light filtering into the hallway is pale and dull. There’s no sound from inside. He knocks again.

“Dref?” he calls. “It’s me, uh, Jonnit.”

There’s still no response. He wonders for a moment if Dref is even in there.

“I just came— I came to see if you wanted food?” he says, to the cold steel of the door, and he tries really hard to not let his voice crack on the last word, but he can’t help it. He scrubs his eyes with his fist, then adjusts the blanket around his shoulders. “But I can… go. If you want.”

There’s a noise from inside, like a chair being pushed back impulsively, and suddenly the door opens, just a little. Dref looks about as awful as Jonnit feels, his eyes are sunken and his glasses are sitting a little crooked on his nose. His shirt is rumpled, like he slept in it, and his sleeves are pushed up haphazardly. His tattoos are stark against his pale skin. He just stares for a minute, taking in the sight of Jonnit, wrapped in one blanket, holding another, and about looking two seconds away from bursting into tears right there in the hallway.

“C— come— come in,” he says, in a very small voice.

“Okay,” Jonnit responds, barely above a whisper. Dref opens the door just enough to let Jonnit slip in, then immediately shuts it again and locks it. Jonnit looks at him again, then drops the blanket he’s holding and hugs him.

Dref startles at first, tensing up, but he relaxes almost immediately. They’ve talked about this, when Dref’s okay with touching, when he’s better off with high fives. Dref doesn’t hug people often, but Jonnit knows he gets lonely, too. That had been the common thread connecting them when they’d first met. It’s strange to realise that it isn’t, anymore. Now they’re just… friends. Dref puts his arms around Jonnit stiffly, awkwardly, like he always does, and it’s the best hug Jonnit’s ever had.

“Don’t do that to me, man,” Jonnit says, face still pressed firmly into Dref’s chest.

“You sh— shouldn’t even b— be here,” Dref says. “If you knew—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jonnit tells him. “Dude, I love you, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh,” Dref says, like some great mystery has revealed its answer to him. “I— I see. Okay.” Then, after a moment, like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to say it: “I, I l— love you. As well. Thank you, Jonnit.”

“Thank you?”

“For…” Words, as seems to be their wont, abandon him. “For ma— making sure I get e— enough to eat.”

“Oh,” Jonnit says, letting go of Dref at last, and smiling at him. “No problem, dude.”

Dref smiles back, and looks something like himself for the first time since the word Youngblood was uttered.

—

Eventually, they all find their way to Dref’s lab.

Travis picks the lock, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to pick Gable’s, and he knows that would not end well. It wouldn’t be enough to stop him, but he knows.

So, instead, he picks the lock on Dref’s door, sometime in the early afternoon. It’s more challenging than some of the other locks in the shatterdome, but he manages it— silently, as well. He opens the door slowly, partly for dramatic effect and partly because he’s almost worried about what he’s going to see, but it looks… empty.

He opens the door all the way, and sees Dref and Jonnit sitting side by side on the floor, wrapped in a pair of matching blankets. They both stare up at him, and Dref goes to get up, but Travis waves his hand and closes the door behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re not in trouble. I’m not Gable.” His joke falls flat, even to his own ears, because they’re all reminded that Gable isn’t here.

“Blanket?” Jonnit offers, and really, it has been a very long few weeks. Who is Travis to refuse a cuddle pile?

—

Gable shows up less than half an hour later. Travis hadn’t locked the door behind him, so they just push it open despondently. Their hair is falling out of its plait, and their eyes are red.

“Hey,” they say quietly. They don’t seem surprised to see the three of them curled up on the floor, but they hesitate in the doorway— like they aren’t sure if they’re entirely welcome after the past day. They always were stupid like that. God, Travis is terrifyingly glad to see them.

“Hey, Gable,” Jonnit says. Dref doesn’t say anything, he just looks down, twisting the edge of the blanket between his fingers.

“You coming in, or what?” Travis says, carefully sharpening his tone to hide his breathless relief. He was a little worried that they’d found a way to leave, despite their protestations that they hadn’t meant to go for good. He’d meant what he’d told them, back at the camp outside the Wall of Life. Together, or not at all.

But they haven’t left. They’re here. Even if they do look like absolute shit.

“I—” they say, taking another half step forwards, “Dref? It’s your lab—”

“Come in, G— Gable,” Dref says firmly, still looking down at his hands. Gable does so, nudging the door shut behind them.

Travis is sitting at the end of the little row, and he watches the immediate unspoken agreement between Dref and Jonnit to shuffle apart so Gable can sit between them. The moment Gable sits and pulls the blanket over their knees, both Jonnit and Dref look kind of expectant, and Travis sniggers as Gable does what they’re clearly both after— they put their arms around each of their shoulders and pull them close. Dref tilts his head back and closes his eyes almost immediately. Jonnit smiles in satisfaction, wriggling further under his blanket.

Travis puts his legs across Dref and Gable’s laps. Gable goes to push his legs off, but seems to change their mind at the very last second— instead, they just rest their hand on his ankle, almost protectively. That’s entirely too sweet a gesture— especially from Gable— and part of him wants to get up and go sit on the other side of the room, put safe distance between himself and the others. Part of him really, really wants to.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. The sleeve of tarot cards he picked up this morning feel like they’re burning a hole in his pocket, and the clatter of the staff Gable had dropped before their argument in the sparring room fills his head. The look on their face. I need to talk to Gable, he thinks.

That, he decides, it a job for later. He knows what he needs to do— but that doesn’t mean he’s going to like it.

—

The day wears on. Eventually Dref’s had enough of being cuddled, and he gets up to go and mess around with papers on his desk or something. Science-y stuff. Travis lifts up his legs to let him out, then promptly puts them back on Gable, who is showing no inclination towards getting up, and doesn’t react. Jonnit, too, gets up after a while, although he looks conflicted about it.

“I really like hugs,” he says regretfully, “But also I’m, like, incapable of doing any one thing too long. Gotta get up and move, you know?”

Gable nods. “That’s fair.”

“Oh, s— same here,” Dref says. “Either that, or I will sp— spend ten hours doing one p— piece of research and—”

“Forget to eat and also speak to other human beings,” Jonnit finishes, climbing up onto one of the empty desks to sit. “Exactly.”

“ADHD and autistic s— solidarity in ac— action,” Dref says dryly. Travis watches him briefly scan a page, then put it in one of the myriad piles he’s been building. He doesn’t doubt there’s a system to Dref’s organization, but he thinks it’s unlikely that anyone else would figure it out. Perhaps that’s just another layer of security to his research.

“For real.”

Gable snorts. “I’m dyslexic, can I get in on the solidarity?”

“‘Course you can, Gable,” Jonnit says, swinging his legs.

“Then I’ll be your token neurotypical,” Travis says, with a dramatic sigh. “Truly my cross to bear.”

“Shut up,” Gable says, poking him— harder than is strictly necessary, Travis feels, so he reaches out to poke them back. Gable looks deeply affronted to be a victim in the poking war that they initiated, and their expression is so hilarious he can’t resist poking them again, and it escalates from there. It’s more challenging than you’d imagine, to have a mock fight with someone you’re drift compatible with, but he is determined to not let Gable win. "I'm joking," he protests. "Do I seem like a person with a normal brain? No!"

There’s none of the fear that had splintered their last fight, this time. None of the awful, clawing memories of Margaret and icy water and the way his own screaming had echoed inside the empty Jaeger. It’s just a silly, playful push-war in the corner of a warm, safe room, while his other two friends look on and laugh.

If he’s being honest with himself, that feeling of safety should have been a dead giveaway that something was about to go wrong. But, oh well. Hindsight is twenty twenty, as they say.

Still. He shouldn’t have needed the revealing touch of the past to anticipate the arrival of one Tiberius Youngblood.

Chapter Text

Jonnit hears the footsteps first. He looks up. People don’t come to this wing of the shatterdome unless they’re trying to find Dref’s lab, and all the people who would do that are already in the room around him. So that means…? He isn’t sure, but every instinct tells him something’s wrong. He drops down off the desk.

“Did you hear that?” he asks. Travis has also frozen, listening as the footsteps grow closer.

“Gable,” he says sharply. “Did you lock the door?”

“I, uh…” they rise to their feet, and Dref stiffens at his desk. Jonnit moves for the door, but he’s too late— there’s an abrupt knock, and then the door swings open.

There’s a man framed in the doorway. His clothes are smart, almost military, but what Jonnit’s struck by is the man’s resemblance to Dref. He’s just as pale and blonde, his hair in short curls. But his expression isn’t anything like Dref. Dref is all concentration and curiosity, and this man has a polite sneer that makes Jonnit itch to punch him.

He’s obviously struck Gable the same way, and Jonnit instinctively puts out an arm to stop them from… well, anything. They stop behind him, but they cross their arms and loom threateningly.

“Ah,” the man says, ignoring everyone else entirely and addressing Dref directly. “I was told I’d find you here, Alistair.”

Dref stands up, pushing his chair back with a harsh screech on the concrete floor. When he speaks, it’s with a tightly restrained anger that Jonnit has never heard from him before. “T— Ti— Tiberius.”

Tiberius Youngblood laughs bitterly. “Running away to live out your perverted dreams still wasn’t enough to rid you of that stutter, was it?”

Dref goes bright red, and Jonnit hears Gable take a reflexive breath behind him. It’s only the fact that he knows he’s probably the only thing stopping this devolving into an all out fist fight that prevents him from taking a swing himself. He knows better to try it, however, even through the anger. A pilot of Youngblood’s status has power and influence. And between Travis, Gable, Dref, and himself? They’re washed up pilots or outcasts or children. They have nothing. They wouldn’t stand a chance if Tiberius decided to tell tales about them, and Jonnit knows it. It doesn’t stop him seething.

“It’s polite to make introductions, remember, my dear brother,” Tiberius says. “Or have you lost your manners along with your wits?”

Jonnit looks quickly at Gable, who glances back, surprise in their eyes. Brother? Irrationally, Jonnit feels a sudden kick of something like jealousy, drowned out almost immediately by protectiveness. He nearly lost his baby sister to the kaiju, he will not lose this boy who’s become so much of an older brother that Jonnit never had.

Dref clenches his fists by his side, struggling with his words. Travis moves forward and positions himself deliberately between Dref and Tiberius. “Travis Matagot,” he says, putting his hand out. “Pilot of— well, I should say former pilot of the Forest Queen. You are…?”

“Tiberius Youngblood,” he says, shaking Travis’s hand. He gives Travis an appraising look. “I trust you would recognise that name, former pilot as you obviously are.”

“Oh, does it show?” Travis says lightly. “I trained with your dear old daddy.”

“A lot of people did, including myself. And, of course, our dear Alistair, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him now.”

“What is your problem?” Jonnit snaps. “Like, if you don’t want to speak to Dref, why did you come looking for him?”

“To the contrary, my boy,” Tiberius says, with just enough condescension to make Jonnit bristle. “I want to talk to… Dref, is it? Very much.”

Travis is still planted firmly between Tiberius and Dref, so Tiberius side steps around him to make eye contact with Dref again. Gable tenses, but doesn’t make a move. Jonnit knows they’re thinking the same thing he is— this is what Tiberius wants. They can’t risk giving him an excuse to get Dref kicked out of the shatterdome.

Dref, however, doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t back down. He steps up to Tiberius, and looks him in the eyes, undaunted. “W— what did you w— want to s— say to me, Tiberius? What c— could you possibly have left to s— say to me?”

“I wanted to ask you why. You know, we thought you were dead,” Tiberius says, low and angry. “We mourned you. And what did I find, when I checked the manifest of this shithole? You, alive, with a fake name. It wasn’t hard to work out what you were doing here. You did that to us, for this? Is there something that broken inside you, Alistair?”

“If I had st— stayed,” Dref says, just as angry, just as quiet, “I w— would have d— died. Mother and Father an— and Olivia and Remington and you, Tiberius, would have k— killed me, because you cannot see that th— there are things that m— matter more than maintaining our st— status quo. I had an opportunity. I took it. Is that not wh— what Father always said?”

“How dare you pretend this is what Father would have done,” Tiberius spits, bright red with rage. “Or the actions of any sane man.”

Dref remains undaunted, even as Jonnit can see his clenched fists shaking by his sides. All three of them watch, as if frozen, as Tiberius raises his hand against Dref, who tenses but doesn’t falter, not even for an instant.

“No!” Jonnit blurts, throwing himself forward.

He’s immediately followed by Gable saying “Oh, I don’t think you want to do that,” their voice colder and more authoritative than Jonnit’s ever heard before. They’re both poised to— to something, to fight or shout or anything to make this stop, but Dref shakes his head.

“Please,” he says quietly. “St— stay out of th— this.”

Tiberius wheels to look at Jonnit and Gable incredulously. “You do know what he’s doing here, don’t you?” he says. “He’s experimenting with kaiju. Have you heard him talking about them? He calls them ‘majestic creatures’, like he loves them. How can you stand with that?”

Travis, behind Tiberius, waves a careless hand. “Everyone’s got their thing, y’know?”

Jonnit glances up at Gable, because he knows that they aren’t exactly happy about the nature of Dref’s research. Travis doesn’t seem to care what other people do as long as it doesn’t directly inconvenience him, and Jonnit truly believes that if there’s a chance that Dref’s research will help provide a solution to the Breach then of course he should pursue it. But Gable… he knows they don’t hold it against Dref. But he also knows that it does bother them— that it worries them.

They don’t blink in the face of Tiberius’s accusation, however. They just look to Dref, gently, and warmly. “Do you want him out of here?” they ask.

“Yes,” Dref says tiredly. “G— ge— get out, Tiberius. Th— there isn’t an— anything l— left to say a— anymore. Don’t come back.”

Gable turns to Tiberius, and all of the kindness disappears from their eyes, their face turning sharp and cold. “You heard him,” they say.

Tiberius hesitates, and Travis steps forward to put a firm hand on his forearm and leads him towards the door. “If you don’t leave right now,” he says, “My big, dumb friend over here is going to lose their temper, I think, and I don’t care to deal with that right now, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“You’ll regret this,” Tiberius tells him, at the threshold. “And that is not a threat. That’s a promise from someone who was betrayed by this man that you all seem so very fond of.”

“Mr Youngblood,” Travis says. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. People suck. Who cares?”

The moment Tiberius steps out of the room, Travis shuts the door on him. Before he can lock it, however, Jonnit darts across the room and opens it again, slipping out into the hallway.

“Hey!” he calls.

Tiberius turns to look at him, cold and angry. “What do you want?”

“I want to tell you that you don’t know what you’ve done,” Jonnit says. He points back at the lab. “That’s my family in there. Dref is my family. And we’re going to save the world.”

“You’re young,” Tiberius says, pityingly, like he didn’t listen to a word Jonnit said. “It’s not too late for you to get out.”

“That’s my brother in there,” Jonnit reiterates. “And I want you to leave him alone.”

“Then maybe it is too late for you after all,” he says, and he begins to walk away.

“Wait,” Jonnit says. “I know why you came here.”

“You do?” he says, glancing back. “Please, do tell.”

“You— you came to take over the shatterdome. Right?”

Tiberius looks condescending all over again. “No,” he says. “I came here because I spotted an employee profile that had the face of my dead brother on it. But Orimar Vale is destined to lose this place, if not to me, then to someone else. He’s a visionary, I’m told. But the world doesn’t need visionaries. It needs men like me. Who’ll get stuff done. Keep people safe. No dreams of glory. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you’ll abandon my brother to his own wretched fate.”

He marches away up the corridor, and this time Jonnit doesn’t stop him.

—

The moment Tiberius is gone, Dref crumples. “G— god,” he says, “I— I’m sorry, I—”

Gable goes to him and holds out their arms questioningly. Dref shakes his head uncertainly, but reaches out a hand, and Gable takes it at once.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” they say, squeezing his hand. “Nothing, Dref, got it?”

“I lied to y— you,” he says. “I lied to you all.”

“I don’t think you did lie, you know,” Travis says airily. “I do lie. All the time. It’s kind of my thing. But you said, what, your name is Dref Wormwood, and you’re a scientist with a kaiju thing. That sounds like the weird, spooky guy we know to me.”

“I don’t have a kaiju thing,” Dref says, kind of muffled as he wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “Th— that makes it sound l— like a s— sex thing. It— it’s not a sex thing.”

“Thank you for that important clarification,” Gable says solemnly. Dref’s hand is still shaky and uncertain in theirs.

Jonnit comes back into the room, looking troubled. He carefully and deliberately locks the door behind him.

“A— are you o— okay?” Dref says, as at the same moment Jonnit says “Dref, I’m so fucking sorry, man—”

“Hey, hey,” Gable says. “We’re all okay now. We’re all okay. It’s my fault. I should have locked the door.”

“My— my brother being a p— piece of sh— shit is not your fault,” Dref says.

“He’s right,” Travis says, perching on the edge of the desk. “It’s not on you.” Gable looks at him in surprise. “What?”

Jonnit still looks troubled. “He said that Orimar is destined to be replaced, one way or another.”

“He probably isn’t wrong,” Gable says, in a low voice.

“He definitely isn’t wrong. They’re closing the Jaeger program down, remember?” Travis says. “It’s only a matter of time before they realise that our dear old marshall isn’t working fast enough on that particular goal.”

Gable rounds on him, dropping Dref’s hand. “You know, for a moment there, I was concerned,” they say. “Because you were being nice. But I see I needn’t have worried.”

“Am I wrong?” he says, meeting their gaze with easy defiance.

“H— he isn’t,” Dref says, behind them. Jonnit makes an uneasy noise.

“You aren’t,” they say, through gritted teeth. “But you aren’t useful right now.”

Before Travis can retort, there’s a sound from next door. It’s probably just a pipe or something in the wall, but all four of them jump, badly. Even Travis loses his composure for a moment, slipping off the desk, poised to run. Jonnit and Dref move closer together instinctively, and Gable struggles to control the impulse to just gather them all up close and never let them go again.

“This is ridiculous,” they say. “Let’s go out.”

“Where?” Jonnit asks. “Like, to the city?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to Burza Nyth.”

“It’s l— late,” Dref says doubtfully.

“It’s a big city,” Gable says. “I’m sure there’s still plenty to do.”

“Okay,” Jonnit says, and he looks excited, and Gable’s heart hurts a little.

“Dref?” they ask, and he nods slowly.

“I d— do not want to be h— here anymore,” he says, almost under his breath.

“We don’t have to be,” Gable promises. They can’t fix the Breach, they can’t fix the problems of the shatterdome. They can’t save the world. But they sure as hell can get their friends out, if only for a night. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it has to be enough. It’s all they have to offer.

When they turn to look back at Travis, he’s already looking at them, something unreadable in his eyes. They suddenly remember the handful of times Travis has mentioned his own family over the years they’ve known him. He doesn’t bring them up often, and what he says is vague, but it’s— it’s never good.

“You wanna go out?” they ask, and it comes out softer than they meant it to.

“Oh, Gable,” he says, with the grin Gable’s come to know so well. “Do you even need to ask?”

—

They agree to meet by one of the back doors. It doesn’t take Gable long to gather their things, and pull on their coat. They feel conspicuous, walking back through the shatterdome, but no one seems to question their urgent stride.

When they get to the corridor by the door, Jonnit’s already there. The door’s steel, locked tight, but one of the advantages of being friends with Travis Matagot is that locks suddenly became a lot less of an issue. Jonnit’s also got his coat on, and a new bandanna tied around his head. He’s fidgeting with a little tangle of metal rings that he got off Dref’s desk.

“Hey,” he says, as they approach.

“Hey,” Gable replies. “You been to Burza Nyth before?”

“Couple of times,” Jonnit says, nodding. “Not for very long, though, and never at night.”

“I’ve never been,” Gable says. “You’ll have to show me round.”

“I’ll try,” Jonnit says, with a laugh.

It doesn’t take long for Dref to join them. He’s ditched his normal lab coat for something more casual— an ankle length skirt, dark blue, just short enough to not dip in the puddles Gable’s sure will be everywhere out in the streets. He looks a little self conscious, and Gable realises this is the first time they’ve seen him not wearing his work clothes. They smile at him broadly.

Travis, predictably, arrives last. He’s got a raincoat on, but open, and underneath he’s wearing a crop top that reads forest queen, with a badly screen printed graphic of the very Jaeger above it.

“Are you wearing your own merch?” Jonnit demands immediately.

“D— did you steal th— that?” Dref asks at the same time.

“Well, it’s not really my merch anymore,” Travis says. “As, you know, the Forest Queen is still languishing on a beach in Alaska somewhere. And Dref, I’m hurt.”

“You did steal it,” Gable says, frowning at him. “I was there, dumbass.”

“Yes, I know I did steal it,” Travis says. “I’m not denying that, but really, what is the fun of stealing if everyone already assumes you’re a thief?”

“But... you are a thief,” Jonnit says.

“Well, maybe, but that’s entirely besides the point—”

“Maybe everyone should shut up and appreciate Dref’s pretty skirt,” Gable says.

Dref turns bright red. “H— how about we don’t do that,” he says, “And in— instead get on with l— leaving?”

“Sure,” Gable says. “But it is pretty.”

Travis rolls his eyes and goes to the door. It only takes moments before he’s got it open, and he bows theatrically as he waves them through. The night outside is cool, a light rain turning everything dewy in the light from the open door. As Travis closes it behind them, Gable looks up at the sky. The stars are dim and blurry. They all hurry across the dark tarmac of the outer yard, Gable holds the gate, and then—

Just like that, they’re out into normal streets, warehouses looming huge and dark on either side of them. The shatterdome’s a little way from Burza Nyth proper, Jonnit explains, but he points the way to the train station confidently.

As they walk, Jonnit peers at Travis’s top suspiciously, in the yellow light from the streetlights. “It doesn’t even look like Forest Queen,” he complains. “Like, Forest Queen only had two arms, right? There’s at least three there. And whatever that bit is.”

Travis looks down. “I believe it’s supposed to be a laser cannon. Least it was cheap, I guess.”

“It was free, you mean,” Gable says.

“I c— can’t believe you st— stole a kn— knockoff v— version of your own merch,” Dref says. He looks calmer, now they’re outside in the cool night air, rapidly putting more distance between themselves and Tiberius Youngblood.

“Look—” Travis begins, as they turn into the bright light of the train station. Gable stops listening, looking around the little station. It takes no time at all for them to find their way onto the platform.

They wait for the train to come with easy bickering. Gable tries to ignore the way it feels like this is a sweet game of pretend, a fleeting glimpse at a life they’ll never have. Maybe it’s enough, they think all over again. Because it’s all I have to offer them.

Chapter Text

Burza Nyth is a beautiful city at night. It’s dangerous, living this close to the coast, but still the city thrives— the soft rain turns the twinkling lights hazy around them. The four of them keep a low profile as they wander through the streets. Gable and Travis are definitely recogniseable to anyone with an interest in Jaeger pilots, and Travis knows that this close to the coast, that's probably a lot of people. Despite that, it’s nice to be out. It’s been years since Travis has last been to Burza Nyth.

Jonnit’s clearly thrilled to be here, and he bounds ahead, darting around through the crowds to look at things in the shop windows, all lit up with bright colours. Gable follows him, moving around people with a certain awkward grace. Travis lets them lead the way, and falls into step beside Dref. He doesn’t look as panicked as he had earlier, but he has his coat wrapped tightly around himself, shoulders hunched. Travis can almost hear him thinking too hard.

He doesn’t know what to say. “I know what it’s like to have a family that sucks,” seems like a non sequitur that Dref probably wouldn’t appreciate right now. But he does understand how Dref feels, in a way that Gable and Jonnit can’t. And Travis really hates being lost for words.

They walk past a shop with old, dusty halloween decorations in the window. A skeleton wearing a bloodstained lab coat and wielding a plastic sword leers out at the street. Travis elbows Dref and points at it. “Look, it’s you.”

Dref looks up, clearly startled out of a reverie. “Mm— oh,” he says, then laughs, just a little. “On a b— bad day.”

Travis laughs in response, and elbows Dref again companionably. Dref doesn’t elbow back like Gable or Jonnit would have, but he gives Travis the “Dude, for real?” look that Travis delights in getting out of people.

Then, in a motion that seems to surprise them both, Dref links his arm with Travis’s. Travis turns a bemused eye on him, but he’s looking at the ground as they continue to walk, arm in arm. His ears are bright red.

After a moment, he draws breath to speak, and Travis quickly interrupts him. “If you’re going to say something sappy about earlier,” he says. “Don’t. I’m actually allergic to emotional confessions.”

Dref closes his mouth, then opens it again. “Actually, you can’t st— stop me—”

“Yes, I can,” Travis says, “I can not listen— I’m not listening—”

“I’m tr— trying to say thank you,” Dref insists.

Travis makes a show of ignoring Dref and shrugs. “Like I said. Why mess with a winning formula? Right?” he adds pointedly.

“Right,” Dref agrees. “I’m not going to, ah, run away again. Okay?”

“Good,” Travis says. “I think you’d break Jonnit’s heart.”

“You c— can’t keep using Jonnit as a way to pr— project your own feelings,” Dref tells him sternly, as they weave around another group of people. “But— but. More importantly— are you going to talk to Gable?”

“About the whole running away without m— I mean, without us thing?” Travis says petulantly. “Yes. But why do people always assume it’s my job to talk to Gable?”

Dref gives him a look. “Is that a real question?”

“No,” Travis concedes. He sighs. “No, it’s not.”

They walk in silence for a while, still arm in arm. Gable and Jonnit have disappeared up the hill, and they both follow the road as it winds up in that direction slowly.

Up here, there’s a night market, busy and bustling. They pass close by one particular stall and it takes Travis a moment to realise what it is that’s stacked in the disorganised, tumbling piles on the tables— then it clicks all at once. It’s Jaeger merch.

He has to take a look. He slips out of Dref’s grip without a word, and dodges through the crowd.

No one around the stall looks at him twice as he searches through a pile of little action figures. He’s looking for that tell tale green and silver, the Jaeger that was his home and his heart for so long. He doesn’t find it. Back in the day, it would have been everywhere, he knows, but he realises with a cold kind of shock that maybe the Forest Queen really is starting to fade from people’s memories at last. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

He’s just about to turn away when something else catches his eye, right on the edge of the pile. The box is worn and battered, but the figure inside seems pristine, a familiar unusual shape and pale bronze. Freedom Call.

“Uh…” Dref says, somewhere behind Travis, muffled behind people trying to get to the stall. “H— help?”

Almost on instinct, he takes the figurine and slips it into his pocket. “Coming!” he says lightly, and turns away.

—

Gable lets Jonnit lead them through the winding streets. They glance back occasionally to make sure Travis and Dref are still distantly in view through the gloom of the evening, but it’s more out of habit than any actual concern tonight. The city is full of noise, traffic and music and people talking. It’s been so long since they’ve been somewhere with that kind of ambience. They’d worked on the Wall for a long while before returning to the Jaeger program, and out there everything was dead silent after curfew, like a ghost town. Just the wind and the distant sea.

That’s one thing Burza Nyth does have in common with the Coastal Wall— the smell of the sea. The street twists gradually upwards, and eventually they crest the hill and the wind hits, driving the drizzle down fiercely. Gable’s so busy pulling up the collar of their coat that they almost don’t notice the way Jonnit’s frozen stiff, standing in the middle of the road.

He’s staring across the city, down at the sea, all moonlit and rough right up to the horizon. There’s rain beaded in his hair and running down his face, and he looks— he looks terrified.

All at once, they remember Akaron.

A person carrying a handful of shopping bags doesn’t seem to see him, and almost walks into him, and that seems to startle him awake. He looks around, and Gable’s already moving towards him as he stumbles and—

They catch him, and hold him tight for a moment. “You okay?” they ask, holding his shoulders so they can look at his face.

“I don’t,” he says, his voice distant, “I don’t like the sea very much.”

“Yeah,” Gable says. “That makes sense. I got you.”

People try to push past them, and Gable turns to glare at them, letting Jonnit go.

“Gable,” Jonnit says quietly and insistently at their side, “I thought— I’m pretty sure I saw a kaiju out there.”

They turn back sharply to look at him. “No,” they breathe, over the rain and the bustle around them. “Here? Surely— surely someone would have sounded the alarms—” they swing round to stare out at the sea. “Do you see it now?”

“No,” Jonnit says, after a moment, “But there was one, I swear, I’m not just…” he trails off.

“Jonnit,” they say seriously. “If you say there was a kaiju, then I believe you. Okay?”

He stares at them for a long moment. “Okay,” he says, just as seriously. “What should we do, what should we do...” He snaps his fingers suddenly, “Dref, we should get Dref and Travis—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gable agrees, scanning the sea through the driving rain. “We should— we need to—” they can’t take their eyes off the sea. They can’t see anything out there apart from the churning waves, but every second they feel like they’re about to see the shape of their worst nightmare made incarnate on the horizon.

Jonnit grabs their hand, and pulls them down the road, pushing against the crowd. After a moment, Gable stops and scoops him up onto their shoulders, and then they run.

—

The moment he sees Gable and Jonnit, Travis knows something is very, very wrong. They both look windswept and panicky, and Travis tries to keep his heartbeat under control because he knows damn well there’s only one thing that could scare Gable that thoroughly.

“What’s wrong?” he says sharply.

Jonnit slips off Gable's shoulders and lands clumsily on the pavement. “I saw, I think I saw, out on the water, there was—”

“A k— kaiju?” Dref asks, and Travis has never heard such a cocktail of fear and excitement in any one voice before. He’s suddenly reminded of just how young Dref is, barely older, really, than Jonnit, and he wants— he wants to protect them, both of them, from the things that have left him and Gable as fucked up as they are. It’s definitely too late for that, but he can’t help it. He wonders if this is how Gable feels all the time. It sucks, so probably.

“We need to get out of here right now,” Gable says, catching Travis by the shoulder and beginning to shepard them all along.

“Jonnit, are you sure,” Travis asks.

“I—” Jonnit begins defensively, but he deflates almost instantly. “I think I did— it looked like one—”

They’re all moving now, fast enough that Jonnit’s almost tripping on the uneven cobbles. Gable keeps shooting desperate looks over their shoulder, and Dref is doing the same, but with a wildly different expression.

“They’ll know back at the shatterdome,” Travis says. “If there is anything— wrong. But…”

“I hope I’m wrong,” Jonnit says grimly. “I so do.”

The rain becomes a downpour.

—

It’s late when they get back, really late, but they head straight for the scanning room. Jane’s on nightshift, nursing a mug of coffee, and she jumps when the four of them burst through the door.

“Um, hello?” she says.

“Jane,” Jonnit says urgently, “Has anything come up on the scanners?”

“No?” she says. “Are you guys okay? You look—”

“Nothing at all?” Gable presses.

“Well, there was a blip earlier,” she says, reaching forward and tapping something on the holoscreen, bringing up the previous scan data. There’s a tiny mark, flashing insistently. “But it’s so stormy out there, that’s not unusual…”

Jonnit, Gable and Travis crowd around the screen. Dref hangs back a little, peering over Jonnit’s shoulder. It’s so quiet in here after the howl of the storm outside. The only sound is the water dripping off their coats onto the concrete floor.

“Map overlay,” Jonnit mutters, and brings up a map of the area under the scan data. The blip flashes, nestled right in the bay outside Burza Nyth. Gable inhales sharply, and Travis steps away, looking carefully neutral.

Jane gives Dref a confused look. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

He just shakes his head. “D— don’t worry about it. We’ve all had, well, a long night.”

She looks at them all with a frown. For a moment, Dref considers how they all look— drenched, scared, bursting into the room at three in the morning having clearly been outside the shatterdome. Internally, he winces. He’s normally a pretty good liar, but he knows how to recognise a lost cause.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me the truth,” Jane says, crossing her arms. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that, Dref.”

“Jonnit saw a kaiju out in the bay,” Gable says, and Jane’s eyes widen.

“Oh god,” she says, and turns back to the scanner. “But there wasn’t— we get little signals like that all the time when the weather’s like this. If there was something actually there, we’d know by now.”

“But the storm might be hiding something out there,” Jonnit says. “Right?”

“Well, maybe,” Jane admits, “But this is the best tech—”

“It used to be the best tech,” he says, gesturing at the screens lining the walls anxiously, “But, but we’ve had our funding cut like six times since I got here, there’s no way it still is.”

Jane gives him a helpless look. “I’m sorry, kid,” she says.

“We should go,” Gable says quietly. Jonnit looks up at them in desperation.

“But—”

“If anything does show up, we’ll sound the alarm straight away,” Jane says. “That’s a promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Jonnit says miserably. Gable squeezes his shoulder.

—

The moment the door’s closed and they’re back out in the hallway, Jonnit stops and turns back to look at them all. “What if the scanners are wrong?” he demands. “What if we’re all in danger?”

“We are all in danger,” Travis says. “All the time. That’s why we’re here.”

“But, immediate danger! Right now!”

“Jane is on al— alert,” Dref says. “I do not believe that there is a— anything else we can do.”

“Dref’s right,” Gable says heavily.

Jonnit sighs. “I think I’m gonna go to bed,” he says, sounding absolutely crushed.

“Night, Jonnit,” Gable calls after him, but he doesn’t respond.

—

It doesn’t take any time at all for the rumours to spread.

There’s no sign of the kaiju. Jonnit spends a large portion of the week camping out in the scanner room, and he updates everyone at lunch every day. There’s a drive in his eyes that Gable’s never seen before, a kind of steely determination that reminds them weirdly of Orimar Vale. Dref, too, is suddenly driven, emerging from his lab full of new theories and ideas. Despite the fresh feeling of danger, he looks lighter than Gable’s ever seen him before.

So there’s no sign of the kaiju, but the whispers still spread, there’s a kaiju waiting in the bay, there’s a kaiju waiting and we’re all going to have to fight or die.

There are other rumours, too— wild, bloody tales of Orimar Vale defeating his would-be supplanter Tiberius Youngblood and sending him away cowed. The stories spiral on and on, but Gable starts to tune them out before long. There’s something of Travis’s particular taste for drama in each of the versions, but they don’t confront him about it.
The third rumour is quiet, but insistent. It catches slowly, but soon it’s wildfire throughout the entire shatterdome. Wherever Gable goes, they hear it, muttered in hallways under people’s breath.

The Bandit Fleet is coming.

Gable doesn’t like rumours. But there’s no denying that there’s something coming and it could be death, or it could be deliverance. They dream about Hildred again, and then the rising water.

It’s evening when Travis knocks on their door. He has a bottle of the moonshine Nodoze and Wendell distil in one hand, and what looks like a sleeve of cards in the other. It’s late, and he has his hair down, dressed in soft night clothes. Gable stares at him. “Hi,” they say.

“Hey,” he replies. They stare at each other for a few moments more, before Travis adds “You gonna let me in?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gable says, stepping back. “Everything… good?” they ask curiously.

He goes and sits cross legged on the end of their bed. “We need to talk,” he says, gesturing at them with the alcohol.

Gable takes the chair. “About…?”

“You know what about,” he says, and they do. They need to talk about the fact that they’ve been enemies for so long they don’t know how to be friends, and friends for so long that they’ve forgotten how to be enemies. In any other world, they’d have as much time as they need to not address it. But right now, they’re needed— Not just Gable. Not just Travis. Gable-and-Travis. A team.

Once again, there are people relying on them, and this time, Gable is not going to fail them.

“It really always comes back to the end of the world, doesn’t it?” they say lightly. “Did you bring anything to drink that out of?”

Travis looks down at the bottle, shrugs, opens it and takes a swig. He makes a face, and passes it to Gable. They grab it and drink without hesitation. “So,” they say.

Travis takes back the bottle and hands them the cards instead, without a word. Gable takes them and spreads them out on the desk beside them. They’re tarot cards, beautiful watercolours of birds and snakes and fiery sunsets. There’s one that they recognise straight away. It’s Travis. He’s younger, his hair still the brown it had been when they’d first met him, but it’s Travis. It’s titled, in a neat script, “the asshole”. They can’t help snorting.

“Did Margaret make these?” they ask, gently shuffling them back into a stack. They’re soft and worn, but clearly carefully taken care of.

Travis nods, and takes another drink from the bottle. “I—” he begins, and his voice cracks. “She thought she was the funniest person in the world.”

“I think she was right,” Gable says. Travis reaches out to push their shoulder, but at the last moment just hands the alcohol back over. He doesn’t seem to know how to go on from there, so Gable shuffles off the chair and sits on the floor, and sets the bottle down in front of them. He slips off the bed and comes to sit opposite them.

“This only works if we’re on the same page,” he says. "And... I want it to work. I want us to work."

“Well," Gable says, so quiet that it's almost a whisper. "We’ve got all night.”

—

They end up lying next to each other on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, more than slightly drunk. At some point, Travis had grabbed Gable’s hand in an attempt to contradict whatever point they’d been illustrating, and just hadn’t let go, so now their clasped hands lie between them.

“—and then,” Gable’s saying, “And then I told him that the reason I had the scars was because I got attacked by a bird. I don’t know why I said that. But he believed me.”

“‘s ‘cause you’re like seven feet tall,” Travis says. “If some tall fucker working the Wall of Life told me that, I wouldn’t question it.”

“Yes you would,” Gable says. “You’re you.”

“Well spotted,” he says, then jumps off the current train of thought onto a different one going an entirely different direction. “You know after the wreck, they tried to lock me up? Literally. I had to pick the lock to get out.”

“I left before they could try that. Hildred told me to go, and I just did. I didn’t hesitate.”

“That’s the only smart thing you’ve ever done.”

“You would think that,” they say, but it’s more fond than barbed. “I think Orimar’s different. From the other marshals.”

“I think he’s about to go renegade,” Travis says. “I presume you’ve heard the word on the street, as it were.”

“He used to drift with the commander of the Fleet,” Gable says. “Wouldn’t you, in that situation?”

“I’m not saying he’s doing the wrong thing,” Travis says. Gable turns their head to look at him. His dark eyes are unreadable in the dim light, but he holds their gaze.

“You wanna join a rebellion?” they ask.

“I just don’t ever want to be in the same room as a Youngblood again,” he says dismissively. “This seems like the best way to insure that.”

Gable squeezes his hand, but just says “Apart from Dref, you mean.”

“He’s not a Youngblood.”

“No, you’re right,” they say. “He’s not. He’s Dref.”

In the end, Gable falls asleep first. For the first time in a long time, their sleep is dreamless.

Chapter Text

Nodoze has never slept much. It’s how he got the nickname. Funnily enough, it had been Wendell that had given it to him, back before they realised they were drift compatible and not just equally inclined to get into the same kinds of trouble. Nodoze often takes the early morning shifts— he’s awake anyway, and someone has to do it.

Really, it should be the J-Tech scientists in charge of watching the bay scanners, but that’s a symptom of the fast approaching end of the Jaeger program. Everyone takes a shift, a formality as much as anything— right up until it isn’t. He passes Wilson coming off the previous shift in the hallway with a nod.

When he pushes the door open, he sees Jonnit Kessler asleep at one of the desks, head pillowed on his arms. Nodoze is quiet as he moves around to sit at the other side of the desk. Jonnit’s young. Too young, really, but there isn’t such thing as too young to the end of the world, so the kid has as much of a right to be here as anyone else. He’s unequivocally part of the team, and Nodoze trusts the team.

So everything’s peaceful as he gives the holoscreens a cursory glance. Then his eyes go wide, and he stands up so fast the chair goes screeching away on the concrete floor. He scrabbles for something on the desk—

Jonnit, startled awake, gets there first, and the sound of the alarm fills the room, harsh and discordant.

—

It’s been years since Travis last heard a kaiju warning alarm, but he still reacts on instinct, up and moving before he’s even opened his eyes. “Margaret—” he says, then bites his tongue hard enough he tastes blood.

He turns, and sees Gable pushing themself up onto their elbows on the floor where they’d both fallen asleep. There’s no colour in their face.

“Jonnit was right,” they whisper.

“No shit,” he says, reaching down to them, “You coming or what?”

“You’re the worst,” Gable says, accepting his hand up. “Let’s go.”

—

Outside, there are people everywhere. Travis didn’t know there even were this many people in the entire shatterdome, or perhaps he’s just never been paying attention. People push past them, babbling with audible panic in their voices, and Gable sticks close to his side as they follow the crowd up towards the control room.

He counts in his head, one, two, three, and right on cue Gable freezes.

“I can’t do it,” they say, “Hey, I don’t think I can— They’ll need us. What if they need us to...?”

He rolls his eyes and grabs their hand to tug them along. “We’ll be fine,” he says, “Stop over thinking it.”

“I have never over thought anything in my life,” Gable protests. “I have never had a thought.”

“It shows,” he says, and pulls them after him into the control room.

Jonnit’s already there, sitting up on one of the desks with his knees tucked up his chin anxiously. He jumps down when he sees them come in and hurries over. “Man, am I glad you’re here,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Gable asks. The room is packed. Travis can see Wendell and Nodoze, and Jane and Pliff standing in the corner, suited up and ready to launch. Daisy and Fuentes push in behind them as Travis watches. Orimar Vale is standing at the central view screen, Spit is standing at his side.

Travis doesn’t let go of Gable’s hand.

“It’s a category four,” Jonnit explains. “Codename Civility. It’s right out in the bay, exactly where I thought I saw it.”

“We’ll sort it,” Wendell says. “Right?”

“Right,” Nodoze confirms.

“Where’s Dref?” Travis asks.

“He said there was something he needed to double check in his lab,” Jonnit says. “He said he’d be back.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Gable says, but quietly, under their breath. It’s clear they’re addressing Travis and Jonnit alone, and the part of Travis that has missed piloting very much revels in that.

“Yeah,” Jonnit says, rocking on his toes anxiously. “Me too.”

Orimar Vale turns and addresses the room. “Jaegers, move out,” he says. “We’ve got to deal with this before it affects Burza Nyth.”

Travis looks away as the three sets of co-pilots file out with nods of assent. There’s an awful sinking feeling in his chest.

“I can’t watch this,” Gable murmurs. “I can’t.”

Jonnit grabs their hand and squeezes. Then, he gives Travis a discerning look, and grabs his hand too. They’re all standing in the corner of the room, holding hands, and watching the world end all over again. Travis almost wants to laugh.

—

In his lab, Dref’s going round in circles. He doesn’t want to believe what his data is telling him. He doesn’t. He wants to look away and pretend nothing’s happening, he wants to take Gable and Travis and Jonnit and run far, far away, he wants to have never ever heard of Jaegers and kaiju and the Breach.

But here’s where the circle comes in— he can’t. He knows it’s true, and he knows there’s no escape from this awful, all encompassing reality. There would be no way to run far enough.

He puts his head in his hands, for a moment. Then he stands up. He takes a deep breath, takes a handful of his papers, and carefully locks the door behind him.

He makes it all the way into the corridor before breaking into a run.

—

The kaiju— Civility— is huge, and the Jaegers are old, and Gable closes their eyes as they hold tight to Jonnit’s hand and listen to the sounds of the carnage over the radio feed. Daisy and Fuentes go down first, with an awful screech of metal as their Jaeger buckles into the sea. Neither of them respond to Spit’s increasingly desperate calls to check in, and Gable tries to remind themself that it’s probably just that their comms have gone down, and not…

They feel like they’re frozen as Jane calls out, panicky but resolute, “I think you’re gonna have to do this one without us, folks—”

“Jane, what’s goin’ on?” Spit asks. Normally, Spit’s unbearable, but now it’s easy to see why he’s the head of J-Tech and Communications. He’s a steadying voice in the chaos. Gable curses themself for being calmed by Spit.

“Something’s gone wrong with our energy readings,” she replies. “It’s off the charts, I don’t understand what’s going on…”

“I believe we’re having the same issue,” Nodoze says, Wendell grunting agreement in the background.

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Jonnit says. “The only thing that would give off readings like that would be another…”

The door of the control room slams open and Dref bursts in, clutching a sheaf of papers.

“Th— there’s—” he says, struggling for breath, “There’s going to be an— another—”

“Shatterdome, come in, Shatterdome!” Jane’s voice crackles in suddenly. “There’s something else coming out of the water. It’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, it’s— it’s another kaiju!”

“—kaiju…” Dref finishes.

Orimar Vale’s face is entirely implacable, but his stance radiates tension as he turns sharply to the corner where Gable, Jonnit and Travis are still holding hands. “You three,” he says. “Get in a Jaeger. Take Freedom Call.”

Gable’s heart stops, and then starts again, beating fast.

“What?” Jonnit says, as Travis inhales sharply.

“We can’t save the world,” Vale says. “But it’s our job to make sure there’s still a world to be saved. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Jonnit breathes. “Yeah, we hear you.”

The marshal, despite everything, pats Jonnit on the shoulder, and just as he turns away, Gable swears that he winks.

—

The moment Vale looks away, Gable turns to Dref and says “Are you okay?” There’s a muted urgency in their voice.

“I’m n— not sure how you are ex— expecting me to answer that,” he says.

“That’s— you’re right,” Gable says, all in a rush. “That’s not what I’m actually saying. I mean, you’re my best friend and if I had to be here with anyone, I’m glad it’s you. All of you,” they add.

“Yeah,” Jonnit agrees. “You guys are like, the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Stop,” Dref says quietly. “D— don’t say goodbyes as if you’re not c— coming back.”

Gable’s eyes flick to Travis over Jonnit’s head, as if they can’t help it. Dref doesn’t know what they see in his eyes. He can’t believe that he ever doubted the fact the two of them are drift compatible. It’s obvious in the way they don’t have to speak to know what the other is thinking.

“Gable—” Dref says, hesitantly. Gable looks back to him, and suddenly he isn’t sure what to say. So for the first time in his life, he just reaches out for Gable and Jonnit both and hugs them as tight as he can. “You need to go,” he mumbles into Gable’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Gable agrees, “Let’s go. Let’s go.”

“Don’t worry about us, Dref—” Jonnit says, letting go slowly.

“Go,” Dref says, pushing his shoulder gently. Together, they begin to head out.

Travis, however, pauses. He hadn’t joined in with the hug, just watching silently. Now, he’s fidgeting with something in his coat pocket. He grabs Dref’s shoulder lightly and tugs him away from the crowd a little.

“W— what’s up?” Dref asks. There’s an expression on Travis’s face that Dref has never seen there before. Something serious and somber. It is, if Dref’s being honest, the most immediate worry in a world that is made up of awful worries right now.

Travis reaches into his coat and pulls out a little figurine, small enough to fit in his palm. Dref recognises it at once. It’s a Jaeger. It’s Freedom Call.

“I stole this when we were in Burza Nyth,” Travis says, ever so casually. He presses it into Dref’s hand.

“Not piloting doesn’t get you out of being one of the team,” he continues, as Dref turns it over with a soft kind of wonder. “Unfortunately, because the team sucks. See you never.”

He’s gone before Dref can respond.

—

Getting back in a Jaeger is surreal. It feels like a lifetime since Travis had last gone through these motions. In the changing room, Jonnit struggles with doing up his suit and Travis wordlessly helps him fix it while Gable kneels to lace their boots, a little distance away from the two of them. It’s so quiet, the lights flickering above them.

“Got it?” Travis says, voice low but still startling, somehow.

“Yeah,” Jonnit breathes. “Thanks, Trav.”

Travis waves a dismissive hand, and tries to swallow the sudden fear catching in his throat.

—

There’s a heavy silence in the hanger. Their boots clatter on the metal catwalks as they climb the stairs to the Freedom Call. It’s still just as beautiful as it was when Gable had seen it before. They get in last. Jonnit takes the gunner position up in the top, the one that looks like a third eye staring down on them. He clambers up easily, like he was always meant to be there.

“After you,” Gable says, gesturing at Travis. He rolls his eyes, but takes the left side. Gable takes right.

“Come in, Freedom Call,” Spit says over the intercom, and Gable hits the switch on the control panel.

“This is Freedom Call,” they say, “Hearing you loud and clear. Unfortunately.”

“You’ll be real glad of hearin’ me soon, you mark my words,” Spit tells them. “Ready for launch?”

“Hit us,” Travis says.

“Okay?” Gable calls up to Jonnit.

“All good!” Jonnit calls back. “We got this.”

“We’ve got this,” Gable says to Travis. “See, he has faith in us.”

Travis just snorts.

“Initiating neural handshake,” the stupid computer voice says calmly, and Gable closes their eyes.

For a moment, everything is hazy, flashes of images moving too fast for Gable to pick out. It makes them dizzy. Then something sticks— it’s a rooftop at dusk, the stars bright in the dark sky that stretches out above. They recognise people sitting on it, curled up close. Margaret and Travis. Instinctively, they know where this place is— it’s Travis’s parents house.

It’s just a memory, they know that, but it’s hard to tear their eyes away.

This Travis has visibly been crying, but he seems calmer now. His hair is still brown, he looks so different from today’s Travis that it’s almost shocking. Margaret is staring out thoughtfully at the horizon. She has a hand resting on Travis’s knee.

“We could go,” she says.

“Go?” Travis responds.

“We could, you know, leave,” she says, waving a general hand at the skyline. “What’s stopping us? Run away and train as Jaeger pilots and save the world.”

Because this is Travis’s memory, and they’re in Travis’s head, Gable knows that this is the moment he realised that of course he and Margaret would be drift compatible. When she says it as if it’s a given fact that they could trust each other like that. Like Travis had never trusted anyone else in his life.

With a pang, Gable realises that the next person Travis had come to trust that much was themself.

In the memory, Margaret turns to look at Travis properly. The stars reflect in her dark eyes. “Run away with me?” she asks, her tone light and casual but her gaze is heavy with serious intent.

“Okay,” Travis says, and his tone matches hers but Gable can feel that he’d meant it with everything in him. “Sure.”

Distantly, Gable hears Jonnit make a noise of realisation, putting two and two together and coming up with the loss of the Forest Queen. It’s enough to jog them out of this memory, just a little. Right. There’s a job to do.

“Travis,” they say warningly, saying it deliberately out loud, separating the words from this snapshot of the past.

“I know, I know,” they hear him answer. “Don’t chase it.”

“Right,” Jonnit agrees from above them. “Right.”

Gable can hear the spaciness in all of their voices. It’s hard to concentrate. The drift is supposed to be quiet, Gable knows, but they haven’t found that, not yet.

The thing is, they know that there was a significant chance that they could each have been forced to drift with strangers. It happens. It doesn’t often work out, but it happens, especially nowadays, when co-pilots are in such high demand.

They also know with a dreadful certainty that it wouldn’t have worked. Not with Jonnit as young and inexperienced as he is, not with the complicated layers of trauma surrounding the drift for Travis and themself both. It would have broken any one of them.

But that didn’t happen. Travis and Jonnit aren’t strangers. And that’s terrifying in its own way. The kind of way that leaves them breathless, choked by the fear and the love high in their throat. Gable tries to swallow it down, and focus on the fact that these are their friends. Their family.

The memories flash by for a moment more, and suddenly all they can feel is Jonnit’s excitement and fear all mixed up into one. “I’ve got you,” they say quietly, too quietly for him to hear, but he doesn’t need to hear them.

Not in the drift.

They reach for Travis, too, in this dreamspace, and despite themself they smile when he does the mental equivalent of rolling his eyes and leaning back against them with his arms crossed. He does that in real life, too, sometimes.

This is a delicate, tenuous balance. But for now, it holds. As one, Freedom Call raises a fist.

“Hemisphere calibration complete,” the computer says. “Jaeger ready for drop.”

—

“Okay, Freedom Call, now you’d better be listenin’,” Spit’s voice filters in through the comms as the Jaeger strides through the ocean.

“We’re listening, Spit,” Jonnit says. The rain batters down, the wind screaming, and he tries to ignore it. Tries to focus on the Jaeger and the drift. He’d always heard that the drift was quiet, but that isn’t the thing that strikes him about this. The thing that strikes him, that surrounds and comforts him despite everything, is the warmth.

“Thank you, Jonnit,” Spit says. “Now this ain’t gonna be an easy one—”

“There!” Gable says, and as one Jonnit and Travis follow Gable’s gaze. The other three Jaegers are standing in a defensive formation under the cliffs of Burza Nyth. Daisy and Fuentes’s is slumped down on its knees in the water. The two kaiju circling are the biggest Jonnit has ever seen. Bigger, even, than the one that haunts all his nightmares.

“That’s right, well spotted, Gable,” Spit says. “Civility, a cat-4, o’course, and then...”

“The newbie,” Travis says.

“Fishhook,” Spit supplies. “On account of the… well. The big hook thing it has for a head.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Jonnit says. “That’s… that can’t be a cat-4, right?”

“Good eye, boy,” Spit says ominously. “You ain’t wrong. Fishhook’s a cat-5. First ever.”

“Fuck,” Gable says quietly.

There’s fear, here, in the drift. Of course there is. It splinters the warmth with jagged shards of cold, Travis and Gable’s fear and Jonnit’s own— now he’s listening, there are other echoes, too. For a moment, he can feel the horror Hildred Gastaur had felt as the Sovereign had torn through Akaron, he can feel the way Margaret had held her breath and trusted, honestly and completely, in the bond between herself and Travis, right up until the end.

So many ghosts, still lingering in the drift.

It’s easy to fade into the physicality of the Jaeger, striding through the water, the movements simple: up, down, up, down. Parting the waves with their combined strength, letting them crash down again behind them.

Civility notices them first, and turns towards them with a roar. Nodoze and Wendell take the opportunity to strike out at Fishhook, and Jane and Pliff follow their lead in Star Fighter, and then Jonnit isn’t paying attention to the others anymore because he’s suddenly very busy helping catch Civility’s strikes.

There’s a horrifying cracking noise, and Freedom Call lurches around to see Fishhook impaling Star Fighter, and slamming it down into the ocean. There’s just muffled static over the radio.

“Jane!” Jonnit calls, “Pliff—”

He’s cut off by the impact on the back of Freedom Call. Civility crashes into them so hard that the Jaeger staggers, Gable gives a wordless shout of warning but it’s too late. Something slips, and they fall, hard. Old tech, barely trained pilots— Jonnit feels like he’s drowning in the final death rattle of the Jaeger program.

He tries to reach into the drift and help the Jaeger stagger to its feet, but as he tries, he can feel the cold cracks of fear widen, pain spilling out into the warm. It’s Gable. Something’s wrong with Gable—

Travis can clearly knows it too, and he calls out frantically. Whatever he’s trying to say is almost incoherent, but their name is definitely in there somewhere. The concern is so sharp it takes Jonnit’s breath away, and he knows that Travis would rather die than admit how much the idea of losing Gable scares him.

The cockpit is lit only by the emergency lights now, the water dark and impenetrable outside, and Jonnit can feel rather than see the way Travis’s terror blossoms still further every time he calls for Gable and they don’t respond. They aren’t gone, he can still feel them in the drift, but they’re distant. Distant and in pain.

“Gable,” Jonnit tries, “Gable, can you hear me?”

“Pilot out of alignment,” the computer says calmly, just as Civility roars through the water and crashes hard into their shoulder. Jonnit feels the impact hard, and as one they struggle to maintain their balance.

“Travis!” he shouts.

“Yep!” Travis says, voice strained. Freedom Call raises a fist, forces it through the water to hit Civility, hard.

“Is every— okay?” Nodoze’s voice crackles in over the comms, broken and distorted. “Freedom Call, co— in—”

“Gable,” Jonnit calls again. Nothing. So he takes a deep breath and follows the cracks into the drift.

—

“Spit,” Nodoze’s voice comes in over the comms in the control room. “We’ve lost audio contact with Star Fighter, and all contact with Freedom Call. They’re in trouble.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Spit curses, frantically swiping through holoscreens in front of him.

“Wh— what’s wrong?” Dref asks anxiously, clutching his papers so tightly he’s ripping them.

“Pilot out of alignment,” Spit says. “This is ain’t good.”

“I should never have sent those three out,” Vale says grimly, and Dref winces. He looks at the action figure Travis had given him, and closes his eyes.

—

When Jonnit goes quiet too, Travis is absolutely certain that he’s going to die out here in the hostile sea. Maybe that’s exactly what he deserves. A fate that he’s been running away from for far too long. Maybe there are worse ways to die.

A selfish thought hits him— at least he won’t be the one left alone this time. His breath catches in his chest.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” Gable had said. Then, later— “When I said I didn’t want to hurt them, you should know you’re included in that.”

Civility smashes into the Jaeger again, blue blood flowering in the dark water.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he does the only thing he can think of— he closes his eyes, shouts “Gable, you asshole, you fucking promised you didn’t want to hurt me. Leaving me like this is hurting me,” and throws himself into the drift.

—

It takes Travis a moment to put together what he’s seeing. He’s never been to Akaron, before or after, but now he can see the memory of the day the kaiju arrived with startling detail— Jonnit’s memories of the shore and Gable’s memories of the ocean constructing the picture of an empty, serene seaside.

“Jonnit, Gable,” he calls. He thinks, vaguely, that it’ll be okay if he can find them. It’s so hard to think clearly here. He’s slipping between two realities, lapping over each other like waves— the one where he’s under the water and slowly running out of oxygen, and this one, where the sun is warm and his boots crunch on the pebbles. It makes him feel sick.

He carefully doesn’t look out to sea, because sure, he wasn’t there, but he does know how this story goes.

“It’s just a memory, fucking leave it alone,” he grumbles, then tries extremely hard not to think about Margaret, just in case. It’s easier said than done.

The wind is cool and fresh, and there are kites on the distant horizon, but there’s no one else visible on the beach. His boots suddenly squelch, and when he glances down, he can see kaiju blood beginning to ooze up from the ground, squeezing its way between the stones. Kaiju blue, kaiju blue. It suddenly strikes him that he doesn’t know what Akaron looks like nowadays.

“Fuck, come on,” he says under his breath. Then, he closes his eyes tight and reaches his hands out, walking forward unsteadily. “Jonnit! Gable!”

—

“C— can you help them?” Dref asks desperately.

“I’m tryin’,” Spit says. “But they’re all out of alignment now— the Jaeger ain’t responding. Freedom Call, come in!”

“They’re r— running out of air!”

“I know they are,” Spit says. “I know, boy.” He looks up from the desk at last. “I’m sorry. There ain’t nothin’ we can do for ‘em now.”

“Orimar,” Dref pleads, turning to look at the marshal. But, looking as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, Orimar just closes his eyes.

—

Travis hears them before he sees them. He can’t make the words, but he would recognise their voices anywhere. When he finally dares to open his eyes, he’s ankle deep in kaiju blood and he can see the two of them— hugging in the middle of the sand dunes. They’re holding on to each other like they’re worried they’re going to lose each other, Jonnit’s face pressed into Gable’s chest, Gable’s arms around his shoulders. There’s a bloody gash on Gable’s face, surrounded by bruising already turning dark.

He almost calls out to them, but then he sees the shadow. It rears out of the water behind them, larger than anything Travis has ever seen, twisted and distorted by the fear in the memories it's constructed out of. It’s just a memory, he tells himself, it’s just a memory, it’s just a—

Gable looks up, and sees him. Their eyes widen, and they reach out a hand towards him. The ocean rears up behind them with all the force of a thousand memories and just before it falls they shout one word— “DREF!”

Travis startles awake before the water hits him, gasping for breath, and Gable’s still shouting. “Dref!” they call, “Dref—” their voice breaks.

There are warning lights flashing everywhere, and the computer repeats “Oxygen levels critical. Seek emergency escape.” Jonnit’s thrashing desperately, trying to fight the riptide pulling them deeper into the ocean.

“I love you,” Travis whispers impulsively. Gable and Jonnit know that, just like Margaret had known. Of course she’d known. Of course Jonnit and Gable know too.

But who gives a shit? They’re all about to die, after all. Never let it be said that Travis Matagot went quietly.

—

There’s awful, crackling feedback over the comm system, loud enough everyone flinches and scrambles away. Then there’s a voice, distorted and staticky, but Dref would recognise it anywhere. “Dref!” Gable calls. They’re calling for help. They’re calling for him.

He drops his papers, scattering them across the floor, and almost trips over in his desperation to reach the mic. He can feel everyone watching him, and it almost makes him self conscious that people know how much he’s needed. How much he’s loved.

“G— Gable,” he says shakily. “Jonnit, Travis— I’m l— listening.”

“Help,” Jonnit says, his voice distant and unsteady. “Dref, help, we’re under the water and…”

“I know,” Dref says. “I know. I’ve g— got you, okay? Is Travis there?”

“Here,” Travis’s voice filters in faintly. The static is still painful to listen to, and Dref can feel the marshal’s gaze heavy on the back of his neck. He grips the figurine so tightly it hurts.

“L— listen to me,” he says. “I n— need all of you to listen to me. Just f— focus on my voice. Just because you st— stumbled d— doesn’t mean you cannot do it. The drift cannot be taken. Cannot be lost.”

He hears Gable’s slow exhale, and he can picture the way they close their eyes.

“Oxygen levels critical,” Spit says quietly. “Dref, you need to get ‘em out of there.”

“I will,” Dref says, filled with icy certainty. He’s drift compatible with the crew of the Freedom Call. With his best friends. Not piloting doesn’t get you out of being one of the team, Travis had said. It isn’t often that Dref thinks this, but this time, he finds himself believing that Travis is right.

“Dref,” Jonnit says. “You— you told me the drift is supposed to be quiet. I think you were wrong. I think it’s—” his voice turns soft and distant. “I think it’s warm.”

“I think, Jonnit,” Dref says, just as soft, “You are right.”

—

Violence is something that Nodoze and Wendell are better at together. It comes more naturally than breathing, being here with Wendell at his side as they swing at the kaiju. Together, they wield their spear with ease, striking the kaiju again and again. It’s never failed them before, not until the Jaeger program was cut and Wendell started having nightmares of flames.

But now, Nodoze is starting to feel like he knows the shape of his end. The two kaiju are circling, Daisy and Fuentes on their knees, Jane and Pliff hit hard, Jonnit and Gable and Travis out of sight entirely. The only mercy is that Fishhook and Civility have yet to make for the coast. Once they do, it’s all over.

He looks at Wendell. Wendell looks back at him.

“Last Jaeger standing,” Wendell says. “Always had a feeling we would be.”

“Me too,” Nodoze says. Their words are light, because they both know the other knows everything else. All the words that should be said, all the anger, all the grief. “Want to go in one last time?”

“You bet I do,” Wendell growls, and Nodoze grins nastily. They begin their slow, heavy stride when something captures the corner of Nodoze’s gaze. Movement in the water. For a horrible moment he thinks it’s another kaiju, but then— but then—

—

“Command, this is Nodoze, we have a visual on the Freedom Call, repeat, we have a visual on the Freedom Call!”

The command room bursts into cheering, and Dref finally exhales, finally loosens his grip on the little figurine. The kaiju are still out there, this isn’t the end, but it’s something. It’s something.

“Freedom Call, check in,” Spit orders.

“We’re okay,” Jonnit’s voice comes in over the comms, clearer now, shaking with relief, “We’re okay.”

“We’ve taken some serious damage,” Gable says. “But we might stand a ch— wait.”

“What the fuck is that?” Travis’s voice cuts across. “What the fuck—”

Orimar strides forwards, and people clear out of his way on instinct until he’s standing by Dref’s side at the scanner. Dref can see what he’s looking at, what the scanners are telling them— but before anyone else can say anything, Jonnit’s jubilant shout fills the room.

“It’s the Bandit Fleet! The Fleet are here!”

Another voice crackles in on the comms, once Dref’s never heard before. “Heard you needed a hand, Marshal Vale,” she says, and Orimar’s eyes go fiercely fond.

“Sefa,” he says. “My lady, Queen of the Bandit Fleet. You took your sweet time.”

“Orimar,” she says, laughing dryly, “Have you never heard of fashionably late?”

—

Limping the Freedom Call back to the shatterdome is agonising work, but it’s made easier by the warm rush of victory. The sheer relief that comes of a world shattering responsibility being lifted, the weight shared by strong and willing arms. There are so many Jaegers now. Gable can barely tear their eyes away, fascinated by this armada, this legend made real. A legend that saved them, that finished the job they could not have done alone.

The kaiju are dead. They are alive. Over the ocean, dawn is breaking.

When they’re docked, Gable stumbles out and reaches back to help Travis and Jonnit stagger free. For a moment, they all stand, shaken and full of adrenaline, then Jonnit yells “DREF!” and throws himself up the catwalk at the young doctor hurrying towards them. Dref catches him, barely, and they hug for a long, long moment.

Then Jonnit looks back at Travis and Gable, and gestures them into the hug too, and they all trip and stumble into each other’s arms and Gable holds them all as tightly as they can. Distantly, they’re aware of the other pilots spilling out of their own Jaegers, Jane and Pliff cheering, but they have eyes for their own co-pilots alone, just for now.

Everything feels distant and in high resolution all at once. The gash on their face, the one that had kicked them out of alignment and sent them tumbling through memories still smarts, and they subtly try to wipe the blood away on their shoulder.

“You’d better not be bleeding on me,” Travis mutters.

“And what would you do if I was? Huh?” Gable says. “Ow.”

“I can take a look at that for you,” Dref offers. “There’s a medical kit in my lab.”

“Wait, no, you do kaiju stuff!” Travis says. “You don’t get to also do people stuff, that’s weird.”

“I think you will find that I am a doctor and you are not,” Dref tells him stiffly, and Jonnit starts laughing and then it almost turns into sobs. None of them have let go of each other yet. Gable doesn’t mind. Not at all.

There’s a cough from behind them, and they all look round to see Orimar Vale, looking at them dryly.

“Marshal!” Jonnit says, hastily trying to look like he’s paying attention. Dref smiles weakly.

The marshal stares at them for a moment, then says “You did well. All four of you.”

“We nearly drowned and had to be rescued by strangers,” Travis points out.

“Considering my expectations,” Orimar says, “That counts as doing well.”

Gable can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Burza Nyth is safe,” he says. “And the Bandit Fleet are no strangers, I can promise you that.”

“Are they… here to stay?” Jonnit asks tentatively.

Orimar smiles grimly. “Not at all. We’re here to go. The Jaeger program is dead, after all.”

“Wh— what does that mean?” Dref asks, but Vale is already walking away.

Before he crosses the threshold, however, he pauses, and turns back to look at them. “The Jaeger program is dead,” he says. “So. Welcome to the afterlife.”