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Randy stabs at his potatoes, eyes distant and ringed with exhaustion as he leans against one palm. Around him, engineers and pilots chatter amiably, a din that becomes white noise in his ears.
He and Benson just completed a successful circuit run in Savage Horizon, no more chasing rabbits and minimal conflict. It should be a time for celebration, but he can't find any joy because he pissed off Boudreaux in the process. It was just one instance of reflexive reach for control, Randy mostly sitting back and getting a feel for the machine as Benson guided it around the massive track. He'd felt a slip and reached for control of a leg, guiding it forward a few meters before planting it down to steady Savage. The moment it touched down, he felt flame-hot agitation course through him.
When he'd looked over at Benson in the cockpit, he was looking back with narrowed eyes. He liked having control, he liked that Randy submitted to him in here, so even that little helpful nudge that avoided a potential destabilizing set him off.
But no words were exchanged. LOCCENT asked if anything was wrong because they had stopped and it snapped Benson out of it, but the anger still tingled up and down Randy’s spine. He wanted to talk about it, but Benson left the Conn-pod as soon as they were back inside the garage without a word.
It made Randy's stomach twist in anxious knots. Maybe he should have asked to be reassigned like Benson assumed he would. As soon as they had connected, he latched onto Benson's shock and found the assumption beneath it. It was hurtful, laced with ideas of Randy being too weak to handle his past tangled with threads of joy that the younger pilot was still there.
He could feel Benson trying to bury it, feel Benson's agitation at the empathy Randy felt for him…
But knowing that Benson had assumed he would leave, that Benson thought he could be a good match, it only made Randy want to stay more. Even if his neck still prickled with that angry heat.
Randy makes a mental note not to exercise too much control next time, to stick to the left side of the Jaeger and ask if he's needed. He doesn't think that's how it's meant to work, but he wants to be useful more than anything. There's a Kaiju attack looming on the horizon by the estimates of the Kaiju science team, and they need to be ready for it.
A clatter of trays being set down too forcefully on either side of him jolt Randy out of his thoughts, the ranger jumping and finding a pair of pilots sitting down. He doesn't recognize them, the man to the right of him with dark eyes, curly hair, and olive-toned skin, and the woman on his left small and pale with fiery hair and blue eyes made all the more piercing by the ring of makeup around them. They look barely older than he is but carry the confident swagger of pilots who know the shatterdome. The guy flashes a smile and nods his head in a greeting.
“Sup, hope you don't mind us joining you,” he says, not seeming to care if Randy did mind. He shoves a forkful of roast beef in his mouth before asking, “You're Bradley, right?”
“Uhh… Y-yeah,” he replies, watching the male ranger.
“Toldya,” the girl said, raising her brows and taking a bite of her own food.
“Cool. I'm Chris, this is my girl, Jess,” Chris says, jabbing a fork in her direction. “We pilot Rose Romeo.”
Randy thinks for a moment then he pulls the Jaeger into his mind's eye. A smaller mech, made to hold back Category Two Kaiju, Romeo was built for speedy approach and then hunkering down to face an attack. He can remember when it was produced, the shining emblem of a rose and vines on its expandable shield glinting red and green… Before they stopped adding so much flourish to the machines since Kaiju were attacking faster.
“Oh! Cool. I'm, uh. In Savage Horizon.”
Chris snorts a laugh, almost spitting out some potatoes as he does.
“Oh, we know, Boudreaux goes through pilots like he does smokes,” Chris says, a bitter tone in his voice making it obvious he doesn't like the ranger. Randy frowns.
“Thought we can't smoke on base?” Randy asks. Most times if rangers wanna get shit-faced and light up, they go to the towns around the shatterdome. They've developed a thriving economy on pilots who want to forget the stress of carrying the world's issues on their shoulders, partially because the ‘domes don't allow tobacco smoking on site and only stock up on limited beer.
“We can't, but he keeps getting away with it,” Jess says with a simple shrug. “Well. I hear he does get fined about it, but doesn't seem to mind paying it every time he's caught…”
“Anyway, we thought we should introduce ourselves,” Chris says. “Get to know you a little… Maybe get to know Boudreaux, too.”
Randy feels his shoulders go tight, distrust holding him. The motion doesn't go unnoticed, Chris laughing and wrapping an arm around Randy like they're old friends. He gives him a hard shake, his fingers gripping tight.
“Don't get all paranoid, jeez,” he laughs. “We just wanna know what's up in that guy's head. Can't be anything good, right?”
“Right,” Jess adds, spearing a carrot.
“It's not like we need to know all his dirty little secrets unless you wanna share ‘em,” Chris adds. Randy's grip on his fork tightens. Maybe it's because he's been in Benson’s head and knows how private he is, or maybe it's because these two rub him the wrong way, but he wants to shut this down. It's none of their business.
“Why don't you ask him yourself?” Randy mumbles, his desire to avoid conflict outweighing the urge to tell them to fuck off. He's not even sure why he's so defensive about it. It's not like Benson has really given him much to value defending him…
Except he has, in the unspoken world that opens between them. Randy's been in there, seen and felt things no one else should. Being a pilot means opening yourself up in a way that hurts and expecting the other person to carry that burden, too. Drifting is the most dangerous trust fall.
Chris's grip tightens, pulling Randy closer as he leans in.
“You see him around here? Hmm? No . He hides, which means he has something worth hiding.” Jess watches as Chris's voice gets lower, her petite frame tensing to intervene if she needs to. “Just thought maybe you'd like to share with the class since none of his other partners did.”
Randy feels how badly this guy wants to know things under the pressure of his fingertips.
“Why is it so important?” Randy asks, not seeing why these two would care at all. Chris smiles humorlessly and pulls away, heaving a sigh before stuffing his face with more food.
Once he swallows, he replies, “Just curious. Guy gets away with so much bullshit, has the Marshal up his ass, and goes through copilots like nothing, but he's still here. Either something is super fucking wrong with him, or he's some government officials bastard kid riding on nepotism, and he doesn't stink of nepo baby.”
Randy's brows furrow, still not seeing the point.
“We have to work together here,” Jess says, catching Randy's confusion. “With Kaiju getting bigger, until the production can make bigger Jaegers, sometimes we have to pair off to take one down. Can't exactly work with someone we don't know and can't trust, right?”
She raised her brows like it was obvious, a subtle move that made Randy feel immediately stupid. But then he frowns and shakes his head.
“You can trust him,” he says, standing with his tray of half-eaten lunch. It's all he cares to say, not wanting to let anything slip that Benson wouldn't want known. He doesn't trust them and their prying isn't making it any better.
As he moves to walk away, Chris sticks a foot out. Randy trips, face slamming into the tray of potatoes and carrots. Laughter erupts from the nearby table, Chris tucking his leg in fast enough to not be noticed.
Randy absolutely doesn't trust him.