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Tendo Choi doesn't sleep much. He'll lose consciousness often enough to keep himself going, but with a job as important as his, in a time like this, he just doesn't feel rested no matter what he does. So he puts up with being on edge all the time, schools his nervous tics into personality quirks, and finds ways to stay busy. Few others notice, which is fine by him. He doesn't want to be fussed over; there's too much for everyone to fuss about already. He is a quiet part of the Shatterdome's backdrop and a maintainer of its structural integrity. He's a fixed point, if he were to use Pentecost's words.
He knows he isn't the only one struggling with restlessness. This is a time of war, the most unforeseen and dangerous war in their history at that. He sees pallid faces and sunken eyes everywhere. He's not the one who calls the shots or pilots the Jaegers, so he's honestly more worried for everyone else than himself, but he's not losing sleep over it. Probably.
*
Tendo spends some ungodly amount of time tapping his fingers on the console during the grave shift. There are only a couple other engineers on the command deck at this time of night, and they aren't any fun. Any time he tries to engage them they glare sleepy daggers at him until he awkwardly backs down. Tendo's not the one who scheduled them so he doesn't see how he's deserving of their wrath, but he relents anyways. After a long period of boredom he heads to get something to drink, if only for a brief change in scenery.
When he reaches the mess hall it is deserted except for the hunched over form of Yancy Becket. The slightly younger man is picking at a tray of food with an exhausted look in his eyes.
“Yancy,” Tendo calls as he saunters over to the table where Yancy sits.
The Ranger's head jolts up and he waves once he see who's spoken to him
Tendo smiles. “Late training?”
Yancy rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Raleigh's idea.” He shakes his head exasperatedly as Tendo sits across from him. “Kid is damn near obsessed. I'm a little worried.”
“Hey, new pilots, especially young ones tend to be that way. He'll probably grow out of it,” Tendo tells him encouragingly.
“Hope so,” Yancy says through a wide yawn. “Why are you up so late?”
“Because I'm an important man,” Tendo states impressively, “With plenty of important tasks to attend to. You, on the other hand, have just one thing you should be focused on.”
Yancy inclines his head questioningly.
“Sleeping, Becket,” Tendo continues with an assertive expression, “I saw that yawn, buddy.”
Yancy shakes his head and smiles, muttering, “Maybe when I'm done here.”
Tendo shrugs and doesn't press his point. He gets up to go get the cup of water he came for.
When he walks back through, Yancy's got his elbow on the table and his face rests against his hand, eyes closed and starting to snore. Tendo smiles at him. Then he notices that Yancy's head is starting to slip out of his hand, with a trajectory headed for a tray half full of nutritional mush. Without having to think about it, Tendo reaches out and gently places his hand under Yancy's cheek just as it slips off his own palm, his head only falling half an inch or so before Tendo's support steadies him. Tendo tilts Yancy's head up slightly and admires his undisturbed expression. He smiles wider, setting the glass of water down and maneuvering his now empty hand to scoot Yancy's tray out of the way, carefully lowering the Ranger's head to the newly cleared space next to his fallen outstretched arm. Tendo retrieves his cup and quietly heads back to the control room.
*
“Do you know when he'll be back?” Mako asks for the third time that night.
Tendo closes his eyes and tries not to roll them even though Mako can't see his face from where she sits. “No,” He says, resisting the urge to sigh. “Probably not until tomorrow.”
Mako huffs from her perch on the office chair a few feet behind him.
In Stacker's absence, she's spent all night shadowing anyone who will tolerate it. First the repairmen and then the scientists, who were all happy enough to oblige, and probably more exciting, but they've also long since gone to bed. She's taken up residence with Tendo in the control room because he's the only one up after a certain hour. It was nice at first, Mako is much friendlier than the associates who usually get dumped on ghost shift with him. She even played card games with him and they had a lively conversation.
But now it's very late, or rather early, and she is clearly tired but insistent upon waiting for Stacker's return from a mission. Teenagers, Tendo sighs inwardly.
She spins her chair around childishly. “Do you know where he went?”
“Yes.”
She waits for a response to no avail. “Or... to do what?”
“Sure,” He says. “But it's classified.”
She groans and kicks one of her feet. Tendo begins to feel not physically tired but a little emotionally taxed, if only because he's never seen Mako acting so immature. For a fourteen year old, she is already incredibly poised in every respect (thanks very much for that, Marshal Stacker Pentecost), but she's been up since barely past five in the morning. She spent all afternoon helping Stacker get ready to leave.
“He would probably want you to be resting now. He'll be back tomorrow,” Tendo says as he views her over his shoulder.
She retains enough social grace to refrain from verbal dissent, but her face speaks clearly. Did he make you my baby sitter?
Tendo turns away, throwing his hands up in surrender, and they both go silent.
So silent, in fact, that after some time Tendo starts to wonder if Mako is alright. He tries to turn his head towards the girl discreetly, wary of another outburst. Fortunately he finds her sleep. He might just smile a little triumphantly. Seeing her dozing peacefully, he realizes again that she is just a child in a very grown up world, and he feels a little bad for getting irate with her over it.
Realizing that Stacker would never accept his daughter sleeping in an office chair, Tendo decides that the command deck can handle itself for a short time. He walks to Mako with light feet and very carefully scoops her into his arms. She is not difficult to carry with her petite frame, but fortunately her room isn't far anyways. He lays her on the bed and turns off the light when he leaves, promptly returning to his home at the control console.
*
He probably looks ridiculous ambling down the corridor with his neck craned so he can see the ceiling and his eyes darting around, but he doesn't care. It's well into the wee hours of the morning and Tendo is counting bolts on the ceiling because he's run out of other ways to kill time. No one's probably awake to judge him, anyways.
He notices the lab door ajar as he's passing it, so he detours over to close it, never certain that Newt hasn't gotten a hold of some undesirable creature that could break out and wreak havoc. At the threshold he sees that the lights are all on. The two scientists are then presumably in the lab, but are nowhere to be seen nor heard. It's unusual for them to not be bickering while they flutter about doing any number of things that Tendo doesn't comprehend in the least. He takes tentative steps inside to investigate.
He reaches a table where Newton and Hermann sit passed out across from each other. Papers are strewn between them, as well as a couple small puddles of Kaiju-whatever on Newt's side. Hermann's forehead is flat against the surface of the table while Newt sits collapsed back into his chair, glasses slightly askew on his face. Though they are both clearly dead to the world, they mumble grumpily in their sleep, alternating and pausing perfectly in sync with each other as if they continue to argue in dreams. Tendo works hard not to laugh out loud at the thought.
He tiptoes to Newt's side and uses both hands to gingerly remove the tattooed man's glasses. He paws slightly at his face as if a bug landed there but remains asleep. Tendo folds the arms of the glasses down and sets them in a Kaiju-free spot on the table. Next his eyes scan the room to find Hermann's coat hanging from a rack on a nearby wall. Tendo grabs it and drapes it over Hermann's shoulders. He closes the door as silently as possible on the way out.
*
“Yes! Another notch on the belt, Striker,” Tendo yells, slapping the console spiritedly at the team's latest Kaiju victory. Late night battles are no one's cup of tea, even pathetic category twos like this one, but at least Striker tends to get them over quickly. Tendo's all hours enthusiasm is rarely appreciated either way. Everyone else speaks in weary, droning tones.
Chuck's sarcastic voice comes down the line, “You expected any less?”
Cocky shit. Tendo thinks he even hears the eyeroll from Herc when the elder Hansen sighs and states, “On the way back, LOCCENT, but we'll probably be a while before we're in transport range. Little bugger was weak but fast, dragged us out far.”
“Roger that, Hansen Senior.” He nods a tired but relieved Stacker Pentecost out of the room before continuing, “I'll watch the little guy til you're back,” Tendo finishes, looking down into Max's glassy eyes where the dog sits at the foot of the console.
“Much appreciated. See you soon,” Herc says before killing the connection.
Max breathes heavily from the floor in a way that makes him seem very put upon, like he's here for Tendo's benefit and he had better appreciate it. Tendo knows Max is very much a dog and can therefore get lonely during even short separations from the Hansen's, who both insist fervently on someone watching their faithful companion when they cannot.
At this point though, Tendo's pretty sure the poor boy's tiredness outweighs any of his other feelings. He should really just be put to bed, but Tendo had agreed to keep him nearby for the sake of the two irritable and scary Aussies piloting Striker Eureka back to shore. He looks up at the display and finds that Herc was not exaggerating, that they are a considerable distance away.
Tendo sighs and stands, dashing to his quarters, which are situated strategically close to the control room. He grabs a pillow and hurries back, seeing Max lie deflated on the cold steel floor. The dog's ears perk slightly when Tendo lays the pillow next to him. Max licks the man where his elbow is exposed below a rolled up sleeve as he rearranges himself to settle on the pillow. Satisfied that he is no longer participating in animal cruelty and still keeping his promise to the Hansens, he sits back in his chair and sends an alert to the transport for them to prep for pickup.
*
Despite the hour and the fact that most everyone is in bed by now, tension lingers in the air. It was another category four today. Shortest gap between Kaiju attacks to date. Though the battle ended successfully hours ago, the few remaining Jaeger crews patched up and in bed by now, Stacker lingers in the command center. It's some time past his well known bed time and Tendo is the only other person there. Tendo wishes he had something to say, but there's a lot to be worried about and very little to take comfort in. Besides, he suspects that Stacker wants the silence to remain until he collects his thoughts enough to have a proper discussion.
So Tendo waits, and works, and the Marshal stares off into space, and Tendo says nothing. Until, after a great deal of time has dragged on, Stacker is finally ready.
“I don't know what to do, Tendo.”
He turns to his superior, sees a look on Stacker's face that just says tired, tired, tired. Tendo rubs his own neck where his tattoo sits and considers his words carefully. “With all due respect sir, who does? And...” He hesitates, but pushes out, “What can you do?”
Stacker tilts his head painfully. “Exactly,” He says with resolution, “Exactly. Not like we're getting much help, Christ. I Can hardly believe how quickly everyone gave up on us.”
Tendo maintains Stacker's intimidating eye contact. Intimidating though he is, he's not threatening right now. Stacker looks, for the first time in a longer time than Tendo can remember, oddly accessible. He is uniquely Stacker Pentecost because he doesn't lose any of his frightening, super human charisma in this state. If anything, it's even harder to look away. Tendo is mesmerized.
“What were we ever doing, Tendo?”
That makes him flinch. That makes him... consider. “Sir... Everything we could. Everything. Everything no one else would. Everything you could think of.”
“Yes,” The Marshal says leaning back, “And fortunately for all of us, I'm still thinking. But I need to think faster.”
They seem to maintain a soundless, timeless atmosphere just by letting their minds wander for some moments. Pentecost looks at nothing in the real world but with something tangible in his mind. Tendo absorbs the image of him, seeing some layer he never noticed before. They both play the last twelve years over in their heads and try to make sense of it all at once.
Tendo breaks the silence, “Sir... Um, Stacker?”
The Marshal's attention is caught, but he still doesn't go on guard.
Tendo says his next words as cautiously as he's ever done anything. He treats them like they are glass figures that could break against a surface if he sets them down carelessly. “Maybe you need to think... Later? Maybe you need to rest.”
Stacker stares back at him meaningfully for an age. He makes Tendo feel like a lone creature in a boundless, empty universe. It makes Tendo feel oddly powerful, as though he has been granted one of the most important roles in history by some organic accident. It makes him feel singular.
Because of this, he doesn't need to hear any words from Stacker to know he is understood, and that he did not overstep any lines. His superior stands and strides out of the room, down the corridor, into his quarters.
Stacker Pentecost sleeps, leaving Tendo Choi sitting sated at the console, more rested than any hours of unconsciousness could ever make him feel.