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Afterwards, everyone grieved.
Everyone had lost someone, something from the rapid series of events that lead to Operation Pitfall. With a generosity the Jaeger Program had not seen from the PPDC in a great long while, they were allowed their grief. The muted, slow, drawn out days after the initial celebration of the end of the End of Days were full of abandoned jaeger hangars, locked doors, empty hallways.
There was hope and joy but there was love and loss.
In the first debriefing from LOCCENT to the Board of UN representatives, they asked for the Jaeger Program to distribute its members to the various previously discontinued Shatterdomes around the Pacific. Hercules Hansen, now Marshal, stood at attention at the front of the crowd with the various primary J-Tech, Medic, K-Science teams flanking him on either side. The only other rangers, Mako and Raleigh, were to his immediate right.
Herc had never been one for suits and ties, nodding and humming when expected to. That was always Stacker’s patience, yet it was only now that Herc fully appreciated the extent of the shit Stacker had to sit through. He imagines he’ll be at this for a month tops before the Secretary General had to politely dismiss him for someone more malleable.
Their reports veered towards the recent loss of Marshal Stacker Pentecost, and the grim faces on the screens tried to convey as much sympathy as they could. But how could they? How could they know what a true loss they had suffered? They treated Stacker as a means, a person to take the fall when they could not bother – and a person they ridiculed when he didn’t directly benefit them.
The mere thought was enough to make his hackles rise.
A callous British representative prematurely diverted the subject to one much more worth his time, speaking on the importance of resources and funding and the need for the Hong Kong Shatterdome to conserve its costs, and Herc was moments from revealing how ill qualified he was for his position when Mako beat him to the punch—
“It will be done,” she grits out, and the simultaneous looks of surprise as they all shift their eyes to her were truly laughable.
Mako, already straight backed and at attention, drew in their gazes and challenging them with her own.
“In our own way and in our own time,” she says, resolute – and just then – there was no doubt that she was Stacker’s daughter, blood or otherwise. “But it will be done.”
Herc watches as Raleigh unfolds his arms, bringing himself to attention as well – feeling Mako’s tension – supporting her in the way only a co-pilot could. He’s glad they have that, but his thoughts waver to Chuck.
Before he even thinks to be diplomatic, the Malaysian representative chimes in her agreement.
“You have done the truly impossible. You deserve this time of reprieve. Thank you. We will resume this at the appropriate time.”
In silence, the other members click off – the screen in the LOCCENT falling black grid by grid.
Herc turns to fully look at Mako, perhaps to lightly reprimand her for her own callousness, but the look in her eyes and the waves rolling off of her halted him.
“Permission to be dismissed, sir,” she says, even as everyone else started milling out of the control center on their own.
Herc nods and watches as she gives Raleigh a look – I’m fine – and beelines out.
They had all lost someone, but Mako’s losses made her volatile. Mako’s losses drive her vengeance and bleed her wounds and crack the skies open.
As a child, her saving grace was Stacker.
But Stacker was gone.
And Herc is afraid this time, the grief may swallow her whole.
+
“She’s quiet,” he comments.
The beers sit between them on the dusty old coffee table. Stacker stretches back and puts both hands behind his head, staring past Herc and into the other room where Mako sits dutifully reading.
“I can see why she’d be a such a handful.” Stacker’s mouth twitches just so and Herc’s satisfied to know his joke landed. “If Charlie stayed still like that for too long, I’d reckon he’d explode.”
Truth be told, he didn’t know how Charlie would take the idea of sitting at a table reading a chapter book. God knows he’s never home long enough, moving from Shatterdome to Shatterdome – navy bases, army bases. He went where the PPDC took him and Scott. No questions. A soldier is a soldier is a soldier.
Which was what surprised him when Stacker introduced Herc to Mako, his new adopted daughter – the iconic survivor from the Onibaba attack.
“Couldn’t have picked a kid more obscure to play father to?” Herc asks.
Stacker lifts his beer to his lips, “Problem is she would’ve been if I’d’ve just left her. Parents killed during the attack, her dad already on his way out from cancer… a whole city to ravage, but the kaiju goes after this one little girl.”
“Like a cat chasing a laser.”
“Mm. It was lucky we deployed in time,” Stacker looks far-away. A name hangs between them.
Tamsin.
While Stacker gets rid of their beer bottles and puts on some tea (Herc hates tea but he hasn’t been able to beat the British out of Stacker), Herc wanders over through to Mako’s room and leans against the doorway. She looks up from her book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
Honestly, Stacker.
“Mr. Hansen,” Mako puts the book down and politely bows.
“That’s not—um, just. Call me Herc. Hansen’s a lousy name to answer to,” he says, awkwardly returning the bow. He notices the purple headband in her hair, decorating the shoulder-length cut. Her clothes look brand new – as they probably are. Her room is mostly white with some pink bordering that Herc hopes to God Stacker didn’t do himself.
“How’s the book?” He points to the colorful blue flying car on the cover. She picks it up again, a reflex, as if flipping through the pages will tell her how she feels about it.
“There is a boy – his parents were killed. Now he is living with people who treat him badly,” Mako is careful with her words, being that frequent use of English was still new to her. She looks out through the door and watches the shadow of Stacker puttering around in the kitchen.
Herc follows her gaze, and his face softens. “Don’t you worry, kid. He’s no Durbys. He’s a good one. Quiet, like you, but he’s good. You’ll be all right.”
Mako looks at him and something in her eye makes him wonder if he’d said the wrong thing. But just then – a flicker of … contentment? Satisfaction? Determination? She nods and fingers through the pages of her book again, and Herc feels rather awkward being dismissed.
"It’s Dursleys.”
Turns out Stacker does have a handful.
+
Stacker’s quarters are left untouched for weeks. Herc and Mako are the only two people who know the combination to Stacker’s digs and Herc has long since decided that it was Mako’s right to go through it when she is ready, and she will be ready.
(He doesn’t think of Chuck’s.)
He checks in once or twice just to see if she has, but nothing is disturbed. Slippers are still set by the door, shirts and suits still in their rightful place. The little trinkets they picked up on various trips to Japan still sit on his desk. Herc sees the pile of PPDC-related work next to the trinkets and groans, shutting the door and pretending he didn’t.
A week later.
The same.
Three days after that.
The same.
Mako, Herc sighs.
He’s taking Max out on a well-deserved walk when he drops by again, finding the creeping feeling of responsibility suffocating him enough that he’s decided to retrieve the papers. The lock pops open and his feet stop themselves at the sight before him.
Mako, on the floor by Stacker’s desk, with empty boxes to her left, full boxes stacked behind her. And in her hand, a small red shoe. She looked up when he entered the room, hastily wiping tears with all sides of her wrists.
“He kept my shoes,” Mako states. No preamble, straight to the point. “Before the Academy, I threw them out. I thought ‘This will hold me back. I can’t be a child anymore.’”
He’s shut the door, clumsy while having a bum arm. Max had slipped out of his hold in the attempt and was sitting slobbering and lovingly by her side.
“He kept my shoes,” she repeats.
Herc stays with her through the night, helping her go through everything. They argue about how the clothes should be packed. Max is tripped over a couple of times, Mako affectionately cooing at him to make up for it and Herc just swears to get the dog out of his way.
Mako stumbles across a picture in a stack of many on Stacker’s dresser and holds it out to him. Herc takes it absently until he sees the face of a younger him and Stacker dressed in their crew uniforms, arms thrown across each other’s shoulders – saluting the camera.
The Mark I Glory Days…
There’s a sinking in his stomach when he realizes it wasn’t just Mako who lost Stacker. He did. God, the years they spent. They saw it, from beginning to the end – Stacker made sure of it. He would end it. Herc thinks of all the run-ins in Shatterdomes, double – triple team drops, battling the higher ups just to survive down here.
“Damn it, Stacks,” he hiccups trying to breathe. Not here, he tells himself. Not in front of Mako. She doesn’t need your grief.
His eyes furrow and he rubs his jaw, posturing himself. Waving the photo up between them, he asks, “Mind if I hold on to this?”
Mako shakes her head, an open smile on her face. “Please.”
+
When Charlie – ‘It’s Chuck now, Old Man.’ – decides he’s entering into the Academy, it was a shitstorm. It’s a typical fight. Chuck decides he’s doing something stupid that Herc can’t articulate reasons why and they throw cutting words into each other’s faces. It’s Herc that stomps away this time.
Chuck leaves for the Academy without a word.
Herc expected him to.
When Mako asks for Stacker’s blessing to join the Academy, she is all but fourteen. Stacker had said no. Instead of arguments, Mako had simply complied, in her own way. She threw herself deeper into learning K-Science, mathematical proofs, engineering schematics of Mark I, II and brand new Mark III jaegers.
That’s how she greets him on his trip to the Anchorage Shatterdome. The weather was blistering, but a man born and raised in Sydney is bound to think far less would be chilly. He steps off onto the helipad and Mako’s there – all bundled from head to toe – with a greatcoat over her arm (Stacker’s). In her other arm, rolls and rolls of blueprints.
Herc politely declines the coat, and Mako takes a single look at what he’s wearing and frowns. She says nothing.
“Father is finishing a meeting with the medical staff,” Mako says, leading him through the entrance. “He will be on his way to the hangars for a routine check on the crews. We may be able to intercept him on the way, if there is a need.”
Herc shakes his head, trying to keep up. “No need. I’m buggered and I don’t know what time it is. There a place I might stay?”
“We’ve arranged for a room in the barracks for you,” she says, pulling out ration cards and his room code. That’s when he sees her badge.
“PPDC?” he asks. “Are you in the Academy?”
Mako swallows and shakes her head, “Not yet. Father allowed me to apply for the PPDC for other purposes, such as running errands and greeting guests.” She says it with such venom Herc has to laugh – which only makes her more visibly angry.
They part ways. During his stay, Herc briefly pops over to Kodiak to check up on Chuck’s progress. Chuck doesn’t know he did it. He doesn’t need to. Herc also notices all the ways that Mako has imitated Stacker both in form and in the way of conducting oneself. She is in constant motion, never having anything less than three things in her arms.
“You know, she’s just going to simmer until she bursts,” he tells Stacker. The recently promoted Marshal prepares tea (God, Herc hates tea) for them and mulls over his words.
“It’s better for her to know what to expect before she gets ahead of herself,” Stacker says. “She’s been seeing the different parts of the corps. Jaeger tech seems to have piqued her interest.”
“You hoping she’ll just give up being a ranger?”
Stacker shakes his head, “I’m hoping she has actually realized what being a ranger means.”
“She could do it. She’s got spirit and a whole lot of fire in her, you know.”
“I know,” he hums. “All too well.”
+
Having to play diplomat was an awful part of being Marshal that Herc expected to fail spectacularly at.
Unfortunately for him, the paperwork was far, far, far worse.
He’s been better at attempting the paperwork than he was a month ago, when the piles all but collected dust on his desk in the LOCCENT until Tendo yelled at him to get his shit out of there so actual people who are working can get their work done. That was when they migrated to Herc’s room. Instead of surfaces occupied by dirty, old tools and random dog toys, they were competing with stacks of paper, mountains of paper, monuments of paper.
Herc’s first attempt at digging in was an utter failure. Nearly 3 am, he pops awake and crawls onto his bed and doesn’t budge up until someone’s banging on his door about a meeting he didn’t know was a thing.
The next attempt lasted longer with intermittent periods of playing fetch with Max. And by fetch, it was really Herc throwing the ball against the opposite wall and watching Max trying to grab it the bounce back.
The third time, he had even more piles because sheepish members of various teams returned his already completed paperwork to be redone because why the fuck are there separate forms?
One night amongst many long, agonizing nights, he wakes up find a patch on his desk cleared of papers and in their place, a single tray with a cup of steaming something. Wiping the sleep away, he takes the cup up with care and sniffs it.
Tea, his mind grumbles. A force of habit.
But upon a second sniff, he freezes and realizes.
It’s Stacker’s tea. The one Herc always manages to suffer through, because his bloody best mate had to have his tea. Herc takes an eager sip, not minding the burning on his tongue. He always manages to burn it anyways, why is drinking tea so difficult?
He sets it down, palming the sides and being comforted by its warmth. Like his memories were seeping back into him as the heat seeped into his palm.
Herc closes his eyes and remembers. Charlie’s third birthday, Herc barely making it back from his tour in time. Angela’s stubborn, selflessness – don’t you worry about us, I’ll go back to work and Chuck will have a great time in daycare. It’s fine. Taking Charlie to the beach, spending the whole day there. Trying to teach Charlie how to swim and utterly failing but Angie manages it. Scissure. The Defense Corps. Stacker. Charlie, oh my boy. I’m so sorry. Neural tests. Partner compatibility. Scott. DAMN IT, SCOTT!
Scott, God.
Chuck now – not Charlie. Kaiju Cat III. Cat IV.
Wall of Life. Useless.
Stacker.
Charlie.
+
Two months and half the crew working the Hong Kong shatterdome have been reassigned to Anchorange, Lima, even Tokyo. He himself is scheduled to be in Sydney in two days.
Herc doesn’t know if he can go home when he hasn’t a single thing that makes it home.
Mako received a number of engineering offers from various UN representatives, but it wasn’t surprising that she had chosen Tokyo. A chapter of her life was finished, and she was set to begin a new one. Raleigh was happy to go wherever Mako did, and Herc would be worried about the damn boy if he wasn’t too deliriously blissful to realize it.
His own trip back was daunting, but he had to face the fat lady singing.
Herc stomps back towards his quarters with the purpose of throwing shit into duffels and being done with it, but when he opens the doors and finds Max flat on his back with his hind leg kicking from pure paradise of Mako rubbing his belly.
“Mako.”
“Marshal.”
He’s eyeing the boxes around, half lidded and half empty. An almost duplicate of the night they cleared out Stacker’s place.
“You’re leaving soon,” Mako says, by way of an explanation.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You haven’t packed.”
Herc runs a hand down his face. “Nothing much to pack.”
Mako makes a show of getting up and gesturing to three full boxes she had completed. “You don’t need to do this,” Herc says. He looks at the pile around Max, still sprawled on the floor – he thinks the damn thing’s asleep now – and sees his dress shirts, pressed and clean and folded the way Stacker always did his shirts, always piled in threes.
Mako, he sighs. She’s rustling around again, pulling drawers from dressers.
“You must be ready to leave tomorrow, so that we can be promptly on time for the reopening of the shatterdome. The Australian Prime Minister plans to greet you personally so—,”
“Mako,” he says. “Who exactly is ‘we’?”
“You,” she starts, measured. “Max…. and Raleigh and I.”
Herc shakes his head, truly exasperated now. “Mako, you’re going to Tokyo.”
“Yes, I will. Eventually,” she says, shutting a box with a lid. “But it doesn’t have to be now.”
“It’s no good following an old man like me around,” Herc says grimly. And he remembers her sadness cleaning out Stacker’s rooms, the picture she gives to him, her borderline insubordination during his first meeting with the Board, the tea… and now his god damn bloody shirts.
Herc has done his best to take care of her – Stacker would’ve wanted that – but he’d be damned if she wasn’t taking care of him too. He looks around at the piles of boxes and the stupid little knickknacks and he wonders when he’s started accumulating so many things. He’d been feeling so empty, maybe he hadn’t bothered to notice.
It’s the first time he’s felt well and truly tired, and going back to Sydney without Chuck just might break him.
“Tendo might insist on coming too,” Mako warns.
That’s okay, he thinks. He doesn’t mind help picking up the pieces.
fin.