"Explain yourself."
Ben stood, staring at the ground and trying to find an inflection.
There was always something when Washington spoke, no matter how hard to decipher. There could be pride in his shoulders when he looked to his troops, or frustration at corners of his eyes when he spoke of Hewlett, or even a touch of fear in the paleness of his cheeks, right before they threw themselves into a fight. Now, with nothing but the concrete to look at, Ben turned to Washington's voice and found… nothing. Not the undercurrent of laughter when he teased, or tiredness after a long day, or the catch over multi syllable words that Ben suspected was the remnant of a long battled speech impediment–
No. It wasn't even that Ben couldn't hear the twinge of pride he sometimes caught when Washington spoke to him–though that absence certainly hurt. It was that Ben could hear nothing. See nothing. He was blind, and Washington was nothing but cold.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
"N-no, sir." Ben said and winced at his own stutter. He cleared his throat as best he could. "That is, no I don't need you to repeat yourself. Not 'no' I can't explain myself. I can. I–"
"Tallmadge."
That was worse and Ben winced again accordingly. They'd agreed in the drift to drop formalities while in private and they were very private at the moment. Ben had never been in Washington's quarters before. It was… homier than he might have imagined (if Ben imagined things like Washington's living spaces. Which he didn't. Caleb was a liar): concrete floors, yes, but the entirety of the shatterdome had those. Washington had decked the rest of the space out with cloth–for the walls, ceiling, and corner that no doubt hid his bed. There was what appeared to be an antique desk to the right upon entering (where Washington currently sat, waiting, waiting) with numerous knick-knacks that could only have sentimental value. There were also more photographs pinned to the residual wall space than Ben could possibly count. Anyone who still preached their Marshall's 'stone cold heart' needed to be shoved in here for all of three seconds.
Although Washington seemed pretty cold at the moment.
"Tallmadge."
And suddenly that name grated on Ben like metal scraping metal–far more cringe-worthy than he'd ever thought his own name could be. Who was Washington to use it against him? When they'd agreed otherwise, in the most intimate act Humanity had yet to devise? Was this really a fitting reward for fighting a bastard like Simcoe?
Ben's head was up and his eyes were glaring before he'd registered the change.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he spat. Blinked. Lowered his chin just an inch. "Sir," Ben added.
Washington stood, hands braced on his desk. "I wish for you to explain yourself," he said slowly.
"… I encountered Ranger Simcoe in the hall outside the K-Science division, harassing another soldier. We exchanged words, upon which Simcoe provoked–"
"No," Washington interrupted. For the first time Ben could hear something in his verse other than ice… and it sounded like laughter. Not of the happy variety though.
There was silence.
"No? Sir?" Ben prompted.
"No you were not provoked," Washington said and before Ben could counter there was a hand in the air, signaling his silence. "You were not provoked because I know there are no words on this good Earth that Ranger Simcoe could say to make you lose control in such a manner. My soldiers are better than that. You are better than that… at least I had assumed so until now."
Ben swallowed. "Sir," he said, haltingly. "I assure you–"
"You can assure me nothing!" and Washington's hand came down so fast and so hard on the desk that Ben jumped, the action sounding like the boom of Culper's cannons. He looked up, wide eyed, only to find Washington glaring.
"Bad enough my senior officer, my drift partner, starts a scuffle like a common thug within my base." Washington heaved. "That, at least, is forgivable. But no, Ranger Tallmadge. You start a fight with myadversary's assistant. Marshall Hewlett and I were in the process of negotiating an agreement when we were rudely interrupted by the report that my man had attacked his. Now how do you think that information will benefit us in further negotiations–if, of course, there are any to be had?"
"I–Hewlett—he hates Simcoe just as strongly–" It sounded like a feeble excuse even to Ben's ears.
"Perhaps, but Marshall Hewlett has an image to uphold, just as you have failed to do. He can no more condemn Ranger Simcoe's behavior than I can pardon yours. We need his alliance, Tallmadge. Our only battle should have shown you that."
Only one word from that caught in Ben's mind. "'Only,' sir?" he breathed.
"Yes." Washington had regained his cool. He was once more shuffling papers on his desk, as if Ben wasn't even there. "I am well aware of how rumor spreads across this base. No doubt you've already heard of my… unique ability to drift with most soldiers. You've proved that you cannot be trusted to keep a cool head. Should another attack occur unexpectedly, I will pilot Culpepper with Ranger Arnold to take out the threat."
"Arnold?" Ben choked. "Sir, he's in no fit condition–!"
Washington's gaze shot up, quick and sharp. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before. Dismissed, Ranger."
Ben stood there, wobbling, the impact of his injuries and Washington's words finally hitting him. He drew in a final, last ditch breath.
"He killed Caleb's uncle, sir." He said, so softly it almost wasn't heard.
Washington stopped in his writing though, his head bowed. Ben watched his fingers twitch.
"That is still no excuse," came the curt response and Ben knew they were lost.
He turned and marched towards the door, some part of him viscously satisfied to see that he'd left blood in his wake. Hand on the doorknob, Ben suddenly stilled with an eerie calm.
"Our Jaeger's name is Culper, sir."
Ben left before another word could be said.
"It's a wonder we're drift compatible," Ben said, hissing when Nathaniel tilt his chin up to get a look at his neck.
"Oh no," Nathaniel murmured back. Despite the situation, there might have been a smile lurking at the edge of his lips. "I'd say this is a perfect example of why you're compatible."
Ben couldn't see it… not that he could see much of anything with his left eye busted. He was confident enough in his own abilities to admit that Simcoe was one hell of a fighter and it was a miracle that he'd made it back to the lab in the time he had. Factor in a brief panic on his friends' part, and an even briefer explanation before an aid had dragged him off to Washington… well, Ben was certainly feeling the injuries now. Especially with Nathaniel probing them like a curious child with a stick.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Ben groused. He tried to scoot away.
"Nope. But considering you slunk back here instead of heading to the infirmary, I'd say you don't know what you're doing either."
"You're just full of advice today."
"Aren't I always?"
Ben sighed. "Where's Caleb?"
"Getting supplies." Nathaniel really did smile then. "Nothing quite like you getting hurt to sober him up, huh?"
"COMIN' THROUGH."
Caleb suddenly appeared then, charging through the lab doors and, yes, carrying what looked like half the shatterdome's medical supplies. He shoved Nathaniel aside–who went willingly enough–and cast a bright-eyed look over Ben's entire body. Ben held still, hardly breathing, until Caleb gave a shaky smile and slapped both his cheeks. He smushed Ben's mouth until it was puckered and resembled a fish.
"You're a marvel, Benny Boy," he said and immediately set to work.
They'd been through this before, more times than either of them truly wanted to admit. Nathaniel slunk out, leaving them alone, and Ben finally let the rest of the tension ease out from his body. Caleb started at his feet, checking for breaks all up his legs and stopping only briefly to smack gauze on a graze Simcoe had opened with a pocket knife. He helped Ben out of his shirt to get a look at his ribs–wrapping the whole thing for good measure, dotting on cream for the bruises, placing butterfly bandages over other, minor cuts. By the time Caleb was checking his neck, reminiscent of Nathaniel, Ben was just a bunch of body parts held together by string. He slipped forward until he head rested on Caleb's shoulder.
A rather watery laugh sounded. "That's not helping me check your injuries."
"Uh huh."
Caleb laughed outright then. "C'mon, as serious as we can be: you okay?"
"Simcoe's good, but he's not that good. Everything's minor."
"Now that's not what I was asking and you know it."
Ben sighed against Caleb's neck. "You?" He deflected.
"Sober as sober can be."
"That's not what I was asking and you know it."
They both laughed at that, Caleb's arms moving until they were actively circling Ben instead of pretending to look for more injuries. They fell into each other, uncaring of how they looked or might be perceived. You didn't drift with a guy for years and not bypass the stupid things, like refusing physical comfort even when it was needed. Caleb's hand moved to Ben's hair without being asked; Ben scooted back so Caleb could get more comfortable, also without being asked. Part of it was their constant, post-drift connection. Part was just enduring friendship. Whatever it was, both men knew exactly what needed giving and taking in that moment.
"I don't like seeing you hurt, Benny Boy." Caleb finally whispered. His arms grew tighter, hands moving like he was trying to warm, and Ben knew he wasn't just talking about this fight.
"I know. Your uncle…"
"Had to die sometime." Caleb swallowed. Ben could feel it against his scalp, running through him. "At least he did it helping to show that bastard isn't fit to spit on a Jaeger. Better than gettin' eaten by a Kaiju, amiright?"
"And–" Ben grit his teeth. "And I miss drifting with you."
"But you loooove dritin' with Washington." The hand returned to his hair. "You think I don't know both these things, Benny Boy? Like I said, saw it the second you two fools walked into a room together. You deserve getting this, Ben. Just can't say that the old fox deserves you."
Ben let out a choked laugh, finally pulling back. "Right. Except we're never drifting again."
"… Bullshit."
"You didn't hear him back there." Ben shook his head, his eyes going hollow. "Caleb. Washington wants nothing to do with me. He's going to partner with Arnold…"
"I must also call 'bullshit,' Ranger Tallmadge."
Both of them jumped, turning to find Marshall Hewlett standing in the doorway. Ben made to get to his feet but the Marshall waved him down. He marched up to them, one hand on the pistol at his belt while his eyes roamed the lab.
"Marshall?" Ben said faintly.
"I was there," Hewlett murmured. His gaze snapped to Ben's. "When that poor boy came running in, claiming that my man had threatened him, then started a fight with one Benjamin Tallmadge. Well, fights amongst rangers are hardly rare, yes? Nothing to get too worked up over. Yet you should have seen him…" Hewlett's voice grew soft, then he let out a sudden, awkward laugh. "Ah, pardon me. I didn't know what to do with myself."
Caleb arched an eyebrow. "Do…?"
"When the man I'd come to see as a cold reasoning machine positively panicked at the thought of you being hurt." Hewlett smiled at Ben's dropped jaw. "Oh yes, Ranger. Don't doubt it. The moment Washington heard you'd been in a fight, injured even, that man went white as milk and weak as a lamb. That's all I needed to see." Hewlett shrugged. "You boys are no stranger to our animosity. For quite some time now I've viewed Marshall Washington as…hmm, indifferent seems to strong a word. Reserved, then. Remote. Too tight with his purse and even tighter with his emotions. Some of us feared he would side with the Kaiju."
"What?" Caleb cried. Ben felt equally repulsed, but he kept his mouth shut, largely because he didn't know what he could possibly say. Hewlett simply shrugged again.
"Can you blame us? He certainly wouldn't be the first. Ever since we discovered that the Kaiju are controlled by some civilized entity, humans have been deserting right and left. I couldn't afford to align myself and most of Humanity's final reserves with a man I couldn't trust." Hewlett moved forward, placing a hand on Ben's bare shoulder. The warm touch made him startle. "I first reconsidered my stance when I'd heard that Washington had drifted with you. I am an admirer of your character, I must admit, and anyone who can drift comfortably with you is someone I'm willing to put faith in. Washington's reaction to your predicament only solidified my decision." Hewlett smiled then, bright and wide and free in a way that completely transformed his face. "I fear in this case I was too quick to judge. Thank you, Benjamin."
"Right," Caleb said, clearing his throat when Ben just kept gawking. "To be fair, you weren't the only one making quick judgements…" He looked from Hewlett's smile to his hand with something approaching shock.
"Tell your Marshall that he can expect my support in the future, provided he promises the same." Hewlett moved towards the door, stopping only to smile again at Ben, this time much softer. "And don't be a fool, boy. Whatever Washington told you behind closed doors is codswallop, spoken only in anger and fear, I'm sure. That man could not care for you more if he'd sired you himself. Now! I must be off. There's a certain ex-ranger that I have every intention of assigning to desk duty for the remainder of this war. After he returns from the infirmary, of course." Hewlett raised his hand as he exited the lab. "You have an excellent right, Ranger Tallmadge."
Ben stared dumbly at the closed door. "What just happened?"
Caleb whirled, his eyes almost manic. "Sounds like you beating the shit outta Simcoe just secured us Hewlett's alliance. Benny Boy!" Caleb grabbed his shoulders, shaking him lightly. "You're a freaking genius!"
"Genius?" Ben echoed. His own smile was starting to return.
"An idiot genius!"
"Well that sounds about right," Nathaniel drawled. He came slinking back in, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "Did I just see Marshall Hewlett traipsing about?"
"Yeah you did!" Caleb ran forward, dragging a squawking Nathaniel into his arms and then toppling them both into Ben. The three of them fell, tangling, Ben's injuries screaming in protest, but his smile just kept growing. He pictured Simcoe stewing behind a desk in the bowels of his shatterdome, Hewlett's power meshing with theirs, Washington's face the moment he heard that his alliance wasguaranteed…
And Ben didn't need to picture Caleb's future smiles anymore. They were here, present, right in front of his face.