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Striker Eureka
There is a look on Chuck’s face that Herc has never seen before. His eyes glint like so many things are happening behind them. His mind just won’t stop, but he also doesn’t see anything going on around him. It is clear even to an observer; in his mind nothing has ever been so awful and he thinks probably nothing will be, ever again. Herc doesn’t say anything to contradict that thought, wrong as it is. The Kaiju will keep coming after them and one day Chuck will lose Herc too, at least he hopes morbidly that it will be the case, that Herc won’t lose Chuck first. Chuck is now the sole being that swells in his heart. He takes the place of his mother and all the people Hercules Hansen has cared for. Chuck is the only thing that means love to him now.
Chuck is evidently more like his mother than Herc in some ways; when he heard that his mother wouldn’t come back he screamed and cried and threw things. This was how his mother was when she lost her father to cancer, unlike Herc who calmly slid into a Jack and Coke coma when his parents passed. Herc did his best to comfort his son. He waited for the outburst to slow down before rubbing along Chuck’s arms the way he did for his wife. He guessed correctly about Chuck taking after her, because at the gentle urging of his touch Chuck’s breathing slowed and became shallow just like hers did years ago. Chuck initiated the hug that Herc floundered to return. He couldn’t remember the last time any kind of physical affection had been asked of him from his son.
That was hours ago. Now, at almost ten at night, they sit at the dinner table pushing takeout around on their plates and staring. Herc stares at Chuck, Chuck stares at nothing. Their apartment is quiet and dark. Herc doesn't want more than one light on at a time or he will have to face photographs of his family intact and cheerful, something he doesn't feel ready to face and doubts that Chuck is either. After half an hour of not eating, Chuck asks in a quivering voice if he can go to bed, and Herc answers by rubbing is brow and nodding just enough to be understood.
Herc drinks while he puts away the food they didn't eat and curses the silence, usually punctuated by his wife humming softly or talking to him. He walks in the darkness to the room he shared with her and prays for sleep to take him quickly, but after twenty minutes of lying in a bed that seems vast and empty without the woman he loves breathing next to him, it becomes clear that he will be granted no such peace. He listens to his own ragged breaths to try and replace the softer sound he is used to.
After some time he enters a trance that only vaguely resembles sleep, haunted by thoughts of the Kaiju attack less than twelve hours old that took her from them. He startles to full consciousness when he hears the door to his room open, sitting abruptly and laying his hand over the knife at his bedside, listening for movement. He hears nothing for a few seconds, and then a tiny whimper.
“Dad?” Herc exhales his fear and replaces it with a deep breath of guilt when he recognizes his son's voice. “Can I...?”
Chuck is ten years old, far past any acceptable age to seek refuge from nightmares in his parents' bed, but Herc feels as though they both have fallen backwards in time several years after what happened today. He returns to the surface of the mattress in silent approval. After a moment, Chuck's small feet can be heard shuffling across the floor and the bed shifts slightly with his weight.
Herc listens to Chuck's breathing in lieu of his wife's absence. At first he sounds terrified, hyperventilating just like he did at the hospital, but he slowly calms next to the comforting warmth of his father's body and his soft breathing evens. Herc finds it a comfort to have someone near him and before long what was a nervous trance becomes a deep sleep that he can wrap himself in away from the pain, for the time being.
They sleep in until noon. It is one of the most soothing mornings in all of Herc's life.
Crimson Typhoon
The three Wei brothers find their way to their quarters in Hong Kong for the first time. It is the end of the day, and their identical eyes are heavy but twinkling with pride after their first long day of training. Their jokes and laughter bounce off of the concrete walls of the Shatterdome’s corridors, which are a dark grey color that might be somber but makes no difference to them in their state of euphoric camaraderie.
Cheung and Jin fumble with the heavy door until it relents to them. They fall over each other’s tired forms to get across the threshold. Hu laughs and looks down at them as he steps over their bodies, but once he has navigated across them he falls silent suddenly, a puzzled look coming over him and his eyes darting between to point in the room. The pair on the floor glance to see what is confusing him and find themselves grunting in shared bewilderment.
As the two of them work their limbs off of the ground Jin speaks up, “They must have made some mistake, thought we were only twins or gave us the wrong room…”
“Think there’s a room somewhere with an extra bed and two occupants content to leave it that way?” Cheung sounds incredulous.
“No… I don’t know,” Jin replies. “I know I am tired. I’ll sleep on the floor for you two.”
Hu looks behind himself at his brother with equal exhaustion in his eyes. “No, you won’t. I know how to fix this for tonight.”
Hu steps forward and pulls the two twin sized mattresses (and don’t they all grudgingly see the irony in that terminology) off of their offensively numbered frames. He lines them up on the floor in one large rectangle.
“We can all fit on them sideways. We’ll get it fixed properly tomorrow.”
With that, Hu collapses in the dead center of both mattresses, perpendicular to the seam he has created in between them. Cheung shrugs at Jin with his familiar grin. He situates himself next to his brother. Jin follows shortly and they all share the two fluffy blankets afforded to them.
Lying together on the ground, they feel not unlike the children they were not long. They are doubtful to ever feel that way again. Even without the first drift that they anticipate in the coming days of training, each can tell that the others are feeling the same thing; the heavy weight of a war pressing down on their chests, all in a row and with only the thin padding of twin mattresses holding them up off the hard ground. At once they all carefully stow away their anxiety for now and drift off into a pleasant sleep that feels like a night five or six years ago, before everything changed for the worse.
Cherno Alpha
Unyielding cold permeates the air at all times in Vladivostok. Aleksis has found the chill that seeps into his bones each day alternately comforting and disquieting over his lifetime. For this one day he has been numb to it, anxiety over his first drift outweighing any other sensations he might have felt. He didn’t sleep the night before, didn’t eat breakfast in the morning, and only managed to get down a small lunch because Sasha instructed him resolutely to do so. She hovered over him, glaring protectively until she was satisfied with his nourishment. Though he towered above her, Aleksis was intimidated by Sasha’s confidence and wisdom, increasingly in a state of reverent awe at her every day.
He attempted to ease away his nervousness and prepared to meet Sasha for their drift. Aleksis wondered about her past, and what he might see during the neural handshake. He was anxious about what she would see too. The drift had to be explained to him a few times before he understood, though he suspected that he wouldn’t truly comprehend all of its complexity until he had firsthand experience under his belt. Still, he knew before drifting that it would be hazy and surreal, like a dream. Not everything would make it through, some memories taking precedence, with or without pattern or reason to them.
Even after careful explanation it was so unlike his expectations. Some of the things he saw could be identified right away as things he had experienced, as clear to his conscious as the cool water of a stream in the spring time. Memories that belonged to his copilot were overlaid with a foggy and unfamiliar quality. There were also strangely mingled images, like both of their memories were spliced into each other. Those images did not make sense, people Aleksis had known all his life appeared next to strangers, in places that he had and also hadn’t been to. Those half-memories were what made him frighteningly dizzy.
“Hey! Your mind is trying to make sense of what you see, you will not help it by trying to analyze,” Sasha’s voice had burst through the fog of confusion to take hold of his attention. She drew him away from the maelstrom of conflicting memories. “Focus on breathing, let everything else flow through you without your intervention.”
So he did. It helped; he felt himself relax and saw Sasha smile out of the corner of his eye. Their neural link stabilized and then they were disconnected, their little victory announced to a small crowd of cheering officers and engineers. After celebrations Sasha had seen to another meal for herself and Aleksis, who was pleasantly jittery but no longer nauseous, before they headed back to their quarters for the evening.
It was considered uncouth for a male and female soldier to bunk in the same room. When Sasha first suggested the arrangement it had made Aleksis flush with embarrassment. Sasha fought their commanding officer for the space and time together, knowing it would strengthen the bond they needed to carry with them into the Jaeger. She took a casual approach to most things and sleeping in a room with a man she had just met turned out to be among them. So Aleksis adjusted. He got used to the two beds, six feet apart on opposite concrete walls of their small quarters. Sasha had put up posters on her side of the room when they moved in, her favorite bands and DJs from before the war. Aleksis had watched her; he didn’t know any of the music she liked, having been raised on the ancient Big Band tunes his parents were fond of. Sasha had taken it upon herself to introduce him to her industrial taste and let him borrow an old music player she owned while he wandered the Shatterdome and got to know its layout. In return he let her read many of his books, classic literature from every era and corner of the world that remained of his parents’ collection. Soon they were inseparable friends. They spent every spare hour in their room, sprawled on the ground next to each other, music and their laughter filling the small space around them.
After the first drift they are worn too thin for music before bed. They feel a residual link between them that makes them giddy even through their sleepiness, and smile at each other as they approach their quarters. Inside, Sasha throws her coat off unceremoniously and collapses into bed, sitting with her head resting on the wall behind her, eyes closed.
Aleksis smiles affectionately. “That’s my bed, you know.”
Sasha twists her head to look at the bed. She gazes across at the opposite wall where her posters are hung up. Her face betrays a little embarrassment and they both laugh good naturedly at her mistake.
“I will move… in a moment, when my legs aren’t so heavy.”
“Take your time.” He sits next to her and they fall into companionable silence, both overwhelmed by thoughts of the day. After a while she rests her head on his shoulder.
“Do you have any questions?” Her voice is tense.
Aleksis knows what she is talking about. He Shrugs.
“Your life isn’t what I expected…” Her head turns minutely to see the side of his face. “Your parents seem… nice. I’m sorry you lost them.”
She had seen the moment they were torn from his life. His hulking father had carried him along a collapsing bridge during a Kaiju attack. He threw Aleksis to safety just before he fell into oblivion, Aleksis screaming after him.
“Thank you.” He appreciates her sympathy, but he doesn’t want to think about it. He mentally files through the memories he saw that belong to her. He knows now that her parents were distanced from her and she left home early to chase a fast life. “And you, Sasha, some kind of party girl.” He says it with humor in his voice, which she laughs dully at.
“Yes. I found all the best raves before the world started to end. Tried lots of drugs, you know.” Her voice gets quiet as she says, “Do you hold it against me?”
He’s not sure if it’s a normal reaction to the drift or just Sasha, but he feels a compulsion. He follows it to the top of her head, planting a chaste kiss on her bleached golden locks. “No. Not one bit.”
She sighs and leans further into him. “It’s getting colder with the winter. Maybe I should go get under my blankets.”
Aleksis grunts and nuzzles his face further into Sasha’s hair in protest. He slips his arms out of his jacket. He is supposedly still growing, which he thinks is a miracle for his already towering stature, so most of his clothes are sized to accommodate his predicted mass and there is plenty of room for both of them to huddle within his fur lined coat. When he draws it around her she looks at him and smiles hazily. They lean further into the corner of the room, her head on his broad chest. Aleksis finds the soft skin of Sasha’s hand with his callused fingertips and strokes gently from the back of her wrist to the edge of her fingernails until they both fall asleep.
Onibaba
Stacker carries Mako onto the base reverently. Numerous colleagues approach him with congratulations but he dutifully waves each one off. Most people see the look on his face and know not to bother him. His only concern right now was the child cradled in his arms, sobbing into his chest too subtly to be noticed by anyone but Stacker.
He brings her to an empty bunk and sets her down, followed inside shortly by Newton who he instructed to bring them a glass of water as they passed him in the corridor. Newt hands the glass to Stacker, who doesn’t take his eyes off the girl, and leaves without a word.
“Thank you,” She mutters to Stacker as he hands her the glass. Her gaze is elsewhere. He leaves her to grieve.
It was already getting late when they returned to the Shatterdome, but Stacker has a grueling campaign of paperwork ahead of him so he doesn’t allow himself to consider being tired. After he sees Mako to her room, he fetches a cup of black tea from the mess hall and retreats to his quarters. He is at his desk, pouring over sheet after endless sheet of post-mission data entry, when he hears a knock like the footfalls of mice on his door. If it weren’t for the utter silence of the late night corridors, he wouldn’t have heard a thing.
Stacker opens the heavy metal door and is met with the stare of Mako Mori from about two feet below his face. She looks timid, but calm. He kneels to meet her eye level.
“What seems to be the problem Miss Mori? Not enough blankets in your room?” Stacker inquires with genuine concern.
Mako shakes her head and replies quietly, “The Doctor with glasses found me in the hall, I was sad… And he brought me here to find you.”
“Doctor Geiszler?” Stacker couldn’t say what he was doing in the corridor so late.
As if on cue Mako looks at the ground bashfully, “He took me to get cake first.”
Of course. Doctor Newton Geiszler and his famous sweet tooth.
“What can I do to improve your disposition, Miss Mori?”
A stormy, emotional twist takes over her face. “I don’t want to be alone.”
There is pain beyond her years in her voice. Stacker cannot blame a girl who lost probably everyone she cares about today for wanting something as simple as company. He stands, drags the door out of the way and leads Mako to a spare armchair next to his desk.
“You must be quiet, Miss Mori. I have a lot of work to get done.”
She nods and sits, staring at her knees while he continues his work. She is dutifully silent and breathes softly by his side. After some time Stacker realizes that she is slumped over in sleep. He smiles at her, comforted that she can find some peace in his presence, and stands to fetch a warm winter coat to drape over her before he sits at his desk once more. Before long he finds himself yawning down at his paperwork and fighting a battle with his eyelids. He finally loses that battle at some point that he will not recall.
Stacker wakes up the next morning to find the spare seat in his room empty. His coat is situated over his own shoulders. Mako is no where to be seen. Laughter escapes him, carrying a kind of affection and relief that he is unfamiliar with, but welcomes with an open heart.
Gipsy Danger
“You lied! It’s not hard, it’s like we were born for it,” Raleigh grits out through his cocky smile, moving his limbs in unison with Yancy.
Yancy rolls his eyes at the foolishness of his little brother. “We can’t let ourselves think that it’ll always be that easy. But,” he grins in return, “It was pretty fun.”
Stacker’s voice commandeers their attention, echoing through the Conn Pod, “You boys alright out there?”
Yancy keeps smiling at his brother as he responds, “Yes sir, Marshal. Just on the way back.”
“Thanks lads, you did well out there. I’ll see you in the morning for debriefing. Get some rest in the meantime.”
The two respond in unison, “Yes, sir.”
Gipsy Danger strides resolutely through the water back to shore. They’ve just taken down their first Kaiju, a category III called Yamarashi that they’ve left at the bottom of the ocean off the coast of California. They both swell with pride, their emotions flowing infinitely between the two of them and magnifying in the drift.
As they trudge forward, Raleigh smugly glances at Yancy and directs his memories to a few hours ago. He recalls his older brother’s sharp voice instructing him to be cautious in field as they were about to drop.
Yancy scowls at him. “Cut it out and be careful. I’m not getting stuck in the ocean with your catatonic ass because you feel like chasing the rabbit to gloat.”
“Oh, Yance, will you relax? We’re out of the danger zone anyways.” Raleigh sees the shaking of his brother’s head in the corner of his vision.
“You can’t be like this forever, and I hope you don’t have to learn the hard way,” Yancy warns.
Once they’re in shallow enough waters the choppers meet them. They climb a ladder into a much more comfortable craft. They watch as Gipsy is slowly lifted from the water by the other helicopters to be taken back to her bay.
Raleigh takes a deep breath and a moment to appreciate the way the waves of the Pacific move, lulling him into a state of calm and driving away the adrenaline from the fight with Yamarashi. He lets his head rest against the wall behind him, takes in the view of the setting sun before the sliding door is shut by the chopper’s copilot. He is reminded of Stacker’s paternal urging for rest and recuperation as hard earned exhaustion begins to wrap itself comfortably around him.
“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, we’ll still have a medical examination before we’re cleared for shut-eye,” Yancy says as he nudges Raleigh in the arm.
The younger man blinks, willing his eyes to stay open and grunts discontentedly. “What’s your first order of business on base then? You’ve gotta be as tired as I am.”
“Hmm. Yeah, but, I think eating probably is first on the list,” Yancy says contemplatively, his own heavy lids falling shut hypocritically. Raleigh takes the opportunity to poke his brother in the ribs between armor plates. “Hey!” Yancy’s eyes snap open and he rubs his side muttering, “Think I’ve got a bruise there.”
Raleigh smiles at him. “Could be worse.”
Yancy nods in agreement. “What about you though? Catching z’s your only concern?”
“No,” Raleigh considers for a moment. He did not miss the low rumble in his belly when his brother mentioned food, but he is more concerned with the grimy feeling that sits in a layer between his flesh and the fabric of the pilot suit. He scrubs his face uncomfortably with his palm as he mumbles, “Ugh, shower.”
Yancy nods with his eyebrows high on his forehead. The elder Becket clearly feels a twin sensation of sweat and dirt polluting his skin, but he and Raleigh both remain silent for the rest of the ride home.
On returning, they’re both subjected to a brief once over by the med team just as Yancy had warned. He indeed has a large, ugly purple bruise on his ribs, dark and imposing but not serious. He checks out with no damage to his ribs or organs. Upon catching a glimpse of Yancy’s bruise, Raleigh feels the pain of it on his own side, though he is thoroughly inspected and bares no injuries of his own. The medics say that phantom pains like that are a regular symptom of what’s called “ghost drifting,” when pairs of pilots feel the connection even after leaving the Jaeger.
When they emerge from the med bay, the two look each other over. Raleigh quirks an eyebrow at his brother and asks, “Food?”
Yancy quickly responds, “Shower?”
But they grin in unison and shake their heads. Instead they drag their tired bodies to their bunk room. They feel weakened enough that they push the heavy door open together, leaning against it once inside to close it behind them. It feels safe to have a shield between them and the world after the danger they’ve put themselves through and they stay there for a moment. They become simple men in this sanctuary, just brothers who rely on each other, without the weight of the world being held up between them. They almost feel like kids again, shoulders touching lightly in silent reassurance.
When Yancy disappears to the en suite bathroom Raleigh scurries up the ladder to the top bunk, which Yancy is fiercely protective of as his territory. Raleigh smirks as he hides himself under the covers wickedly.
He hears the exaggerated sigh from Yance when he returns to the room. “I will fight you, Rals. And I’ll win, and you know it.”
Raleigh whines wordlessly in response.
Yancy sighs again but follows it with a chuckle, accepting Raleigh’s childishness. “Well, maybe not tonight. Lucky you.”
Raleigh reveals his smiling face after hearing the good natured tone in his brother’s voice. Yancy is smiling warmly back at him. He yanks off his boots and turns out the light, stumbling audibly into Raleigh’s bunk in the darkness. There is a dim light in the room at all times so that they can navigate, but Raleigh knows from many stumbles of his own that it hardly helps when there are two pairs of combat boots littered carelessly across the floor. Neither of them are particularly organized when commanding officers aren’t around to scrutinize them.
They both feel a residual buzzing under their skin, from drifting and fighting and being awake for too long. They sense the unrest in each other (ghost drift, Raleigh reminds himself) and listen to each other’s slow breathing in the dark to help the sensation ease away.
Before they lose consciousness, Raleigh drops his hand off the side of the bunk, reaching for Yancy. He feels the other man’s hand on his own after a moment. Either Yancy’s eyes have adjusted to the low light or he intuits his sibling’s action through their lingering connection. Raleigh doesn’t care, he feels comforted either way.
Raleigh speaks up, fading quickly but wanting to get his final waking thought out of his head. “I’m glad we came back.”
“Yeah,” Yancy squeezes his hand, “Me too.”
Raleigh feels the other hand in his until he drifts to sleep. Yancy only withdraws his grip when he can hear Raleigh snore quietly above him. He smiles and closes his eyes, humbled with gratitude to have his little brother in his life, the one person he values above anything else. He falls into his own dreams minutes later.
Striker Eureka II
Herc finds a bulldog pup among old rubble six years after Chuck’s mother dies. A technical crisis in the Sydney Shatterdome necessitated him leaving early that day, engineers waving him out of their space so that they could set things right without the interference of a soldier. With spare time on his hands, he takes a detour from the usual route to his and Chuck’s apartment. He walks slowly through the remains of a Kaiju attack a few months old now. The dog has clearly seen better days, waiting patiently on the porch of a destroyed home for the appearance of owners who would obviously not return. Herc brings him home and gives him a bath while Chuck is at Ranger training.
Max, as Herc has already mentally started to refer to him, is easygoing for a puppy that Herc has basically kidnapped from his home. Once he’s clean, Herc plops him down on the living room sofa where he dozes off while Herc gets work done in his office.
Herc has all but forgotten about Max until he hears the front door swing open followed by Chuck’s footsteps. Herc’s head snaps up in anticipation. He rises from his desk and quietly steps towards the door until he can see into the living room. There, Chuck stands stock still with his back to Herc. The boy stares at the sleeping form of Max. Chuck stays there for almost a minute before he walks slowly and soundlessly up to the sofa, his hand reaching out as he moves, hovering over Max. He stays that way until Max sneezes in his sleep, startling Chuck into twitching away before Max resettles into the cushions undisturbed. Herc chuckles softly, but apparently not too soft to be heard because Chuck turns slowly to face him.
“Where did you find him?”
Herc shrugs and prepares to shield the truth, not wanting to admit where he had been. “Out, on the way back from picking up paperwork.”
Chuck looks at his shoes and grits his teeth.
They’ve spoken briefly about the developments in Herc’s career. He is applying to assist in Kaiju defense programs outside of the immediate Australia and New Zealand area, where he has firmly insisted on staying all these years to be close to Chuck. They don’t know how far he will go yet. What they do know is that if something goes wrong and Herc is hurt on a mission it will take longer for Chuck to find out and he will likely not be in the hospital room if and when Herc wakes up. Most nights Chuck looks at his father with tears welling up in his pleading eyes and words getting caught painfully in his throat, unable or unwilling to leave his scattered mind. Herc repeatedly sighs at him with exasperation. He explains numerous times that Chuck is old enough to take care of himself if he’s gone for a while.
For a while, but not forever. He doesn’t let himself think about it even though he knows, he sees in Chuck’s eyes that the boy can’t help but worry that it will go down that way. They are both caught between the burn of a deep vengeance and the need to hold on to each other, all they have left.
Chuck feels that silencing guilt bubble up in his gut and he does everything in his power to contain it. “He a stray?” He looks back at the puppy that is bonier than a healthy bulldog should be.
“He is now I reckon. It didn’t seem like anyone was still around for him.”
Chuck nods. He bitterly thinks that he sometimes feels that way about himself. He turns his head back to Max, who is stirring from his sleep. When he dog fully awakens, he immediately zeroes in on Chuck and the his demeanor becomes enthusiastic at once. He hops off the couch and waddles right up to Chuck’s shins, wagging his entire rear end with glee. Chuck smiles genuinely for the first time in probably months as he kneels and begins to pet the dog.
“What do you want to call him?” Chuck calls over his shoulder as the dog licks his hand lovingly.
“What do you care about your old man’s opinion?”
Chuck glares at him meaningfully, but without too much hostility; a warning sign to not step further into dangerous territory.
Herc clears his throat. “I was thinking of ‘Max,’ maybe”
The smile returns to Chuck’s face as he nuzzles the top of Max’s brow. “Good boy, Max.”
When Chuck catches his father smiling affectionately down at the two of them, he masks his joy once more with a stoic glare and drags Max off to his room. It hurts, but Herc doesn’t let it linger. He clings to the image of his son radiating awe when he first saw Max, building walls around the memory that he swears he will never let go.
A week later, Herc's paperwork is submitted just in time for him to be called into action in Manila.
Chuck begs to be able to go because for one thing, this is the terrifying moment he’s been dreading, his dad being ripped from a Jaeger far away from home, where Chuck can’t be anything resembling close to him. He also heard the hushed phone call from Herc’s commanding officer. As much as Herc dismisses him by telling him that he is mistaken and confused and that incidentally he should not be eavesdropping on his father’s conversations (at which Chuck rolls his eyes like it is his calling in life), he knows what he heard: Gipsy Danger is being deployed along with Herc’s team. The American Jaeger will meet them on the coast. Chuck is desperate to be present for that moment.
The Becket brothers are Chuck’s favorite pilots. He has seen all the fight footage, every interview they have given. They balance and compliment each other perfectly, both confident but in their own unique ways. Raleigh is passionate and cocky, impulsive but with good instincts. He is a little bit older than Chuck but reminds him of himself. The older brother, Yancy, is collected and rational. He reins Raleigh in when the need arises. Together they seem almost unstoppable.
Herc refuses Chuck’s pleas and nearly shouts at him when he begins to persist too much. Chuck finally, grudgingly, backs off. He’s scared but he will have to live through it. Chuck has never been alone for more than an evening, and usually those are because of meetings and briefings that run long, not sudden Kaiju attacks. At least he has Max now. He holds in his panic and sets his jaw as Herc tells him to be good and everything will be alright.
Herc has scarcely been out the door five minutes when Chuck breaks down. He is hunched over one armrest of the sofa with the low volume of the television in the background. He can’t decide whether or not to turn it off; it shows footage from Manila where a storm is building, newscasters anticipating the arrival of the Kaiju and Jaegers. He doesn’t know if he wants to watch. He contemplates dinner but he also doesn’t know if the heavy feeling in his stomach is hunger or nausea. He cries and cries and curses himself for not ever being a man that could make his father proud, even when he’s not around to be disappointed.
The sound of Max whining at his feet finally shakes him back to reality. He smiles down at his dog through glassy eyes and lifts him onto the sofa with him. “I’m glad you’re here Max.”
Max snuffles at him and lays his head on Chuck’s thigh sleepily. He makes Chuck feel a little more grounded, a little more equipped to deal with the circumstances. Chuck decides that he should at least mute the television and does so, eyes darting occasionally to what is happening on screen, but mostly he watches Max and listens to him breathe for a long period of time. He forgoes food and rest though he knows he needs both. He may be calm, but he is still concerned. The TV stations provide little useful information and when they finally show the Jaegers being dropped into the water Chuck finds that feels sick, so he switches it off. In the darkness he continues to listen to his own breathing synchronize with Max until he falls unconscious, more in a state of lifelessness than actual rest.
The next day Chuck blearily awakens mid afternoon with Max already awake beside him, barking at the front door. A key is turning in the lock. Chuck’s eyes snap fully open even as Max rushes to the opening door. He briefly wonders if Herc will have it in him to deride Chuck for passing out in the living room, but that wonder melts away in favor of relief when Herc’s tired body tumbles over the threshold. He only has enough energy to pet Max halfheartedly and smile raggedly at his son before he drags himself to his bedroom to collapse there.
Cherno Alpha II
The newlywed Kaidonovskys couldn’t contain their joy as they had approached the hotel. It had a certain old world charm to it, painted white with pale green shutters on the many windows, smoke rising from a chimney. It wasn’t the thick, black, chemical smoke of destroyed cities, but soft grey, steadily rising clouds that probably smelled of firewood. The whole picture of this peaceful building and the trees surrounding it was something you’d expect to find only before the Kaiju and certainly not common after them. It was a lucky break when they would have had to settle for whatever was closest to the base no matter what that entailed. Many strings had to be pulled to organize their modest ceremony. They had fully expected to spend their honeymoon in the familiar quarters they had now shared for almost four years, but their crew had pulled together every resource at their disposal and given them as proper a wedding night as anyone could hope for these days. Their heads were full of gratitude right up until the moment they opened the door to their suite, at which point they were full of nothing but each other.
They are lounging in the aftermath among fluffy pillows with grins on their faces. Though they have made love many times, nothing compares to the feeling of being bonded by their wovs, closer than they ever have been. It is a night that takes them both into a dreamy reverie, when they think of both the past and the future at once, but mostly the perfect moment they are in now.
Sasha’s eyes twinkle in the soft light of the room. “I am so happy with you.”
She only seems more breathtaking to him every day. She glows now more than ever before, but Aleksis knows she will still be more beautiful to him tomorrow. He wraps his arm around Sasha and kisses her again before she settles into his side blissfully. He grabs something from the nightstand, a tablet that their commanding officer had sent ahead of them to their room. It is full of pictures from their wedding a few hours ago. He drags his hand across the touch screen, flipping through images of him and Sasha surrounded by their fellow pilots and Cherno’s crew members with smiles on all of their faces. They had cleared out the mess hall for the ceremony, and in the end nearly destroyed it with dancing and celebrating.
They both smile fondly and the pictures, but in the back of their minds a discomfort settles in. They know they will be returning to the drab corridors of the Shatterdome all too soon. They will probably be fighting Kaiju again in two weeks’ time or less.
Sasha huffs out a painful breath at the thought. “Did you hear what happened in Alaska the other day? Sad about those Becket boys.”
“Yes. Very sad.” Aleksis powers down the tablet in his hands.
“But the survivor, Raleigh, the younger brother I think, he piloted Gipsy Danger to shore on his own. Very impressive. I can’t imagine…” Sasha trails off and settles further onto Aleksis’ chest as he turns off the bedside lamp.
Moonlight still filters in through the tall windows. Aleksis admires the beauty of his bride in the ethereal blue lighting. Long false eyelashes that she didn’t bother to remove before bed sit against her pale cheeks. Her hair has been taken down from its intricate styling and falls in waves around her collar bones.
Her brow furrows slightly, though she doesn’t open her eyes. “Aleksis?”
He hums in response, not wanting to interrupt the sound of her voice with his.
“Do you think we will have children?”
Aleksis swallows down the pain that comes with knowing that there is only one possible answer to this. He doesn’t see how it could ever be anything but ‘no.’ Even if they win this war, the two of them perform one of the most dangerous tasks undertaken by any soldier, ever. They do not have best hope for survival. They don’t even know how the conditions they’ve endured inside Cherno might effect their ability to conceive. They don’t know if the world after Kaiju will be one suitable to raise children in.
Aleksis understands that Sasha probably knows these things as much as he does. She is ignoring the obstacles to have a moment of blind hope. He humors her, affecting a wistful tone of voice. “Of course. After we win.”
A cautious smile crosses Sasha’s face as she continues the fantasy, “Boys or girls?”
Aleksis thinks of the Becket brothers, one now lost to a Kaiju at sea, and the pain his little brother must be feeling. He thinks of another story a few years old: Stacker Pentecost and the orphaned girl he saved.
“Both. We will teach them to fight and to pilot Jaegers, just in case.” He squeezes Sasha’s shoulder with his warm hand.
Sasha lays her own hand on his chest to gain the leverage to bring her face up to his and kiss him good night. They sleep peacefully next to each other while they dream of clear skies and picket fences, rather than the gloomy base they will return to in a few short days.
Otachi
The scientists are silent on the helicopter ride back to base. Newt’s leg jitters up and down, his eyes unfocused. Herman observes him with his hand over his own mouth. His eyes rake over his companion’s shaking form. He isn’t sure if Newt’s nerves are the result of their incredibly (unprecedentedly, in Hermann’s opinion) intimate drift, or if he is worried about the world ending.
Hermann reminds himself with derision that they should probably both be concerned about the apocalypse. However, he finds his subconscious more concerned with the former half of their circumstances. He had never dreamed of drifting, with anyone, for any reason, so he was rather unprepared for the reality of it. There was no consideration, no spare moments to contemplate the implications before they dove in. He is curious as to how much of his past had been absorbed by Newton, who was mostly in a state of focus on the Kaiju hive mind at the time of drifting. Hermann had paid attention to Newt’s past, though. He hadn’t tried to cling to any of the memories, “chased the rabbit” as the pilots say, he just let the fleeting images burn into his mind as they washed over him, and he found a few of the more intriguing recollections to be running laps around the inside of his skull.
Hermann must forget about it for a while, so that they can get on with saving the earth. Almost a waste of time, he thinks, it will always be an ungrateful world. But they will do it, exhibiting bravery and heroism and all of those wonderful things that live on in the legends, just not the ones about blundering scientists behind the scenes. Pilots get the glory, Hermann knows.
Hermann pushes his mind out of pessimistic grumbling, back in the direction of his partner and the task at hand. He may be having trouble connecting with his compassion at the moment, but Newton is brimming with enthusiasm and Hermann chooses to let himself feel it radiating from the other man, passing over him in waves and spurring him forward on their mission in the absence of his own ability to focus. It’s enough to get him back on track before the helicopter touches the ground.
They race to the control room just in time, and quite possibly single handedly save humanity. Well, Miss Mori and Mister Becket technically do some portion of the work. Hermann relinquishes his concerns of recognition to celebrate their victory and survival.
Marshal Pentecost and the young pilot Hansen cannot be saved. Even through the cheering, several sets of eyes travel cautiously over the face of Hercules Hansen, who is bravely smiling for the benefit of those around him.
A peculiar sensation of density settles in Hermann’s chest. He mourns silently for the new Marshal and carefully maneuvers around bodies to Newton’s side. He smirks lightly at the tattooed man in silent congratulations. He’s not fond of high fives, so he hopes Newton understands that this will have to do. He clearly has missed the mental memo (or ignores it) because he swings an arm over Hermann’s shoulders when they are side by side, a mad grin erupting over his face. Strangely, Hermann finds he doesn’t mind.
Though they bicker to no end, he has always valued Newton as someone who could keep up with him. Respect and acceptance have always been about the extent of their positive feelings towards each other. Before, they could be generously deemed casual friends, perhaps. Hermann has started to suspect that the drift has changed a great deal about him and his view his fellow scientist.
As Hermann hadn’t anticipated the closeness that followed, he also hadn’t stopped to think about the danger they had been in for the last few hours, starting at the risky procedure he and Newton had plummeted into. When Hansen commanded the stopping of the war clock, a wave of relief flooded the hollow spaces between Hermann’s bones that he had not taken the time to notice.
Now, he notices. He feels heavy with understanding. He cares, has always cared, and he finally notices. So he does not shrug away or brush Newton off; he absorbs in utter contentment.
When the crowd clears to occupy a space more suited for their revelry, Hermann and Newton decline to join. They have had a far more exhaustingly difficult day than either of them is used to. They are reminded by their aches that they are not soldiers, and for good reason. The two chat as they head towards a lounging area near the lab for a more relaxed cool down from the day’s excitement, though Newton moves towards that goal with less focus than Hermann.
“Aren’t you still stoked? I mean, I’m tired as hell, but I’m stoked. No one’s ever done it. Well, except me, but I didn’t really know what I was doing the first time, and it obviously wasn’t quite as successful, considerably harder on my physical and mental state-“
Newton looks up from his madly gesturing hands at the same time as Hermann, catching the look on his face that says everything he needs to know, and stops talking immediately. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry, Hermann, I know I need to chill.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s been a crazy day. How are you feeling?”
Hermann shrugs. “Physically exhausted, intellectually confused, and desperately in need of a cup of something hot on all counts.”
Newton’s eyebrows twitch. “Intellectually… confused? Hermann, I don’t understand how those words can exist together coming from your mouth. As an admission, at least. Perhaps as an accusation thrown at me.”
Hermann smiles genuinely as they approach the area that acts as an anteroom to their lab. “It has been a crazy day,” He confirms to Newton as he lowers himself onto the cushions of a worn sofa against the wall. The cramping pain in Hermann’s leg begins to alleviate.
“Shall I…?” Newton gestures towards the table on which there is a set up to make tea and coffee.
“If you would be so kind.”
Newton pulls mugs out of a box, a jug of water from under the table, and fishes through a tin that is full of assorted, individually wrapped teabags. “The state of tea time during the apocalypse,” He grumbles to himself as he works, pouring water and placing the filled mugs in a microwave.
Hermann watches fondly and lets his mind wander back to the drift. In truth, he is rather proud to have participated in something so experimental, though it is a harrowing experience he is not inclined to relive, at least not in the immediate future. He thinks about Newton’s newly revealed past. It is striking to him to see Newton doing something as innocuous as fixing them tea after some of the things he has now seen Newton do.
Hermann’s now personally witnessed Newton hearing his parents fight through a thin bedroom wall. He’s been at the drug deals Newton conducted for a few months in college, seen him take a beating over three point five grams of cocaine right before he decides that drug trade isn’t quite right for him. He wonders about the in between spaces that didn’t get through in the drift, when Newton must have been bitterly moving out of his childhood home, when he cleaned up his act and raised his GPA in hopes of going somewhere. Perhaps Hermann will indeed drift again, some day. It is an interesting way to get to know someone. He grimaces when he remembers that it goes both ways and tries to recollect and list in his head what he might have exposed Newton to of his own history.
The beeping of the microwave refocuses them both, Newton jumping from his contemplative stare into space and tearing open teabag wrappers to drop them into the steaming liquid. After a moment he brings them over and sits next to Hermann, handing him a chipped Christmas mug that looks like it is about thirty years old. “Is chamomile alright?” Newt’s face blinks at him hopefully.
“Lovely, thanks.” Hermann takes the mug and watches as Newton blows air softly over the top of his while he waits for it to steep.
They are comfortably silent for a long while, gradually sipping from their mugs when it becomes appropriate. Hermann doesn’t feel pressured to speak, but he would like to express the mounting curiosities in his mind. He considers all the strange, dangerous, sad remembrances he yearns to hear about in Newton’s own words and tries to think of how he would even approach them. Perhaps, after a day like today, it isn’t the right time anyways.
Something he is comfortable with finally pops into his mind. “You have a tattoo of a cupcake?”
Newton’s eyes snap to him. “So we are going to talk about what happened today?”
“We don’t have to, I- I certainly don’t expect to discuss everything,“ Hermann stammers helplessly.
“No no, it’s fine. Cupcake tattoos are… safe. Not a bad starting place.” Newton’s faithful grin returns.
Hermann calms and smiles back. It doesn’t really need explaining; he’s caught Newton sneaking sweets between mealtimes before. The Russians used to get angry when some of their gourmet treats would go missing as they were apparently very difficult to acquire. Nothing was proven of course, but they would glare at Newton. The memory is bittersweet for Hermann.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t see where it is. I saw you draw the design and I saw you holding it as you walked up to the shop, but there was a new memory before I could see the rest.”
Newton blushes and bows his head. He says nothing, but takes one hand from around his mug and scratches lightly at his right hip through his clothing. Hermann isn’t even sure that does so on purpose, but the action makes his face flush as well. He takes great care not to look at Newt as the silence drags on.
Newton is the one to break the silence, “Things were hard for you in school, huh?”
Oh, bother. Newton had paid attention, even through the Kaiju memories, and they are going to have this conversation. He tries to mask his panic as he returns eye contact with Newton.
The other man surprises Hermann by shaking his head and smiling with understanding. Newton sets his nearly empty mug on the ground and lies across the sofa, resting his head in Hermann’s lap. “It’s okay, you’re right. We don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted you to know, I noticed.”
They both seem to be noticing a lot today. Hermann awkwardly fumbles with his own mug for a moment before Newt reaches over his own head and takes it from Hermann’s shaking hands. Newt sets it on the floor next to his. Hermann takes a moment to consider his options before he settles on running his fingers experimentally through Newton’s hair. When he hears a soft sigh he repeats the action, and again, until they are both gently pulled into well deserved sleep.
Striker Eureka III
The Breach closes, presumably for good. The clock rolls back to zero. There are glasses of champagne and smiles on every face, everything you would expect save for confetti, since no one knows where they would get it anyways.
Herc is the first to see Raleigh and Mako besides helicopter pilots and hangar technicians. He meets them outside the chopper and quickly shuffles them off into a freight elevator. He’s taking them the back way to the main floor of the Shatterdome so that they may catch their breath and a moment of peace before going to where the ground is shaking under raucous celebration.
“They’re getting pretty crazy on the main floor, prepare yourselves. You did an incredible thing out there.”
When they remain unusually silent behind him, Herc turns around to face them. They are looking at each other intensely, communicating wordlessly in that post-drift state that Herc is so familiar with. When they see him pivoting to face them they bow their heads in unison.
Raleigh clears his throat, “We weren’t the only ones, sir. I know I didn’t get along with- Well, but after what Chuck did I- We…”
“We’re sorry for your loss, Marshal Hansen.” Mako finishes Raleigh’s stammering sentence, for which he glances at her appreciatively. “Chuck was very brave today. You have a lot to be proud of… We all do.”
Mako’s face betrays the hurt she feels. Herc understands everything she tries to say but can’t, and he wishes he had something comforting to say about her own loss, but every passing moment is more isolating to him and even breathing is a chore. He manages a tight smile and a nod to the pair of them before he turns back around and fights down the tears.
Mercifully, the elevator stops. “Get ready for the hero’s welcome you two. I hear there’s champagne”
Mako brushes his arm gently and lowers her head once more as she walks around him and out into the corridor.
Raleigh speaks up as he follows her, an uneasy tone in his voice, “You joining us?”
Herc shakes his head. He can’t be a hero right now. He can only be alone.
Raleigh smiles tightly at him before catching up with Mako, who is heading towards the commotion in the mess hall.
Herc watches the two pilots walk away before he heads towards his quarters. It isn’t until he’s outside the door that he hesitates, remembering the room behind him that was until now Chuck’s. He turns and walks slowly up to the closed door, pain and some horrible curiosity closing in further around him. He swallows down shallow breaths as he takes them and screws his eyes shut while he throws the door open, preparing for the hurt of an empty room.
To his surprise, it is not empty. Max sits on a chair in Chuck’s room, staring glumly at the wall until he sees the door open and looks up at Herc.
Oh, Max. How could Herc forget? Easily, he supposes, after losing Chuck.
The dog lifts his head while his tail wags and his ears perk minutely, until he realizes that Herc is the only figure standing in the doorway. He barks shortly at Herc, as if asking where his real master is. Max has always liked Chuck better out of the two of them. Herc supposes it’s a good thing, since so few are willing to give Chuck a break once in a while. At least someone could harbor blind enthusiasm for his son, even if it is just their dog.
Herc at this moment becomes hyper aware of how long he has been on his feet. He slowly approaches the bed and lowers himself to sit on the edge. He pointedly ignores the few photos that adorn the walls of the room; the family together a year before Chuck’s mum passed, the boy a few years later petting Max while the dog licks his face lovingly, father and son next to each other when Chuck graduated Ranger academy.
When Max has been staring at Herc sitting across the room for long enough, he realizes that something is wrong. He hops off of the chair and waddles over to Herc, whining at the man until he is lifted onto the bed with him.
Herc begins rubbing the back of Max’s head. “I know he wasn’t much for manners, but he was always my boy. Wish I’d known what to do to keep the bitterness out of his heart. But he was brave, so maybe I did something right. You know he was a good boy, right Max?”
Max woofs seemingly proudly at him. Herc smiles back.
“He was as much yours as he was mine. Good job, Max.”
When Herc yawns a few minutes later, Max sits up on the bed and stares at him expectantly. He nudges a physically and emotionally exhausted Herc lightly until the man lays down, patting Max on the head as he does so. Herc spends long moments painfully reliving every memory of life with Chuck, from Herc’s panicking heartbeat thudding in the delivery room to their last drift together. He had seen so many things in their shared memories that he could do nothing about, accessing feelings that Chuck hid but unable to understand them, especially when Chuck was so unwilling to talk the few times that Herc tried. The weight of guilt presses down further on his shoulders and the tears start to flow, but Max nudges his face into Herc’s palm until he is stroking his soft fur and grounding himself into the stillness of the moment.
Max usually sleeps next to Chuck. Herc remembers the first time he brought his son’s faithful friend home and the mutual joy that visibly overcame the two when they first met each other. He closes his eyes and tries to lose time in the precious memory of Chuck’s smile. He and Max were inseparable from day one.
Tonight, Max watches over Herc protectively until his sharp breathing evens out in sleep, at which point Max curls up with his master and starts to snore next to him.
Gipsy Danger II
It's not long after the breach closure that the celebrations die down. It feels like the longest week any of them has ever been through. Days seem to drag twice as long, quiet and hollow. No one is really speaking beyond necessary exchanges of words that amount to orders, updates, and simple questions. Raleigh reminds Mako to eat breakfast every morning, knocking on her door and finding her lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, whenever she quietly grants him permission to enter. A couple times a day she comes to find him, wherever he is trying to chase away the thickness of the air that fills the Shatterdome. She will appear near him in the gym, or the mess hall, or she'll knock gently on his door. When she stands in front of him neither speaks, Raleigh just wraps his arms around her and radiates warmth for her cold, tired body.
Sometimes it is the other way around. Raleigh has another dream about losing Yancy, something he has mostly gotten accustomed to, except that this time the whole scene changes at the last minute. He looks away from his brother as the Kaiju is about to strike. When he looks back he sees Stacker Pentecost instead. The Marshal is ripped from the Conn Pod and Raleigh cries out for him only to hear Chuck Hansen's voice coming from his mouth, as a paralyzing dread awakens in his stomach and rapidly travels down his limbs to fill his whole body.
When his sweating body shudders awake, he immediately crosses the corridor to Mako's room, knowing she will forgive him for disturbing her before their usual waking hour. She takes one look at his face and brings him to sit on her bed, running her fingers through his hair and whispering gently in both English and Japanese. They don't go back to sleep. They get breakfast early. Raleigh covers his mouth and almost cries when they are walking through the corridor to the mess hall and pass Herc, who acknowledges no one with his head down; Mako grabs Raleigh's hand and holds tightly.
When days have passed and it is at long last the eve of the memorial, no one can decide if it is more a blessing or a curse. Mako, Raleigh and Herc don't sleep that night. They sit outside together. Herc drinks and shares a cigar with Raleigh. Mako tells them about the time that Stacker taught her how to do pushups as a child, after seeing her pathetic attempt.
“I wanted to be strong, a pilot just like Sensei,” she recalls fondly.
The hours pass that way and finally it is time to go. They drive a long distance to somewhere with open space and ground soft enough to be dug into, the same place that the bodies of the pilots of Crimson Typhoon and Cherno Alpha were quietly buried while the PPDC didn't have time to memorialize them. Dozens pile out of cars to gather at the site, like it's a proper funeral though this time they don't have bodies left of Stacker and Chuck to bury. They remember everyone they have lost since this war began. Herc speaks. Others speak. Mako chokes up but does her best anyways. She and Herc hear no end to the painful condolences.
The nagging, guilty emptiness has begun to fade by the time they are being driven back to the base. Mako and Raleigh huddle in the back seat of a sedan, staring out one window at a sky that looks clearer to both of them than it has in over a decade. The weight of Mako leaning against Raleigh anchors him. He has felt for years like he might just float away from the earth, nothing left here to keep him close after his only family was taken. He lets his eyes slide shut, feeling tears well up in gratitude that he has redeemed himself to the universe and earned back the feeling of home. Mako is someone to share burdens with, someone who feels like family.
Her voice falls on his ears, “What will we do now?”
“What do you feel like?”
Mako idly rubs the fabric of Raleigh's sweater between her fingers. “Live somewhere... Really live, no war or Kaiju to worry about. Maybe around mountains, not...”
“Not the ocean,” Raleigh finishes for her and she nods her head steadily to affirm him. He wraps his arm protectively around her and smiles into the top of her head. “Sounds perfect.”
She sighs and closes her eyes. Together they relax into a semi-unconscious state for the remainder of the drive. When the car stops and they step outside, they find their way wordlessly back to Raleigh's room, eyes closed before their heads even touch the pillow. Their foreheads rest together and arms wrap around each other to ward off bad dreams.
“Thank you, Mako,” Raleigh whispers as he fades out. He feels her head nod slightly before she too finds sleep. It's the first time in five years that Raleigh genuinely rests. No one's pained face appears in his dreams, just Mako’s, laughing and smiling at him.