The first time he tries drifting with Sam, he can't even concentrate on the movements of the Jaeger. There is too much noise, too many images in their shared mental space. As he lifts a foot and takes a step forward, Sam suddenly remembers passing by a technician before beginning their session. Raising their arm to punch a still imaginary Kaiju, he suddenly hears the head scientist explaining the neuro-technology used to connect them to the Jaeger, again. And he can't even understand why activating the plasma caster reminds his co-pilot of their last meal in the mess and the encouraging smile of the cook behind the counter – considering the aspect of the mystery meat, the reassurance had been necessary.

It's infuriating, and despite their high compatibility, their actual results in combat simulation are abysmal.

Still, he persists. Through their shared neuronal bridge, he tries to help Sam focus on their objective. Sam tries to accommodate him.

The training sessions carry on.

They train together, and they grow used to each other impressions.

On their third session, every punch is a reminder of their martial instructor, Billy, who tends to drone on about the importance of adapting the angle of the elbow to the specific morphology of the Jaegers, until they feel hypnotized and disconnected from their own human bodies.

On their fourth session, the movement of the left shoulder mimics the nonchalance of Yuko, the girl Sam met last night in a pub and tried to charm – without success.

He gets used to the sheer crowd of acquaintances, friends and family members cluttering their neural bridge every time they control the Jaeger.

And the first time they confront a Kaiju, he understands.

A step. Lambert, the technician who always try and fail to crack a decent joke. Another step. Jimmy, the taciturn Marine that was eating at the nearby table last lunch. A punch. Mary, his first girlfriend, who died in an attack several years ago. The plasma caster. Sam's smiling mother, as she explains his punishment, since he so stupidly decided to break the car.

They're not alone in the Jaeger. In fact, he has never felt more supported. Each single movement is a reminder of the people they are fighting for. The one who already disappeared, the one who built the machine, the one who help them battle every day, the one they just met a single time but still are a part of their human lives. It's not a distraction, it's a motivation. And he feels their heart burning.