Monsters of Our Own
by Sammie

Disclaimer: "Agents of SHIELD" is not mine. Neither is "Pacific Rim." Some lines/scenes are nods to "PacRim"; some are re-constituted scenes from "SHIELD". "Duffle" is a name from Horse and His Boy; use of the term "Gemini" for pilots is my own.

Summary: "To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own." Pacific Rim AU - prequel. LEANS WARD/SIMMONS.

A/N:
I have favorite movies, and then I have favorite popcorn movies. The latter are generally action movies with things blowing up. (Hey, I AM American.) "Twister." "Pacific Rim." ("Over the Hedge"!) So, in honor of "Pacific Rim"'s release last year on July 12 and the news that we're getting some kind of sequel, my "Agents of SHIELD"/"Pacific Rim" AU. (Quote from summary and quotes in BOLD straight from film and promotional materials)

This is standalone and hopefully does not require a knowledge of the film (though it would help). It's a prequel (those are always tricky, right, George Lucas?). I have tried to stick to rather tightly constructed "PacRim" novelization and film timeline: all human personnel, named jaegers, and place names come from "PacRim". Much thanks to the awesome "PacRim" wiki.

To catch up with the film:
Big monsters invade Earth (AD 2013). Humans build big robots to kill said monsters; tide slowly turns in humans' favor (AD 2015-16). By the time the film happens, however, it's ten years later, and the humans' jaeger program is now a resistance force (AD 2024-2025). www-DOT-moviespoiler-DOT-com-SLASH-Spoilers-SLASH-pacificrim-DOT-html (remove all dashes and DOTS and SLASHES, replace last two with appropriate marks).


KAIJU (kaiju, Japanese): Giant Beast.
JAEGER (ya' gar, German): Hunter.

RALEIGH BECKET:
When I was a kid, whenever I'd feel small or lonely, I'd look up at the stars. Wondered if there was life up there. Turns out I was looking in the wrong direction. When alien life entered our world, it was from deep beneath the Pacific Ocean. A fissure between two tectonic plates. A portal between dimensions. The Breach. I was fifteen when the first Kaiju made land in San Francisco.

By the time tanks, jets, and missiles took it down, six days and thirty-five miles later, three cities were destroyed. Tens of thousands of lives were lost. We mourned our dead, memorialized the attack, and moved on. And then, only six months later, the second attack hit Manila.

Then the third one hit Cabo. And then the fourth. And then we learned this was not gonna stop. This was just the beginning. We needed a new weapon. The world came together, pooling its resources and throwing aside old rivalries for the sake of the greater good. To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own. The Jaeger program was born.


FEBRUARY 2016

The tall, slim figure adjusted his position in the helicopter seat and tugged his large knapsack back towards him. His chiseled features, sharp in the dim light of the helicopter, made his face seem cold, even cruel. The helicopter carried several others, but there was no other sound besides the beat of the helicopter blades. Nobody spoke - to him, about him, around him.

His jacket logo said he was a Pan-Pacific Defense Corps ranger. The fact that there was no jaeger logo on the jacket indicated that he had not been assigned to pilot one of the massive battle robots; he might as well have been a tractor-trailer cab without a trailer attached. In addition, the fact that nobody traveled with him indicated even worse - he had no co-pilot. As a jaeger ranger, no co-pilot meant he might as well be missing an arm and a leg - or half a brain.

Grant Ward had washed out of piloting before ever stepping into a jaeger.

The whole jaeger academy had not produced one other pilot who was mentally compatible - at least compatible enough to pass the threshhold jaeger scientist Caitlin Lightcap had designated as the minimal level of compatibility in order to "drift". To operate the huge robots, each pilot supplied half of the neural power needed - or, as they called it, shared the neural load. But sharing a neural load meant finding a partner with whom one was comfortable: one who thought and behaved similarly enough, could handle bad memories, deal with his copilot's secrets. Many pilot pairs were family by blood or by marriage; some were friends from childhood. Those who lost drift partners often took months to recover.

Ward had not found his partner. They assumed he would, but nobody was found who was suitable. He'd spent the required months at the Kodiak Island facility, training in everything and receiving the highest marks for pilot training - and then spent fruitless months waiting as pilots who performed worse than he in every respect found their co-pilot match and moved on to more training.

He'd been sent to Hong Kong as a last ditch effort, the PPDC unwilling to let him go without trying to find him a co-pilot. There they'd searched among all the APPLICANTS from the Eastern Hemisphere - people who had applied but might not even get into the PPDC, might not even get sent to Kodiak for training. Nobody was found. Stacker Pentecost, in frustration, had put him on a plane out of the Hong Kong-based headquarters and sent him across the Pacific.

He was headed to $%^ Lima. Lima, on the Pacific rim, but far from the Breach. Lima, which didn't even have the underground, all-concrete shatterdome Hong Kong did, because the UN wouldn't approve construction yet. All Lima had, so the rumor went, was an empty jaeger holding bay, filled with technicians.

Well, that and a few candidates who had gone there for screening before being sent to the jaeger academy. Why Pentecost thought he could find a pilot there was beyond Ward; it was like looking for an opera singer among people trying out for American Idol. If no compatible co-pilot could be found in the PPDC jaeger academy, why would any be found among those trying out?

Grant Ward worked alone. That was the way he liked it; that was the way he operated best. SHIELD had known it and accommodated him. The PPDC would not.

Rather, he amended with reluctant grace, the PPDC could not. The monstrous jaegers were too heavy and too complex to allow one pilot to operate without neural overload. He was not so arrogant as to believe that he was stronger than either of the test pilots, who had each suffered seizures when attempting to pilot a jaeger alone.

Still.

He looked out the window to the helipad on which they would land. As he scanned across the long expanse of the building, his eyes fell upon a tiny figure, sitting high up on the roof of the structure, wearing dark-colored rainboots and a dark-colored raincoat. She sat with a comfortably straight back. A large, royal blue umbrella hid her face.

He stared at her longer than was polite, and almost as if sensing he was watching, she turned to look up at the helicopter. Neither were close enough to see the other for real.

The spell was broken when the pilot announced their arrival. The helicopter landed with a small bump, and the door opened. Its pilot waved off her passengers, and the previously silent fellow travelers streamed off with what was obvious relief at finally hitting real land.

He waited until they had all gone, then shouldered his knapsack. Everything he had was in that knapsack; it was his life for the last few decades. He had no personal items; the hard ground he'd slept on or the fancy hotel rooms for posh missions were all the same to him - just living quarters.

He stepped out, straightening as he exited. He looked around, dimly registering the different people scurrying across the wet helipad. It was raining.

He stepped down, and two figures came towards him, carrying the same bright blue umbrellas he'd seen before. The taller one (but not taller by much) he recognized easily: Marshal Philip Coulson, head of the entire PPDC. Why he'd agreed to headline this podunk operation in Lima was beyond Ward. Beside him was a young woman he didn't recognize, dressed in a raincoat and rain boots.

"Grant Ward," Coulson greeted with a small smile and an extended hand. "Welcome to Lima." He waved to the woman standing beside him. "This is Skye. Skye, Ranger Grant Ward."

The woman stuck out her hand with an appraising look. "I thought he'd look different," she said to Coulson with an amused grin.

Ward, shaking her hand, just gave her a look.

"This way."


"Hong Kong has their Shatterdome," Coulson was explaining as he led the man through the structure. "We are trying to convince everybody that, in the very least, we will need a shatterdome at every cardinal direction point, with all that Hong Kong has - underground, steel and concrete, huge hangar bays. We hope that Lima will be the next site approved."

He pointed upwards to four half-constructed jaegers. "These are our first Mark-2s."

Aha. Ward looked up towards the towering, human-like robots. That had been a fairly well-kept secret, even from the regular PPDC pilots in Hong Kong. For all the world's current jaeger mania, construction of the newest set of robots would need to be kept quiet, otherwise they would have had curiosity seekers attempting to come in. No wonder the building looked so non-descript from the outside.

It would also explain why Coulson was here, and not overseeing Hong Kong or the Kodiak Island jaeger academy.

Coulson looked with fond pride at the machines. "For one, they'll have shielding from nuclear reactors, unlike the Mark-1s. We've also decided to stick with the general format of putting the pilots' cockpit-cum-control center in the head, rather than in the chest." He waved at the first robot, whose conn-pod was a few feet above its body, making the jaeger look headless. "The only exception to that rule will be the Russian Mark-2," Coulson replied, pointing to the last jaeger in the row. "They still want their conn-pod in the chest, like with Cherno Alpha."

Which left the conn-pods without escape mechanisms, Ward added silently. Russian jaeger pilots fought to win - or they died.

"That third one there is from Panama. The second is from Peru." He then waved to the jaeger whose cockpit was being refitted onto the body. "That's our first Mark-2, there - a Chilean jaeger. She's almost done. The Peruvians are a little irritated that we're here in Lima and their jaeger schedule is behind Chile's." Coulson gave a bemused chuckle as Skye grinned.

Grant did not share their amusement.

"Why is the factory here and not on the PPDC proving grounds on Kodiak?" he asked.

"Two reasons. First is logistics: some of the Mark-1s had a little trouble adjusting to the more tropical weather. Fortunately, only Romeo Blue and Tango Tasmania and the prototype Brawler Yukon were made up north. We figure that having a factory down here will at least help the construction teams anticipate potential problems as they live through the weather down here."

Coulson sighed, then. "Second is simply politics," he said with a tone that said he didn't like the whole thing. "PPDC jaeger academy is in the northern hemisphere, so we're here in the south." He gave Ward a look which demonstrated how irritated he was with the whole thing.

Politics. Ward snorted. It wouldn't be the first time politicians had interfered with the soldiers of a war. It wouldn't be the last, either.

As they walked through the large, enclosed factory structure, there was suddenly a bark, and an overeager Corgi came tearing across the floor towards Skye, who bent down to hug the bouncy animal. The Corgi sensed the stranger and came over to sniff at Ward's shoes.

"Don't worry," Skye assured him. "Duffle loves everybody."

The Corgi growled and bared his teeth at Ward.

"OK, maybe not everybody."

He gave her a look, then turned to Coulson. "What's to prevent the kaiju from attacking the facility here, destroy the Jaegers before they are operational?"

"The original proposal asked for Tacit Ronin to be stationed here in case, but she will remain at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Tango Tasmania has been assigned as protection for now, with aid from Hong Kong." Coulson waved towards the Mark-1, being monitored by tech teams.

Ward frowned. He had heard that Tango Tasmania had had some difficulty keeping pilots, with pairs cycling out of the jaeger. And the fact that Tango Tasmania had been built up north and was down south defending a not-yet built shatterdome... Quite frankly, Tango Tasmania had gotten a reputation as a bit of a red-headed stepchild among the Mark-1s. "Who pilots her?" he asked suspiciously.

"You let me worry about that," Coulson replied mildly. "And until Lima Shatterdome gets off the ground, we don't have to worry about defense. Hong Kong will cover us."

"If that's the case," Ward replied sourly, "why am I here?"

Coulson looked at him with mild amusement, then nodded to Skye.

"We have the largest database of pilot profiles," she replied. "They're all computerized. We're looking to upload them, but we can't do so until we can be assured of privacy regulations, so everything here is not connected to the Internet. I've been cataloguing them all."

"You can't match pilots by computer simulation," Ward replied sharply.

"We've been using questionnaires and Xbox games," Skye retorted. "I believe this is a step up."

"Pentecost is working on other methods," Coulson replied mildly, referring to the celebrated Coyote Tango jaeger pilot. "But you've tried all the in-person drift compatibility tests, and none worked. We've got a few applicants we're trying out here before we pass the good ones to Kodiak. We also have the largest set of computer-simulated compatibility tests. So that's why Stacker sent you here."

At that moment, there was the thud of rubber boots on the hard concrete floor, and all three turned to see a Chinese woman approach, file in hand. She had on a shoulder harness, one athletes often wore for injured shoulders. She did not stop to greet them, just turned to Coulson and handed him a file with her good hand. "Reports on the Mark-2s. And the other one you wanted."

"Thank you." As he flipped it open to read, she walked away.

Ward frowned. "Is that - "

"She's just here to aid me," Coulson replied mildly, looking over the report.

"Melinda May," Ward said suspiciously. "The most decorated female ranger pilot to date is just here to assist you."

Coulson gave him an amused look. "Is that a problem?"

"What game are you playing here, sir?" Ward's tone was suspicious, sharp.

"No game," the man replied, as calmly as before his character was attacked. "Skye here will be guiding you through the candidate process."


Skye walked him down the hallway, showing him his room. "Yours. Bathroom down that way; men's on the right, women's on the left. Do you want to drop off your stuff and take a break, or should we get started on the tour of the personnel part of the facility?"

Grant shrugged and threw his bag onto the bed. It was spartan, the room: a bed, a desk, two shelves above the desk. He wouldn't be staying long, anyhow, he thought. Coulson seemed the type to love giving second chances, but an incompatible ranger was an incompatible ranger. He'd be tossed out of Lima just as fast as he had out of Hong Kong. "Start the tour."

Skye shrugged. "OK." She waited for him to lock the door, then headed down the hall and out of the dorms to the rest of the living quarters. "Stairwell. Heads down to the mess hall. Large gym down there, too - machines of all sorts, boxing ring, all of it. We'll take the back stairs down to see those."

She pointed to a large hallway and door. "Tunnel. Leads into the city. That's how our technicians and mechanics get in and out, and how you will, as well, now that you're here."

"Tunnel?"

"We have three, with one operational; the other two are for back-ups. Built by three different architects, none of whom know who the others are. They open into the city and are used only rarely, when we want to get into the city without being seen - or for escape in case of a kaiju attack. They're also monitored so that we know if anybody attempts to come into the building."

"Everybody eats and sleeps here?"

"Yup. Just like Hong Kong."

They paused outside a large room, Skye pushing aside the raincoat hanging on a hall tree by the door and kicking the rainboots farther from the doorway. "Medical. Plus some experiments when she gets around to it."

"Medical?"

"Right now, she looks after mostly technicians who get hurt building the jaegers. Her speciality was neurochemistry, so she's occasionally consulted on a few drift tests." Skye did not elaborate on the 'her'.

Grant looked in. A brunette in a white coat and a clipboard was attending to a technician, who seemed to have burn marks. They were talking in earnest, and then the technician smiled and thanked the doctor, who gave a small smile back.

He turned and strode to catch up with Skye.


The first pilot candidate was a tall black American with a punishing grip but an easygoing personality and cheerful, friendly laugh. Mike Peterson was nice enough, Grant supposed. And strong enough that he'd most likely be passed and sent on to the PPDC jaeger academy on Kodiak Island.

Coulson shook his head. May looked inscrutable. Skye made a gagging motion.

The second was one of Coulson's students, Akela Amador. A hard fighter, Grant thought, and very calm. She would be good in a conn-pod as a co-pilot.

Coulson looked leery. May looked inscrutable. Skye made a face.

The third was an older pilot. His drift partner had been killed, and he was actually on his way back to the States to rest for a bit and do the interview circuit to drum up support for the PPDC. He had gotten diverted to Lima. Felix Blake was all right. He was sharp, by the book.

Coulson sighed. May looked inscrutable. Skye rolled her eyes.

Antoine Triplett was, perhaps, the most compatible he had seen so far. He could tolerate the easy-going Dominican-American, and the man apparently had been a SHIELD specialist at some point, so they seemed to have some similarity in training and fighting methods. Like Peterson, Ward had no doubt he'd be sent on to the academy from here.

Coulson wasn't sold. May looked inscrutable. Skye made a check on her chart.

Raina Vanchat took one look at him and flatly refused even to try, picking in a bored fashion at her flowered top. Ward was pretty sure she was NOT going anywhere.

Camilla Reyes was next, a friend of Coulson's. She was tough and a good fighter. She also, after the test was over, popped a cheap shot at Ward's face, giving him a black eye and a deep gash on his face.

Coulson glared at his now ex-friend. May looked inscrutable. Skye called up to medical.

| P R |

"And how did this happen?" Her voice was soft and gentle but a little chastising as she brought over her tray full of medical supplies. The question did not seem especially directed towards him or Skye.

She was small, a tad shorter than Skye. Her brown hair hung down her back in a straight ponytail, and she wore a plain blouse over long khaki pants. Her hands were nimble and gentle, and her face one of sweet compassion. Her smiles were genuine, but there always seemed to be something sad lurking behind her hazel eyes.

"Camilla Reyes," Skye replied in an irritated tone, standing there with her arms crossed, her index finger tapping her other elbow impatiently. "Popped him a cheap shot after the compatibility test."

The pretty brunette sighed as she gently dabbed at the cut with some antiseptic. "She's done this before, just never in front of Marshal Coulson. She tried taking a cheap shot at May just two weeks ago and May beat her one-armed. I thought she'd learned her lesson, but she hasn't done. I'd like to believe the marshal will toss her out, now."

"I've already booked her on the first flight out," Skye replied, waving her tablet. "I'd put her in the cargo hold if I could."

"This may sting a little," the whitecoat said quietly to Ward as she applied the medicine. "And you may need some butterfly stitches for that gash below."

"Great," Skye mumbled. "Just great. I guess we'll be moving to the computer-simulated portion of our evening earlier than expected."

"There's no need for that," Ward started.

"Oh, there is," the doctor disagreed. She turned to look at some of the bruises appearing on his torso. "Did you grapple with Mike Peterson?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I recognize these bruises. Mike is stronger than he realizes." She tended to those, then moved on to another one. When she touched his back, he flinched - but not from pain. She seemed to realize she had brushed a scar - an old one. She quickly pulled back, her eyes meeting his with worried concern.

"I'm fine. Thanks for the treatment." He threw his shirt back on.

"Please," she said quietly, as she laid a hand on his arm. "Take some time to heal."

He could feel her hand burning through his shirt to his arm.

| P R |

"So, who's the doctor?" Ward asked once they were out of earshot of the infirmary.

Skye grinned. "Interested, are we?"

He gave her a pinched look. "No, just not rude," he shot back. "You didn't introduce us, although we were two strangers meeting for the first time."

"That's because she'd like to keep her distance," Skye replied in a tone which seemed to indicate she didn't think much of that idea. "But that's Jemma Simmons. She's a doctor, albeit not a medical one. Still, she knows enough to deal with our medical cases."

"Wait. She plays doctor here without a MD or a nurse's license; she's a PhD but isn't doing research for the PPDC?"

Skye gave him a warning look. "And now we're crossing into the distance she'd like to keep," she replied, opening the door to a library. "Let's talk drift compatilibility."

| P R |

The drift compatability discussion, Grant thought, was worse than the tests. They had been at it two hours already. Grant groaned as he rubbed his eyes and looked at the lists. "Barton."

"Barton's paired with Romanoff."

"Rogers."

"Rogers is with Carter."

"You?"

She snorted. "I did a drift compatibility test. Apparently I take too much into the drift; got a lecture from May about it. You and me? We'd be sitting down with the kaiju for a therapy session, not a fight. Besides, I like running LOCCENT. I'm good at giving orders." She gave him a playfully wide, cheesy grin of pride. "So don't piss me off, or I'll send you to go chase seagulls."

Grant groaned. "All right, what about Ranger May?"

Skye snorted into her clipboard. "I swear, if you believe you should pilot a jaeger with May just because you're a white dude and she's an Asian woman, I will slap you into next week."

Ward looked offended. "I'm not that shallow," he retorted. "Ranger May and I both came from the Operations academy at the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We were trained the same way. You looked at our profiles - you said my drift compatibility with her was higher than mine with others."

"Two things. First, May is fairly compatible with most people because she never brings anything into the drift with her. You might want to learn that."

Ward got a pinched look on his face.

"Still, it's not ideal - we know for sure that 'OK' drift compatibility can still hamper a team in the field. We're going for highest compatilibility we can."

"OK. And you said my compatibility with her was higher than mine with others," he repeated.

"And we come to the second thing," Skye replied sagely. "It's not just about compatibility with you. May has higher compatibility with" she checked her list "at least three others, including her permanent drift partner."

Ward paused. "She has a regular drift partner? I thought she just bounced around where she was needed."

Skye just smirked. "You didn't really believe she was just Coulson's second, did you?" She stopped in front of a wall panel, looking from side to side, then pretended to examine her clipboard as a crewman walked by. She then turned to the panel and quickly stuck a small thumbdrive into it, and a door swung open. She beckoned him inside, then quickly shut the door.

There were floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall rows of compact disks, each in a case and labeled with a name. Skye scanned a post-it note on her clipboard, then pulled down five CDs from random places.

"What's this for?"

"Compatibility," she replied mysteriously. "We're going to find you a partner."


Skye dropped the folder in front of Coulson. "I believe I found somebody." Her eyes danced.

May looked up from where she was working. "A partner for Grant Ward. That's good."

"He's been one of the most promising pilots at the academy," Coulson agreed. "Highest marks since Romanoff. It's just been this matter of finding him a co-pilot. Given his past, it's a wonder he doesn't take more with him into the drift."

"Here's my list. These four are OK - not great on compatibility, but so-so. Still, this one." Skye pointed at the folder in excitement. "James Menno."

May and Coulson exchanged looks.

"It's not so much that they're similar," Skye rushed on. "Like you've always said, it's about compatibility. Menno is strong psychologically. I believe he'll be able to withstand what Ward brings into the drift. Physically, he's got the same grace. Most of the other pilots rely on brute force, which is why we were having trouble matching Ward's movements - he doesn't like to admit it, but he's got both grace and power. Menno would be a good match, and backed by Ward's force and the jaeger's, we've got a powerful pair," Skye finished, her eyes bright at her success.

Coulson examined the list Skye had given him, then closed the folder. "I'll have Victoria Hand flown in."

"But - " Skye blinked in confusion as her smile fell from her face. "She's only number two on the list! I mean, she's got as much experience as both of you, but there's no way she's compatible with Ward," she argued. When Coulson looked up and raised an eyebrow, she amended, "I mean, she is - just not as much as James Menno!"

"We'll start with Hand," Coulson replied sharply, his tone allowing no argument.

May said nothing.


Ward started awake and glanced over at his clock. Four-twenty a.m. If he attempted to go back to sleep, he wasn't sure he'd end up actually getting any rest before he had to get up for real.

He changed and headed downstairs for his workout. He was not especially fond of having people near him, and a few of the members of the tech teams were too chatty for his tastes. At 4:20 in the morning, nobody would hopefully be downstairs working out. As he padded quietly through the halls, the silence reinforced his assumption.

No dice. He could hear voices as he finally approached the room with the grappling mats.

"One. Two. Three. ... Very nice. ... Forward. Back. ... Good."

It was May's voice.

There was a long series of thuds, what sounded like feet hitting the floor mats.

Ward walked stealthily towards the room. He peeked in, half-expecting - he didn't know what he was expecting.

Most certainly not Jemma Simmons.

She was not the most talented at what she was doing, but she was perhaps one of the most intent. Her movements were graceful if elementary, and she never lost focus. That was admirable. That would also explain May's patience - something Ward normally would not associate with her. Most teachers were patient with lack of skill and lack of knowledge; they were not so with lack of focus and willful ignorance, neither of which the scientist exhibited.

"All right. Let's work on something else, shall we?" May, again, as she looked briefly towards the doorway.

Grant left quickly.

| P R |

He went back later to find the workout room empty, the way he preferred it. After a long workout, he showered and headed down to the mess hall. It was still empty, relatively, so he got his breakfast and sat down at the far empty table.

He noticed Simmons sitting alone but made no movement to go near her. He just sat, eating, watching her steadily.

She was very, very quiet. She ate quickly but neatly and seemed lost in her own thoughts. The dog sat by her side, patiently, and she would reach over and scratch behind his ears. When she finished, she got up to put her tray away, and as she was leaving, she noticed him.

D-mn.

She approached, a warm smile on her face but that same sadness lurking behind her eyes. He wondered what had put that there. "Ranger Ward."

"Dr. Simmons."

She did not sit. He did not offer, though he knew he should.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked, gently, her eyes already straying to his blackened eye and the gash, held together by butterfly stitches. He remembered how her fingers had felt against his face.

"Better, thank you." His tone was curt. He did not want to think about her.

"Please do not forget to come by so I can take a look," she said with that same warmth she had greeted him with, despite him being rather rude to her twice in a minute. "Have a good day."

"You, too," he murmured as she turned to go.

His eyes did not leave her until she disappeared around the corner.


While he was waiting for Coulson to fly in Victoria Hand, he tested against several more candidates. He had them beat in a few moves, which just made Skye glare disapprovingly. He tore open his stitches, which made Dr. Simmons look at him disapprovingly.

He tested against more computer simulations. Some were better in compatibility, some were worse. All hovered around the mediocre: passable, but nothing to write home - if he had anybody at home to whom he'd even wish to write.

May was as inscrutable as ever. Coulson watched with growing impatience.

Victoria Hand arrived. He tested against her. She was good - very good. Better, more experienced than he. They were also not very compatible. John Garrett. Kwan Chen. It was the same circumstances repeated.

Miles Lydon Grant wanted to punch in the face. And that was the end of Skye's shortlist.

He was beginning to feel useless. He needed a partner in order to pilot a jaeger, but his years of cultivated loneliness, which he had thought beneficial, were now working against him. He reconsidered, not for the first time, dropping out of the PPDC and going back to SHIELD.

Skye and Coulson argued in heated whispers about something. Nothing came of it.

| P R |

The seventh night he was there was a big social: endless amounts of food, spread out on tables; music and an open dance floor; games. Normally Ward would have expected alcohol to be flowing, but far fewer people were drinking than he had thought - they were all on alert, during war. He noticed that the Local Command Center teams changed partway through the night - LOCCENT Gold appeared fairly late to the party, just as LOCCENT Green disappeared. LOCCENT Red, the team which had been manning the mission control center during the day, was the only group to stay throughout the festivities.

Coulson and May watched the proceedings with amusement, participating in some of the games, eating, watching the dancing. Coulson wandered among the groups, chatting with different people as he went by.

Skye was out on the dance floor, laughing. She danced with pilot candidates and mechanics and cheered on a race between two of the construction workers. She pulled him onto the dance floor: "Come on, Grouchy!"

She wasn't a bad partner - very enthusiastic. They danced two dances before he stepped off the floor.

He wandered into the jaeger bay, where most of the half-finished fighters stood silently, waiting for their human caretakers to return.

He climbed up the concrete stairs to the walkway overlooking the new Mark-2s and started forward to look at the Russian one before suddenly noticing somebody standing farther down, to his right.

Duffle growled at him from his spot next to her.

"Sh," Simmons hushed the dog.

They stood in companionable silence for a long time.

"Skye wants to develop a computer program to name the jaegers," she finally said, looking out at the large, immobile masses. "Instead of waiting months for the respective governments to come up with their own names."

"I'm not sure I'd trust naming conventions to a woman whose name is Skye spelled with an 'e'."

At that, Simmons laughed softly. It was sweet, melodic. Sad, he thought again.

"There are rumors that the Peruvian one is to be called Solar Prophet." She was quiet for a moment. "The Russians have also just forwarded money for that Mark-2."

"There's talk of a Vladivostok Shatterdome," he replied. "They most likely want a Mark-2 to go with the Kaidonovskys' Cherno Alpha, which'll no doubt get relocated if Vladivostok opens."

She nodded.

He wondered why she was out here, alone. He did not press.

The music changed, and he impulsively held out a hand to her. She looked at him, surprised, and hesitated. He was about to withdraw his offer when she shyly put her hand in his.

The minute her hand touched his, he knew it was a mistake. And when he looked down at her, he could see instantly she knew it, too, her brow slightly furrowed in concern, her eyes searching his with worry.

They danced anyhow, each step an afterthought. It was as easy as dancing alone - there were no crossed lines, no stepped toes, none of it. Even the dog was quiet.

As they moved through the first dance and straight into the second one, not even noticing that the music had changed, he kept staring down at her, as if he couldn't take his eyes away. She never stopped looking at him.

This time, when the music ended, there was a loud commotion. Somewhere, distantly, he heard somebody calling her name. She quickly stepped away and headed for the staircase, giving him the same, concerned and puzzled look she had worn the whole time, before she rushed away.

Neither noticed Melinda May, standing in the shadow of Tango Tasmania, looking up.

NEXT