Chapter Text
When Marshall Pentecost announces that the Pan Pacific Defense Corp is shuttering the Jaeger Program and that all remaining Jaegers will be restationed to the Hong Kong Shatterdome, Arthur says “Hong Kong? Eames is in Hong Kong,” as if it means something to anyone other than himself. Dom just grins at him, obviously misjudging his sentiment. Not for the first time Arthur is glad that even though Dom is his copilot there is no residual connection between them. No drift hangover to deal with, much less the constant bond of ghost drifting.
Arthur turns back to watch Pentecost's projected face wrap up his admittedly inspiring speech about last stands. Once he’s done and the hologram winks out, the LA Shatterdome is stunned quiet before folks launch into motion and chatter. Two months. That’s it. That’s all they have to get Spin Ringer, the last Jaeger in LA, and anything that isn't nailed down that might be of use across the Pacific Ocean. The amount of prep-work is insane and everyone holds their breath that a Kaiju won't pop out of the breach and make a beeline for LA.
The thump-thump-thump of pile drivers building the Long Beach anti-Kaiju wall get closer to the Shatterdome every day. The progress marks time and amplifies the tension that snips everyone’s tempers shorter. Dom’s normally tentative grip on sanity loosens a bit more, leaving him crazy-eyed. Arthur is forced to step up and manage him even more than usual. It leaves Arthur with barely any time to sleep and certainly not any time to turn his thoughts inward.
Of course the blissful detachment that hyper-focus and sleep deprivation brings doesn't last forever. Fifty-nine days after the announcement, they're underway. The first night he's tucked into his bunk in the belly of a Ford Class aircraft carrier, Arthur snaps awake, disoriented. Heart pounding, sweat dripping from his clammy skin, an echo of Mal whispering My Love pounding in his skull takes him hostage and rattles his senses.
Every night after is an encore.
The closer the carrier gets to Hong Kong, the more it feels like the world's axis has titled off-kilter. It dredges up an anger Arthur hasn't felt in a very long time - claws at his nerves and makes his skin feel tight, brittle, and cracked.
And he aches.
Jesus Christ, does he ache. Deep-seated in his heart, and head, and ghost, and soul.
And he hates.
Hates that he feels like this.
Hates that after two years he's back to square fucking one.
If Dom notices that Arthur is wound tighter and his thoughts skewed darker, he doesn't say anything.
Then again, that isn't exactly unexpected nor an accident.
Arthur keeps his shit together.
That's just who he is.
By the time they hop a helicopter from the carrier to the Hong Kong Shatterdome, Arthur's agitated and snapping and the crew has been giving him a wide berth for days. Vice Marshall Saito is waiting for them on deck in the safety zone with a polite smile. When Arthur and Dom reach him, Arthur raises his hand to salute but Saito proffers his own hand like he's once again the businessman he hasn't been in eight years.
"Mr. Levine. The circumstance is unfortunate; however, I am pleased that you are once again under my command."
Arthur mirrors Saito's polite smile, shakes his hand, says, "Thank you, Sir," and means it.
"And this must be Mr. Cobb." Saito does not offer to shake his hand and patiently waits for a salute before continuing. It's oddly vindicating. For what, Arthur doesn't have a goddamn clue. All he knows is that that watching Dom awkwardly swoop his hand up to his own temple for a quick snap of protocol tethers him, reminds him that yes, there are still a few people out there that know him, that have his back.
"In the interest of efficiency, I request that you attend the day's briefing first and then settle in." The thing about requests from Saito is that they are never requests and always orders.
"Of course," Arthur replies for them both.
"Excellent. Briefing room four. Now, if you’ll forgive me, there are other matters which I must attend to," he informs them, half bowing, and then walking away purposefully. Arthur can't tell if their meet and greet was an accident or an intentionally taken aside from Saito's day.
"So, do you know where that is?" Dom asks, eyes following Saito off the deck.
It seems like a lifetime ago that Arthur was stationed here, but the layout is coming back in snippets and slow-to-resurrect muscle memory. "This way," he says and starts walking toward the entrance that has the elevator that will put them closest to where they need to be.
Once they're secluded in a utility elevator Dom shakes his head slowly, obviously winding himself up to speak. "I always forget that you're one of the Proclus Security people."
Arthur shrugs. "Easy to forget. There's not many of us left." Himself. Saito. Sasha. Two or three others. Compared to the forty or so the PPDC had contracted from Saito's private military firm when the Jaeger program was first spun up and then eventually transitioned to being rank and file. Not many left at all.
"You just don't look the part. I imagine thug-looking guys with prison tattoos. Like Eames, for instance. It makes sense that he came from Proclus." Dom says the last bit as an afterthought and Arthur wants to punch him.
There's reasons why his mind has stripped Eames of a name and tossed him into the "two or three others" category. "Eames' tattoos are many things, but from prison isn't one of them."
"Not even one of those little crosses?"
"Between him and me, I'm the one who's actually done time," Arthur replies before he knows what he's saying.
Dom about gives himself whiplash with how quickly his head turns towards Arthur, his eyes narrowing to a squint. "Wait, what? When? For how long? How do I not know this?"
Arthur tries not to clench his jaw too tightly, furious with himself. Where the hell had that come from? But now that it's out there he knows he can't deflect. Dom will go at it like a dog with a bone until he gets answers that satisfy him, so Arthur distills it all down to simple sentences and bland tone. "I was seventeen. Six months for selling drugs. They tried me as an adult. Judge wanted to teach me a lesson." His mother vanishing for three weeks was normal. Her not paying the rent was an eventuality he had planned for. Selling some of her pills to an undercover was the curveball. "It's not something I really talk about."
"Jesus Christ, Arthur."
Thankfully Dom doesn't tack on an I'm sorry because Arthur isn't. Those six months were transformative for him and not in the ways the system had hoped. By the time he'd gotten out he'd put on twenty pounds of muscle, mastered speed-reading, and was pissed off at everything and everyone. Upon his release, one of the fairest yet most terrifying guards had slipped him a card with just a phone number on it. Said it was solid work and good pay. Arthur had dialed it that night from the shelter he'd landed in and the number had rolled directly to an answering service where he'd left a pissed-off voicemail. Three hours later, Saito had returned his call.
That… that was fourteen years ago.
The realization unexpectedly dazes Arthur, causing him to blink owlishly as the utility elevator squeals to a halt and the door splits in half horizontally and retracts. He follows Dom into the corridor, then jerks to a stop. Memories of his time stationed in Hong Kong snap to the forefront of his mind and dump the weight of their baggage into his muscles, leaving him raw and frozen.
"You alright?" Dom asks.
Arthur, is finally able to move, nods. "I'm fine," he says and feigns glancing down the various corridors like he's trying to catch his bearings. "Briefing room is this way," he says and starts walking, not waiting for Dom to catch up to him, not waiting to give Dom a chance to really look at him before he can regain his composure. This isn't like him. Not like him at all. The thought tumbles through his mind like a mantra, as if the repetition will somehow reign in his psyche from going rogue again.
By the time they reach the briefing room, Arthur has himself mostly under control. It's obvious they have a bit of time before things get started, the dozen or so people present engaged in casual conversation or staring intently at their mobiles. Almost everyone ignores their entrance.
Almost, but not quite.
"We should probably grab seats near--" Dom begins.
"Arti!" Sasha's loud and brash in both voice and appearance, her bleached-blonde hair and violently red lipstick screaming in the visual murmur of military drab. She yanks him into a fierce embrace because the damn crazy Russians have never taken I'm not a hugger as a viable reason not to. After years of these kinds of greetings, Arthur knows better to relax once she's let him go. Right behind her is her mountain of a husband Aleksis, who immediately steps into the space she's vacated, wraps his arms around Arthur, and almost lifts him off the floor.
Dom clears his throat subtly and Arthur launches into a quick introduction, and it's painfully clear that Dom doesn't meet whatever gold standard Sasha and Aleksis judge people by. To extract himself from their scrutiny, Dom mumbles, "I'll go find us some seats near the front."
Arthur arches an eyebrow and even though they just treated his copilot like shit, he can't help but grin. "It's good to see both of you. Been too long."
"Two years," Sasha replies and Arthur's joy falters. Her eyes narrow and her head ticks to the side, because although socially she may be brash and loud, she's perceptive as hell.
"I'm fine," he answers to her unspoken question.
"I have heard that lie too frequently as of late," she says and poignantly flicks her gaze over his shoulder. Arthur doesn't need to turn around to know that Eames has just come in and he refuses to look.
"Ariadne," Sasha mutters. "Green, just out of Jaeger Academy. Top of class," she snorts dismissively."Penrose deserves better."
Arthur’s curiosity gets the better of him, forces him to turn and look. He doesn't need to be told which of the people standing in the loose huddle around Eames is Ariadne. He can see the body language, the way the slip of a woman and Eames are turned towards each other. There's camaraderie and connection there, a fondness in Eames' expression when his attention is turned on her and it makes Arthur’s stomach drop and blood pressure ratchet up. Eames’ gaze suddenly flicks over to them, eyes instantly locking with Arthur's. For a brief moment his face contorts into something angry and ugly and all Arthur can bitterly think is good.
Their nasty little line of sight is broken when Tendo enters ordering folks to take a seat so that they can get started. When Arthur turns to Sasha, her eyes are focused intensely on him, assessing.
"I'm going over by Dom," he tells her. Irrationally it feels like he's abandoning her and Aleksis, but she hums thoughtfully and turns away. Arthur cuts across the front of the room, and as he passes the podium where Tendo is getting set up, his attention snaps to him.
"Levine!" Tendo cheers and reaches around the podium to clap him on the shoulder.
Arthur nods in greeting. "Tendo."
"Once you get settled come find me, man. I need to pick your brain."
"Yeah, definitely," he replies. Arthur finally sits and takes in the room, all the familiar faces, all the camaraderie, and connection and… it’s surreal. After Penrose Chip was damaged beyond standard repair and he was officially reassigned to Spin Ringer--
Arthur inhales sharply as the ache in his ghost and terror his dreams from the night before had evoked wrap around his mind like barbed wire and constrict and Christ… this has got to stop.
Because in his dreams, Penny isn’t damaged beyond standard repair. Only her visor is shattered and the interior of her conn-pod is splattered with blood.
Arthur blinks and the moment passes, but he’s left raw with it. He casts a quick glance around the room and notices a few of his crew looking at him cautiously.
He winces at the slip of possessive pronoun.
Penny’s crew isn’t his crew anymore.
She doesn't belong to him anymore.
Even if a terrifyingly large part of him still belongs to her.
It takes him longer than it should to realize Dom has gone quiet and still next to him.
"You all right?" Arthur finds himself asking out of deflection and reflex, knowing full well Dom isn't.
"I'm fine," is, as expected, the reply and Arthur can't help but wonder how many times they've paired these two phrases creating an hollow call-response. He knows he should press, knows that there's a time when he would have without thinking. But right now, Arthur is exhausted, and he's caught enough curveballs in the last twenty minutes that he just doesn't have it in him to once again try to share the weight of Dom's demons.
Thankfully, Tendo launches into the briefing sooner rather than later. Arthur writes every scrap of information down in the moleskine he keeps in the right thigh pocket of his BDUs. It's all straightforward and boring, even with Tendo's more conversational approach to briefings. The thing is though, the briefing lacks any real tactical meat.
When the floor is opened to questions, Dom sits up a bit straighter and says, "We've been told that there's an offensive plan being developed. Can we get some insight as to what that might consist of?"
Tendo nods. "We're still working on it. Make no mistake, we are not going to go quietly. K-Science is exploring two tracks that are looking hopeful."
"Hopeful? We need to do a little better than hope," Arthur says knowing it makes him sound like a dick, but this wishy-washy answering isn't making him happy.
"Thank you for your contribution, Arthur," Eames pipes up and it's like a punch to the gut.
"Forgive me for wanting a little specificity, Eames," Arthur snaps. It's the first time they've spoken to each other in over a year and a half. Where there once would have been a smirk and teasing lit to the exchange, now there are only shuttered expressions and clipped words.
Tendo easily gets the room back under his control, his years of directing and interacting with Jaeger pilots during combat while he's their range eyes and ears in LOCCENT mission control screaming through. Without any more questions to field the meeting ends and they're all dismissed, but Arthur remains seated and seething, gaze fixed steadily on the middle distance. It's only when Eames has left the room that he can let himself stand to move without concern about what he might say or do.
This isn't like him.
Not like him at all.