She watched him say goodbye to his father; say goodbye to his dog, Max. His eyes were red, cheeks pale. He was trying not to cry. She noticed how he swallowed hard, trying not to choke on the lump in his throat.
"You look after him for me." It wasn't a demand, but he said it with belief. Herc nodded in solemn agreement. His shoulders were stiff as he tried not to shake. Chuck Hansen turned to go. His eyes flicked passed his father to see her just up the corridor not twenty feet away, stopping him short. He had not thought she would come. She had the book on Jaegers he had given her pressed to her chest, eyes locked on him, arms wrapped securely around her torso. Her features weighed heavily with a broken heart. He hesitated a moment before slowly moving in her direction. He didn't know what he was going to say; didn't know what he could say. She waited for him where she stood.
She had always waited for him. Stacker was right, though. He was egotistical and more often than not a jerk but his heart was true to the core. Most people couldn't see further than the crude attitude, but she saw through his rough exterior; his shell to keep others out. Somehow, she managed to break through. It was far from easy, but she did it. Now walking towards her was the only man who could have touched her heart. As he stopped in front of her, their eyes engaged together in silent communication. She shuddered at the unshakable feeling that she would never see him after this final moment. Water filled her eyes, spilling over to etch jagged paths.
"You're not coming back, are you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and it shook. She had not realized she had been holding her breath. His eyes shifted down, unsure, before meeting hers again. His expressions were damper now; his composure weakening. His voice rippled quietly with a hint of assurance. He wanted to be strong for her, to give her some small bit of hope, even if he could find none within himself. He shook his head sadly.
"I don't know." She looked disappointed by his answer and turned her face away. He watched her close her eyes, forcing herself not to break down in front of everyone. His tone hardened slightly. "I won't lie to you. There are two Kaiju down there and they're big. If the Doctor's right then there'll be a third. I don't know if this plan will work but it's our only shot so we have to take it. There's nothing else we can do." She still didn't look at him. She only nodded. Leaning over slightly, he tried to catch her gaze. It was distant, full of worry and fear. His hand rose to touch her chin and he caught sight of the glove covering it. He suddenly had the feeling that once he got on that elevator he really would never see her again. Never hear her joyous laughter or hold her close in their sleep. Never have the life together that she wanted, too. A life without kaijus or jaegers. Hate for the garb, and the all the reasons he needed it, ran through his mind. He didn't want their last contact to be a cold uniform glove. Slowly he pulled it off revealing a calloused palm. Reaching for her again, he turned her to him, thumb caressing her cheek.
Shivers ran over her skin at his touch. It was rough sure, but still so gentle; warm and inviting. She relished his touch, even craved it for it always gave her a sense of peace. Like, no matter what happened, whatever hardships they faced he would always be there to get through it alongside her. She never had to fear standing alone. But now as she looked into his soft, caramel eyes a seed of doubt grew in her heart. Tilting her face so that he cradled her into his palm she whispered,
"I'm not ready to say goodbye, Charles. I don't want it to be." A sad smile pressed his lips. He wanted to encourage her. She was everything to him. For her sake, he wanted to be strong, so that she could brave the future. He wanted her to know how strong she was, and that she would survive though his heart shattered realizing that he probably couldn't be a part of that future with her. As the lump in his throat grew all he managed to say was,
"Neither do I." As simple as the statement was it weighed just enough. At last she broke. Her walled emotions crumpled in a silent sob and she collapsed into his tight embrace. Her arms wrapped around his torso, pressing her head against his shoulder with his heartbeat in her ear. His arms held her close to him, as if they would never let her go, protecting her from the cruel reality around them if only for a moment. She let herself cry into him even as she felt his lips press into her hair above her forehead. Tears rolled, leaving their unmistakable marks, stifled sobs of his own shaking him slightly.
"Mr. Hansen, we must be going." A sympathetic but stern voice broke into their conscious. They broke apart enough for him to turn and face his commanding officer. Nodding to him once, he turned back to her regretfully. Tears still hung in her eyes but she did not shed them aloud. They stood still holding each other's arms, not really sure how to let go. He opened his mouth to speak only to close it again when the words would not come. Hesitation crossed his features, uncertain about saying it. He looked at her, lost, but she smiled at him all the same, though weakly. Cautious determination replaced the hesitance and he leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips. It was simple and full of passion while yet holding no hope for future occurrences. It was loving, and the only goodbye they were willing to give one another without saying it in words. Her hands cupped his face wanting to prolong this moment. This last moment. But soon, as it had to be, the moment was over. The kiss ended and they parted.
With shattered heart she whispered to him under shaky breath,
"I love you, Charles." His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he forced his composure enough to reply.
"I love you, too." Touching her cheek one last time, he turned marching swiftly to the elevator, pulling his glove on as he went. Panic built inside her as she watched him walk farther away. She felt her feet move instinctively to follow, to stop him; to go back and make things different, make anything different; only to find an arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her steady. Herc stood beside her, proudly but forlornly watching his son board the elevator with his new co-pilot. Never taking his sight off of him he addressed the older man.
"Stacker, that's my son you've got there." His accent thick under the pressure of emotion he feebly held at bay. "That's my son." His voice cracked over the endearment. Chuck watched his father as the doors closed to take them to their probable tomb. With the resonating click of the doors locking into place her knees finally buckled and with his good arm, Herc knelt with her on the floor while they held onto one another.
They held on, knowing without proof that soon, with the end of the war, all they would have would be memories of a closing elevator door and a certain jaeger pilot.