Author's Notes: This fic is the sequel to my ficlet, War Clock, but it isn't required reading. The only important plot point of War Clock is that two of the Wei triplets and both Kaidanovskys survived the battle of Hong Kong. Apart from that, the canon remains the same as Striker Eureka and Gipsy Danger depart for the Breach.

There's some variation in the novelization and other sources about Raleigh Becket's departure after Yancy's death, and also about Mako and Chuck's ages and Academy classes. For this story, I'm going with the novel canon that Raleigh was dismissed for disobeying orders. Also assuming the following: Mako is about two years younger than Chuck, Chuck enrolled in the Academy in the first half of 2020 at age 16, and Mako enrolled in early 2023 when she turned 18.

WARNING: There is a lot of profanity in this story - hey, it's the apocalypse! You'd swear too!

Conflict of Interest

Chapter One: Eating Crow and Chasing Rabbits

Chuck had never successfully drifted with anyone apart from his father. He supposed he could take Marshall at his word that the man wasn't likely to go rabbit-chasing, or even let any of his own rabbits loose enough to distract his partner. There wasn't much in Chuck's own history that could trigger a modesty recoil, simply because he didn't care whether Herc knew what he got up to off-base.

Fellow Rangers had been appalled by the notion of drifting with a parent, but Chuck always shrugged it off. "If the old man wants to get bent out of shape because I get a little play, that's his problem. Quickest way to forget about what you see is to forget about what you see." But after years of drifting, Chuck knew that as long as he wasn't violating the PPDC code of conduct, Herc didn't care either.

There were a few awkward moments in the drift, images and sensations that made Herc wince or Chuck wrinkle his nose, but the problems would only arise if either of them tried to actively block something. Herc didn't and Chuck didn't. They were better partners in a Jaeger than out of one - the whole bloody world could figure that out.

He wondered if that would still be true, if by some miracle he came back from this. Hell, probably. All the barriers came tumbling down like that useless Sydney wall when he was standing outside the elevator, trying to pretend he wasn't scared shitless and feeling total cognitive dissonance because he was suited up and Herc wasn't.

"I want to live," he'd told Becket and Mori. It hadn't been a lie, and it still wasn't, and now he was going into this endgame with a partner he'd never had before and leaving his father behind.

Bad enough that this was so likely to be a suicide run. Worse that his old man was having to think about things like regrets for words unsaid. "I know 'em all. I always have."

They were the words that flashed through the drift in bursts so quick that Chuck sometimes wondered if Herc was even truly conscious of them. With ten kills, Striker'd had plenty of close calls, and in those tight spots, knocked off their feet or struggling to hold back a crushing blow or a lethal talon, it would flit through the headspace. It was more a sensation than actual articulated words:

"Left arm's losing hydraulic pressure!" - Notmyson you bloody stinking invading alien shit, get your ugly fangs out of our face - "Watch the claws, watch it, Chuck!" - notmyboynotmyboyyouwon'tgetmyboy - "Empty the clip while you've got control!" - Eh, you like that, bastard? Youmurderingfuckstookmywifeyouwon'ttakemyson.

They fought through those moments and survived; they always did. So Chuck had been certain that if they could do it - a father and son on the front lines together, whatever their quarrels off-duty - any other pilots who fucked up did so because they were too soft.

Flashbacks, nightmares, long stretches in the hospital, they all went with the territory; Chuck was fine with that. He wasn't quite full of it enough (or at least not out of touch enough) to think they should all come through without a scratch in body or mind. He'd donated blood for one of the Gage twins after one run, and then wrestled/restrained the other through a driftmare when the staff at the shitty little hospital had kicked him out of his brother's room. And then Chuck had bullied the night nurses into letting Bruce back into Trevin's room so they'd both be calmer during recovery.

On his next drift with Herc, Chuck had seen his father's pride. When Romeo Blue had gone down for good in Seattle, Chuck was furious with Bruce and Trevin for blowing it. It was easier to be angry than sad. It was easier to be angry than scared. It was easier to blame than mourn. If Jaegers fell due to mediocre pilots, well, then, Chuck and Herc's Jaeger wouldn't fall. Because they weren't mediocre. Such was the logic of Chuck Hansen, and sometimes even he knew it was bullshit. He held onto it anyway.

When they closed with Mutavore, in the wash of frantic, rushed thoughts in the headspace, Chuck had heard Herc musing on that. Howthefuckareyoustillsonaive? "Ow, shit! Top of the skull's too strong, aim for the neck! Chest rockets charging, couple more seconds!" Tooyoungforthistooyoungtodietooyoungtounderstandtooyoungtooyoung -

Few things could piss Chuck Hansen off more than people talking about his age, hinting that he wasn't up for this because of it. And a lot of things could piss Chuck Hansen off.

So he and Herc had been even more on the outs than usual on the trip to Hong Kong, and Raleigh Becket's arrival had only made it worse. Now they had regrets. Heading out of the lift for Striker's bay, silent next to Marshall, Chuck was trying to work up his usual anger, to carry it with him into the fight and let it blot out the more distracting emotions.

But this time, he couldn't. Not good.

To make matters worse, Becket and Mori were waiting at the junction of the corridors leading to the bays, where the crews would split for their respective Jaegers. Marshall and Mori went to the side at once, and Becket jerked his head at Chuck, as if Chuck needed any encouragement to stay well out of earshot of that conversation.

"Your dad okay?" he muttered.

"Fine." He was brusque and stiff and lying through his teeth, and they both knew it. Becket had the decency not to inquire after Chuck himself, thank god. The silence as they contemplated the wall and politely avoided looking at Marshall and Mori was... surprisingly not that uncomfortable.

But as Mori came back towards Becket and Chuck was passing between them with a nod on his way to rejoin Marshall, he felt... a twinge. Damn regrets. Unlike Herc, Becket and Mori had never been in his head and couldn't know the things he didn't say even if he knew he should.

Avoiding Marshall's eyes, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned back. "Mori-san." She looked at him in surprise. He'd never had much interest in the courtesies of the Japanese, and never used them more than strictly necessary for Jaeger Bushido. His bow to her was little more than a slight incline as he said, "Shitsurei shimashita."

Becket's grin was galling; the way Mori's eyes softened was worse. She mimicked his little upper body tilt and replied, "Lindesu yo, Hansen-san. Itte irasshai."

He nodded and turned back for Striker, hearing their footsteps echoing away as they headed for Gipsy. He didn't dare look at Marshall.

Stacker had been exaggerating when he said he carried nothing into the drift. Nobody carried nothing. But amid his command duties for the Corps after his final stint as a Ranger, he'd also spent a great deal of his time at the Academy helping with pons training. He was eminently suited for that, able to clamp down on his own stray thoughts and memories to the point that he could observe and advise a candidate on how to better manage their own drift.

Only a few years ago, his intention had been to take on that role with Mako. Back when they'd had more time, contrary to what Raleigh Becket imagined, he had not intended to hold his young charge back, whatever his personal feelings might be. Her trauma was a problem, but given enough time and training in the pons, he'd expected she could learn to overcome the memories.

But time had run out. He'd regretted that, only to find even after nine years, Mako Mori could still surprise him. Forced by the direst necessity into a conn pod with a co-pilot who carried his own load of PTSD, she had persevered. Now she would protect Stacker... and he no longer doubted she would succeed.

Despite what Stacker's underlings thought, he wasn't without understanding for any member of the Corps and the hell most of them had gone through, least of all the Rangers. He went by the book, always, but that was because the book - the protocols, the rules, the orders, the very culture of compliance and rank and decision-making in the PPDC and every other military institution - existed for a reason. The purpose of all those rules, all that authority that so frustrated many of his colleagues, was to overcome the emotions that could cloud judgment. His job was to be the one with clear judgment, no matter what his own heart might say. The fact that he did his job, again and again, didn't mean that his heart didn't often say different.

Mako's ambition to become a Ranger had been cemented by Tokyo and only grown as she did. Stacker had had to clamp down on his personal desire to discourage her, and keep clear sight that the choice was hers, and she should be free to succeed or fail without help or hindrance from her adoptive father.

When she had been younger, he could be more free with her. On her breaks from school at his various postings, she met many Rangers and had the chance to see many Jaegers. Not Gipsy Danger, though like all the Jaegers, Mako kept meticulous track of Gipsy's deployments and kills on her bedroom wall. She certainly wasn't the only teenager who did.

Due to his schedule, her school curriculum, and Gipsy's frequent movements, however, she never had the chance to meet the Beckets, though she had hoped to do so during her spring break in 2020. Obviously, that never happened. Instead, she'd come to the Anchorage Shatterdome to a subdued atmosphere, an investigation still ongoing, her Sensei constantly busy, and the staff along with local civilians grieving.

Stacker had seen the puzzled, dismayed sidelong glances she'd shot him when she thought he wasn't looking. After he dismissed Raleigh Becket from the Corps, Mako certainly wasn't the only one who looked at him that way, thinking it a cold, cruel thing to do. Nearly every other Ranger had sent formal letters of protest, along with numerous crew personnel. Gipsy's support staff had been outraged. Quite a few of them had quit or requested transfers to another Shatterdome out of Stacker's direct line of authority.

Stacker had expected Tendo Choi to be yet another vicarious casualty after Munitions Tech Alison Begay was reprimanded for getting into a bar fight with her ex-boyfriend. "The son of a bitch could've said whatever he wanted about me, but he should've left Raleigh and Yancy's names out of it!" Tendo had spat. "He should've shown some damn respect!"

Stacker had heard various reports of what the jerk had said, something to the effect that not only was he not sorry Yancy Becket was dead, but that Gipsy Danger's crew had deserved it. As a result, Begay had ended their already-troubled relationship by breaking his nose. Most of the Shatterdome staff had wanted to look the other way. Stacker hadn't had that luxury.

"My decision stands, Mr. Choi. You've already received a warning over the Saltchuck interview, and I'd prefer not to have to give you another." Stacker had stared the LOCCENT chief down. "But I will if that goes on much longer."

Tendo had been angrier than Stacker'd ever seen him, flat-out shaking with rage. "They were our best team," he'd breathed. "They were good guys. They saved ten lives that their superior wrote off, on top of all the lives in Anchorage!"

"Do you hear me disagreeing?" At that, Tendo had blinked. "Every order I've given is for a reason, Support Chief, and contrary to popular belief, I am not blind to anyone's suffering. Ranger Becket - both of them - committed a dismissal offense and left their post. My decision regarding Raleigh Becket was strictly in accordance with PPDC policy. Miss Begay assaulted a civilian in what should be deemed domestic violence." Tendo had scoffed, and Stacker had narrowed his eyes, "And you should consider how your own actions contributed to the latter."

Tendo's lip had curled. "None of my personal actions have been with married women or anything defined by the PPDC policy as 'conduct unbecoming an officer.'" The contempt in his voice made it clear what Choi thought of that policy. He knew the rules and liked to claim that he always kept his personal life separate from business, but his reputation was widely known. Yancy Becket himself had been heard scolding the Support Chief for "causing drama in the Domes."

Hercules Hansen always said that if you had a shot, you took it. Stacker had taken it. "Then maybe consider the fact that your colleagues are in enough pain already, and that you are casually adding more with your attitudes about what 'a man's gotta do.'" Tendo had stiffened, but Stacker had gone on. "All is not fair in love and war, Mr. Choi; seven years of kaiju attacks and several thousand more of human history ought to have taught you that. Consider your own casual disregard for the feelings of others before you try to advocate on your friends' behalf."

A deep flush had crept over the younger man's face, and at last, he'd dropped his eyes. "I'll... keep that in mind. Sir." Taking a deep breath, he'd straightened, and said, "But my strenuous objection to Raleigh Becket's dismissal stands."

Stacker had steepled his fingers. "Do you really think it would be of service to Raleigh Becket to try to shove him into a Jaeger again now, or even to suggest that to him?"

"Well... no..." Tendo glanced around as if looking for a teleprompter. "But like this, dismissed for insubordination? That's..."

"Do you suppose he'd be at all comforted by being declared mentally unfit?" Tendo had winced. There's method to my madness, believe it or not. "As we both know, you're his friend. You spent many hours with him in medical, and you were there when he left the Shatterdome. You were one of the few people he said goodbye to. Are you really going to tell me that he intended to stay, or that anyone could have persuaded him?"

The irrepressible Tendo Choi had been unable to come up with an answer. Stacker had let himself rub his gritty eyes. It was a long-standing half-joke that nobody in the PPDC had slept in seven years. He'd gone on, "I followed PPDC policy because like all military regulations, it exists to direct us through multiple unpalatable choices. Do we have to like it? No. Believe it or not, Mr. Choi, I don't like it. I didn't like any part of this. I didn't like abandoning a boatload of civilians in the gulf, but the risk was too great. Because Gipsy Danger's pilots thought different, they disobeyed a direct order. As a result of that insubordination, those civilians may be alive, but Yancy Becket is dead, his ship's in Oblivion Bay, and his little brother will never recover."

Tendo had bristled, but Stacker had plowed on. "We've lost a good Jaeger, a good crew, and a good life. As you observed, neither the public nor the Corps ever anticipated a situation like this, where one Ranger could live through losing his partner mid-drift. Even without that, Raleigh Becket witnessed the death of his brother and suffered severe injuries. He refused survivor's benefits over many efforts to persuade him - including yours. There is no easy way for him to move on from this, and no easy way for us. We follow PPDC policy because that's what it's there for, and at a moment like this, it's all we have. It's our fixed point. It doesn't move no matter how angry we are or how profoundly we grieve." He'd leaned back and asked dryly, "Any questions, Support Chief?"

It was a (somewhat) humbled officer who had left Stacker's office. The Marshall had let himself hope that maybe Choi would be one who could manage to learn to think with his head over his heart in the long run, and understand the reasons it was necessary to do so.

But he'd found himself in the possibly-karmic and definitely-ironic position of struggling to do it when he returned to his quarters and Mako was waiting with the Academy application packet in hand. She had presented a carefully-rehearsed speech that she was ready to apply. It had been hard to hear her over the roaring in his ears even as he sat with schooled calm and listened to her arguments.

The Academy had no minimal age, though Stacker had suggested it in every board meeting. It always fell by the wayside, with the rest of the senior officers insisting that they couldn't afford to stick to traditional limits in the search for drift compatible pilots and trainable, adaptable people. "Only in the past century did we confine our military personnel to those eighteen and over, and that's a scruple we can't afford now," someone had said. "Teenagers are uniquely suited to learning and discipline, and those are qualities the Corps desperately needs."

"Obviously, you've never had a teenager," Herc Hansen had snorted. He'd been sympathetic to Stacker's arguments, aware that Stacker was raising a youngster with Ranger ambitions too, but hadn't been as averse to the idea. After Scott Hansen was drummed out of the Corps, Herc had found himself with little choice but to let his barely-sixteen-year-old enroll in the Academy, under pressure from the PPDC brass (and the aforementioned teenager).

Chuck's enrollment had been kept quiet at the insistence of Stacker and Herc and some of the more sensitive officers. Still, it had ended up leaked shortly before Knifehead attacked, and Mako took it as justification that surely she too was eligible and ready to start the process.

Stacker had forced himself to keep his breath steady, his voice level and gentle, and took the application packet and went through his responses to her points, one by one. First, on the most basic factual level, Charles Hansen was more than a year older than she was. Second and more important, his situation was unique, based on a number of factors increasing the urgency. Young Chuck's father was an active-duty Ranger in need of a partner, and immediate blood family members had high incidence of drift compatibility. If this weren't the case, the Academy would probably not have permitted a sixteen-year-old to enter.

No, there was not a formal rule setting the minimum age, but there was no reason for anyone to become a candidate when they hadn't even completed their basic education. No, it was not because Mako was a girl. Lots of female candidates were accepted to the Academy, and when Mako was older, if she still wanted to enroll, she could do so with his blessing. Yes, other people applied to the Academy under age eighteen with their guardians' approval, and yes, there were candidates who didn't have a high school degree, but 'other people' were not Mako and didn't have him as a guardian. He expected her to finish high school and reach legal age first.

She had been disappointed, but soberly accepted his arguments and his authority, though she'd made it clear that her ultimate plan was unchanged. In the small, dark corner of his mind that he spent so much time stepping on as Marshall, he had hoped that during that three-year reprieve, something would change her mind.

That reprieve had ended, and just before her eighteenth birthday, she'd been ready. She'd come to him as formal and calm as ever, but with that determined fire in her eyes that he'd seen since she was so young, knowing that she didn't intend to abandon her quest. She'd clutched the application packet that time, with something in her bearing warning that she would not let him take it from her again.

He hadn't. He had no logical or legal justification for stopping her, though he did present his cautions to her again. "Understand that once you've applied to the Academy, Mako, your relationship with me will have to change forever."

"Yes, Sensei."

He'd smiled sadly. "Among other things, you won't be able to address me as Sensei or anything other than Marshall. Not even in your mind. Nor will I be permitted to regard you as family. I will be your commanding officer, and you first a recruit, then a candidate, then a subordinate. I will not be able to give you any favors or any help beyond what any other candidate or officer is entitled to."

Mako had bristled at that. "I would never ask for such things!"

"No, I wasn't suggesting you would. I'm going over these points, not because I don't think you know them or have considered them, but because I want us both to hear them out loud once more now that you are of age to make this decision." Her eyes flashed again at the suggestion that her decision was not yet made, but he ignored it. "Do you remember when you asked to do this three years ago? What was happening in Anchorage at that time?"

Mako needed only a moment to see what he was getting at. "The Gipsy Danger investigation."

Stacker had nodded. "Many people were very upset that I dismissed Raleigh Becket from the Corps - including you." She didn't deny it. "At the same time, I allowed a sixteen-year-old boy become the youngest-ever Ranger. You considered that a sign that you were ready too, but all that any father in the Corps could think was that we might be condemning Chuck Hansen to death in front of his own father's eyes."

"Chuck Hansen is still alive," Mako had pointed out softly. "Striker Eureka is very successful."

"So was Gipsy Danger until Yancy Becket's death. Mako, I didn't want to punish Raleigh Becket after he lost his brother. My position as his commanding officer and the rules of the Corps left me with no choice. I didn't want to see a minor piloting a Jaeger, but the Academy Board made their decision, and I had no right to stop it. I don't want to discipline good people who make decisions with their hearts when I understand those decisions in my heart - but we have rules, policies and directives that as Marshall, I have to uphold. If you apply to the Academy, if you are accepted, you will be subject to those rules, and so will your interaction with me."

Her gaze had been steady and far too old for her age. "I understand, sir."

Like a candle flame, a little flicker of humor had returned. "I didn't say start now." She'd blushed, and he'd finished, "I cannot stop you from applying, and I will not stop you. You have my permission and my blessing, and as long as you show the same dedication you do to everything else, I will be proud of you, Mako. That will not change, no matter what."

Finally, she'd smiled, eyes glittering with delight and hope and unshed tears, and he'd stood along with her to let her bow to him. As expected, she had completed the application within twenty-four hours, and he had watched while she logged onto the mainframe to submit it. When she'd stood from her chair at the interface, stiff from tension, he'd held out his arms, and she had stepped cautiously into them and let him hold her. "Thank you, Sensei," she whispered.

A dark, bitter part of him that hated his role, his rank, and duty wanted to snarl that promises be damned, he should have stopped her. That part of him called the rest of him a coward.

Stacker stomped down on that part of himself without mercy as the neural handshake was initiated. He would indulge it at the moment of his death and not a nanosecond sooner. Only at the end of all things would he allow himself to consider that here he was, back in a Jaeger, taking his own child, his friend's child, and Yancy Becket's kid brother to their deaths with him. Committing all that remained of the Jaeger Program in this final push, and if it failed -

Silence. Enough. He swept emotion and powerful memory aside, and held out his mental hand for Ranger Charles Hansen.

They linked up easily enough; Chuck was no amateur at drifting. The nervousness that he didn't show in his face or his voice floated through the drift like wisps of seaweed, and he didn't try to hide it there. He knew better than to try to hide anything.

The anger, frustration, and guilt of a damaged young man lay open to Stacker - grief for a mother and guilt that he was alive and she was not, anger at the man whose choice had spared him and condemned her, confusion and disgust at his one other living relative who'd nearly killed his father and forced father and son into each other's heads, with no secrets left and still unable to sort themselves out. Grief and anger and guilt for all the friends and comrades who fought and died and fought and died, and he still lived and still couldn't save them…

"Hansen, you with me?"

"I'm good," Chuck said roughly and took a deep breath. A few moments of peace drifted through their headspace: romping in a field a couple of miles from the Sydney Shatterdome with a wrinkle-faced dog, playing fetch or just chase, and the wind had been up, blowing easterly so that it didn't stink of pollution or even kaiju blue and they'd run until they were exhausted and sprawled in the grass. The warm weight of Max's body at his side in his bunk - the warm weight of a human body, hands and whispers and lusty eyes and occasionally even a real conversation...

Stacker let himself smile, and a quick sideways glance revealed the color in his partner's face, but Chuck didn't recoil. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a voyeur, Marshall," he muttered, an echo effect to the words that occurred in his head a split-second before they came out of his mouth.

"Did you see me looking?"

Chuck laughed softly as they controlled their descent to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. A few images from Stacker's own head flitted around them like fish, but as he'd predicted, they drifted just fine with only a few jolts.

One such jolt was an unexpected, shared memory: Chuck at fourteen in the Sydney Shatterdome as his dad returned from touring with Marshall Pentecost. He'd been sitting with a group of other permanent and visiting staffers' children in the loosely-termed day care, bored and getting along with them badly, as usual. But now, seeing it from his own perspective and Stacker's, he recalled that among those others had been a thirteen-year-old Japanese girl, quiet and shy, but who'd avidly examined the various Jaeger paraphernalia lying around.

Oh, fuck me, that was Mako!

Stacker hadn't come so close to laughing out loud in years. It must have been a symptom of drifting with a twenty-one-year-old. Although he'd known Mako since she made the final cut at the Academy, Chuck had never realized that they'd actually met before then.

But then Stacker got a surprise of his own: Ranger Hansen had known early on that Mako Mori was Marshall Pentecost's ward, but even at the height of their quarrel, he'd never mentioned it. He'd restrained himself from that just as he'd restrained himself from referring to Yancy Becket, by name or by implication. Because some shots even Chuck Hansen wouldn't take.

What're you lookin' at? came a growl through the headspace.

Technically speaking, Stacker hadn't been looking at anything other than the instruments and his screen, but they both knew what Chuck meant. He let it float away, but felt a flash of smugness from his partner.

For all his boasts, Stacker Pentecost had come closer to chasing the rabbit than Chuck Hansen had.

Coming Soon: As the Jaegers battle on the edge of the Breach, at the end of all things, Stacker Pentecost faces a final, brutal choice between the duties he holds sacred and all he ever held dear, and in Hong Kong, Hercules Hansen watches and finds himself no less torn between fatherhood and their mission in Chapter Two: Head and Heart.

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Translations (Japanese):

Shitsurei shimashita: apology - "I was rude."

Lindesuyo: "It's okay now" (don't worry about it).

Itte irasshai: Goodbye ("go and come back").