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"I don’t like the blue."
Chuck sighs mentally as the voice comes. He glances over but Herc’s checking their read outs as they maneuver Striker back to the shatterdome. They’re taught not to chase the R.A.B.I.T.’s but no-one ever mentions what you do when they chase you. None of the Jaeger pilots talk about what goes on in the cockpit, it’s considered a sacred space almost. A church for those the rest of the world believes are gods.
His mum and dad had their first date in a Nicole Kidman movie and his dad would put them on for him whenever missing her would be too much. Their first drift, the memory that both latched onto was that of the actress in one of her roles, dressed in diamonds and singing her heart out. Apparently Striker Eureka had found that memory to be to it’s liking, gravitating towards the few things that both men could agree were happy and good. It helps that his mum had red hair too.
"You don’t have to like the blue," he thinks in the direction of the apparition who saunters around the cockpit like it’s her throne room.
"Of course I do," Striker says with a wave of her hand, “you two start dating and fall in love and the next instant you’ll be on my shoulders with a brush and a can of Kaiju Trauma Blue," she pouts, “I don’t like that color."
Chuck rolls his eyes as he focuses on the sequence he’s supposed to be inputting. Multitasking is part of being a Jaeger pilot. It’s harder though when Striker gets in a teasing mood. Striker is built like a dirty boxer, she plays to win. Chuck’s ben taught to fight to win. They’ve both grown up together, considering her construction began the day he officially entered the academy. His focus is laser on the Kaiju except in the moments when his dad tries to play happy family or Striker speaks up. He continues to enter the sequence as Striker leans against the arms of his rig.
"You should bring her flowers," Striker says.
"I am not bringing anyone flowers!"
"Girls like flowers."
"What the hell do you know about girls? You’re a machine!"
"I know more than you," Striker says.
"No you don’t!" Chuck replies because she doesn’t.
They know the same things and they come from Herc’s mind. People don’t bring each other flowers anymore. They don’t go on dates to the movies or take long walks on the beach anymore. He has no idea what they do now because he doesn’t have time for that crap. And the only memories of women in his dads head now are disgusting, punctuated by the exchange of money and whispers of the wrong name. The women don’t mind and Chuck isn’t sure who he hates more for that.
That’s the thing about being sixteen and in someone else’s head. He sees what loving someone like that does to another person. Chuck’s spent his entire life weeding out weaknesses and this seems like too much of one to take on. He puts the sequence in and looks up at Striker. Her eyes soften and he glares at her. Even tough he’s got his helmet on when she pushes her finger through his hair he can feel it. Her hand lingers on the back of his neck and it feels like her finger rub over the raw patch that’s left by his suit.
"You need a bigger suit," she tells him and then snaps her fingers. Herc looks over and Chuck knows he can see her now. A flash of pain appears in his eyes at the sight of her but Striker doesn’t let him have any quarter as she snaps her fingers, “he needs a bigger suit," she orders.
"They’re making it now," Herc says.
"Also he needs more vegetables," the Jaeger informs him, “he’s got a vitamin deficiency," she looks at Chuck, “Max is not your own private garbage disposal for your broccoli."
"Yeah yeah," Chuck says.
"Don’t ‘yeah yeah’ me," Herc says, “she’s right, Max gets meat occasionally from now on."
"Fine," Chuck says rolling his eyes, knowing it’s useless to argue with one of them, let alone both, “I’ll eat my broccoli. Happy?"
They both smile and he tries to ignore how warm that makes him feel. They feel like a family in the drift, but that’s only because the third part is there. They need that third part, the buffer between the two of them. It’s easier with Striker who doesn’t take any of their crap, outside of her Max keeps them both sane. They need that third part.
"Also you can’t let him paint me blue," Striker says and the warmth is replaced by his face getting hot.
"Why the fuck would you paint her blue?" Herc demands and Chuck looks down, wondering if he can just jump into the reactor.
"I’m not going to paint her blue!"