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Part of the Synergy Series.
Series List:
1. Momentum
2. Breaking Me Softly
3. Fractal
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It had been a year to the date.
Water beat against the Hong Kong Shatterdome as the rain front passed over them. Heavy drops, gale force winds, the sound of thunder and the momentary flash of lightning.
It was a miserable night to be out and about – at least if you weren't inside a Jaeger. No one in his right mind would walk the streets, unless forced to.
The Shatterdome sat almost dark and mostly silent, weathering the storm.
The forecast had predicted three days of very bad weather with extreme amounts of rain. So far, after the first day, they had been right.
The dark clouds barely lifted throughout the day, casting the city and the Shatterdome into twilight that became darkness in the afternoon. Rivers ran where streets should be and Marshall Hansen had ordered everything and everyone inside if there wasn't a chopper landing or taking off. So far, scheduled flights had been postponed unless they were important. Unscheduled flights had been far and few.
A year ago, the weather had been similar.
A year ago it had been raining, the night black as hell.
A year ago he had died.
Sometimes the dreams were extremely vivid.
They came out of nowhere, from the dark recesses of his mind. They stole across his sleeping mind, defenseless against the blood they brought, and they wreaked havoc among his thoughts.
Striker's Conn-Pod, bathed in red light.
Water spraying down on him, matting his hair, rivulets running down his face. In the light it looked like blood.
It was blood.
He had been injured and he didn't feel a thing.
There was a voice. Normally in his ear, now right there, on his right side.
Where it didn't belong.
His eyes met with his co-pilot's and his brain screamed wrongwrongwrong!
Everything was wrong.
The Conn-Pod rattled and shook, the metal screeching under the pressure. The water would drown him if the Kaiju didn't finish them off first.
This hadn't been in his plan.
None of this had featured in his future, a future he might just recently been thinking about.
"Know you gonna hate me for this," Pentecost's voice could be heard.
He watched his co-pilot's fingers enter a command.
Then he was suddenly disengaged automatically.
He opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late.
The escape pod closed around him as a heavy blow rocked the Jaeger. His head collided with the pod's wall and he briefly saw spots dance in front of his eyes.
Then the ejection pushed him hard into the unyielding surface.
"Fuck you, Pentecost!" he screamed, furious.
And then there was the explosion.
And nothingness.
That was usually when he woke, shaking, the images too vivid, too real, intermixed with the one and only time he had Drifted with Stacker Pentecost, then Marshall of the Hong Kong Shatterdome. He hadn't caught a lot. The man had been in perfect control of himself.
Nothing but his apologies to Mako, his determination to make this one last mission count, to save their planet.
Chuck scrubbed a hand over his face and took a calming breath. He saw blood and water, running into each other, swirling and mixing, like a living thing moving across his field of vision. He saw blood turning to water, the water changing into too liquid red, and then it was a bubble around him.
Nothing but blood and water. So surreal.
He drew another shaky breath. The red haze lifted, but he felt colder than before.
Pentecost's memories were almost all gone from his mind. One Drift didn't linger. Not like the years he had spent in his father's head, or the months he now had already been in Raleigh's. Those were his and his alone, and he would treasure them all.
He involuntarily glanced at his bed partner and smiled, relieved that Raleigh was still asleep. The man wasn't a good sleeper, usually caught only a few hours of rest, unless Chuck was there. It was something that had floored the younger man. For whatever reason, Raleigh didn't have nightmares when Chuck was there as he fell asleep.
Now Chuck had had his own bad dream. Nothing new there, though he hadn't been caught by such a whopper in a while. Usually he barely woke, simply turned around and dropped off again.
Right now sleep eluded him.
Fuck it, he thought and got up. He silently left the bedroom and wandered into the living room. He closed the door as not to disturb his partner. The kitchen was tiny and only stocked with the necessary equipment, but it was enough to make a cup of coffee or store snack food and easy meals.
Chuck got himself a bottle of water, deciding against coffee, and rummaged around until he found the half empty bag of crisps. Q had been to England for something or other and had brought back a gigantic amount of food from his home country. James had looked happy enough to find things he hadn't eaten in a while and the British mechanics on the team had been beside themselves when Q had given them their share.
The rest was all in the very large common area with the extensively equipped kitchen that belonged to the apartment level of the Shatterdome. Raleigh had been amused by the crisps vs. chips discussion that had broken out as the British Jaeger team had packed away everything. He had simply taken a packet and started eating.
The rest was in Chuck's hands.
He ate a few and then settled down on the couch.
He hated nightmares… bad dreams… memories of the time he should have died and had been saved by Stacker Pentecost.
Blood and water.
Red lights awash, turning harsh metal into softer, background shapes.
Blood on his face, on Pentecost's.
Water raining down on them as Striker took another beating.
Their time was almost up. There was only one more thing to do.
"Your life has just begun."
It was something like a faint memory. Something that hadn't been spoken, more like… like an afterthought.
Chuck closed his eyes and let his head sink against the back of the couch.
Pentecost had seen a lot in their Drift. More than Chuck had seen of him. He had probably been privy to a lot that shouldn't have come up between them, but Chuck had known this was his last mission, that he wouldn't have to face his Marshall afterwards, looking into his eyes and seeing the knowledge.
Instead Pentecost had forcefully ejected him, honor among pilots or not.
My choice, Ranger. Only mine to make. Command decision.
He knew the words, had heard them without Pentecost saying them. They had been the last thing he had heard. They had been with him as he drifted through the vast ocean, barely conscious.
Memories, thoughts, emotions from Pentecost surrounded him.
Mako.
So proud of the little girl. Such a fierce fighter, such a survivor, so strong and independent.
His best choice in life.
"She has her life to live. So do you, Hansen. Maybe first impressions aren't always the best, but they stick. Maybe I got you wrong, kid. Maybe he's what you need to see straight."
The words had been there, a haze of nothingness, the cold all over his body having him shiver. He hurt, he was injured, he was barely conscious.
God, he hurt.
Everyone deserves a second chance, Hansen. Take it.
And the voice had been there in his mind until the escape pod had been ripped open, until Bond and Q had pulled him into the relative safety of their own, incapacitated Jaeger.
Until he had woken again in ICU.
Until he had been more aware, had realized that the most unlikely person kept him company.
Raleigh Becket.
His second chance.
Chuck felt a tired smile cross his lips. Yeah, he had taken that chance. Screaming and kicking and fighting, he had tried to be… not so himself. He had let go of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment. He had left it all behind, had finally taken a look at his perceived rival over his position with the PPDC, and he had found something a lot more than just a friend.
Soft steps, louder than he probably would have walked, announced his partner's arrival. Chuck opened his eyes and looked into a pair brilliantly blue, though rather sleepy eyes.
Had he ever told Raleigh just how fucking annoying it was to look into those baby blues? How intense the color was? How he could get lost just staring at those eyes? And what a sap he had become?
"Hey," Raleigh murmured, a corner of his mouth lifting into a soft smile.
Chuck hated him for that adorable expression. All warm and malleable and vulnerable and… and so very Raleigh! A year ago he would have laughed if anyone had told him that he would fall for this! Not because Raleigh was a man; Chuck was very settled in what he liked and who he loved. He didn't care about such a small thing like gender. No, it would have been the type of guy. The blond, blue-eyed has been.
Raleigh's fingers stroked over Chuck's tousled hair, like an automatic reflex to comfort.
Chuck blinked up at him with a smile starting to form on his lips. "Hey." He caught the hand, letting his smile grow.
His second chance. He had taken it.
Fuck you, Pentecost.
Raleigh's expression was quizzical as he stood next to him, looking down, dressed in nothing but sweat pants and the ratty old t-shirt he slept in. Low hanging sweat pants, Chuck corrected himself. Patches of skin showing, a fine dusting of pale blond hair peeking out.
He let his head fall sideways to rest against Raleigh's thigh.
"Bad dream," he sighed.
There was no sense in lying to the other man. Raleigh knew him inside out. Drifting gave you such an intimate knowledge, such a depth, especially if your partner opened up and let you in. Raleigh was such a person and Chuck had been speechless countless times, coming to understand him in a way he wouldn't have without the Drift.
The fingers were back, sliding over his head and neck.
"I know," Raleigh murmured.
Of course he did.
Different ones. About Knifehead. February 29th. And about the Anteverse.
Chuck had been there, in the Drift, had seen what his co-pilot had seen, and he had been as scared and terrified and strangely fascinated as Raleigh had been.
They had talked about it sometimes.
And he knew the experience was something that haunted Raleigh, kept him from sleeping some nights. Especially when Chuck wasn't there.
Fuck, he thought faintly. They were prime material for a psychological evaluation and psychiatrists would salivate over their collective issues, but neither man was willing to talk to anyone.
They both fought to make it through this themselves.
Together.
Because they had shared it in the Drift. Those damned anniversaries that neither man could forget. They had their own, fighting back different demons, but in a way it was still the same.
Chuck turned and buried his face in the warmth of Raleigh's sweats. He wrapped an arm around the narrow hips and held on, letting the sensation of touch chase away the images of blood and water, pain and loss.
"What time is it?" he mumbled against the warmth.
"Past three."
He groaned and tightened his hold. He didn't feel like he could sleep again; he was tired nevertheless.
Raleigh leaned over him, kissing his hair. It was tender, loving… private. And incredibly intimate.
Only you, Chuck thought fondly.
And he liked it. He wanted this. The casualness, the way they expressed themselves within the privacy of their home. Outside, when they were on duty, they were professionals. It was one thing they had both immediately agreed on.
"Got two choices here," Raleigh murmured. "You shove over and make room for me here or we go back to bed."
"Can't sleep," Chuck mumbled.
"Shove over then."
So he did, though he grumbled a little. Raleigh stretched out and pulled him into a loose embrace, and Chuck gave a sigh that sounded far too happy-sappy for him to have made it.
Ah, damn. Who cared?
He pushed a hand under the old t-shirt to feel warm skin, smooth and only sometimes interrupted by the familiar ridges of the electrical burn scars. It was reassuring, like the touch alone chased away the icy cold teeth that had buried themselves in his mind.
It was.
It was more than enough.
Chuck spread his fingers over the scars, just feeling.
The watery images of his last moments in the Conn-Pod seemed to dissolve, like a bursting bubble, and there were only the Ghosts he shared with Raleigh, that intense presence in the back of his mind, and he buried his face against the warm side.
Raleigh was silent, palms caressing, a slow slide over his arm and shoulder, his side.
I love you, Chuck thought, feeling his thoughts getting heavier.
Sleepier.
He closed his eyes, let the solid presence of Raleigh lull him into a relaxed doze.
Chuck knew he would still dream of blood and water, of those last moments, but he could live with that. He shared this, and so much more, with someone now.
Raleigh's caress was reassuring and warm. Simply there. It was a fact, like Raleigh was an unmovable fact in his life.
"Me, too," Raleigh murmured, sounding like he was almost asleep, too.
Chuck smiled against the t-shirt. He let himself drift off, relaxed in his partner's presence, feeling the residual Ghosts between them like a faint caress.