"It could have happened to anyone."
"Uh huh."
"It does happen to everyone."
"Right."
"I mean really, it's nothing to sulk over…"
Caleb sloppily set his wrist down on top of his bottle, pointing a lopsided finger at Ben. "Right again, Benny Boy. Except that you're forgetting the one, crucial bit 'o information." He stopped, thought, nodded—then nodded again. "Most rangers don't go chasing the damn RABBIT after three years experience."
"Four," Ben said softly. Too softly to hear.
"Most rangers have not been through what you boys have," Nathaniel countered. "Besides, who are you comparing yourself to? The other rangers with years under their belt? Oh right. I did forget, the vast majority of them are dead!" Nathaniel pointed his own finger in a mockery of Caleb's. "You forget that we still know next to nothing about these machines we're connecting ourselves to. Even I know jack squat, and I've got two brain cells to rub together, unlike some fools I could name. For all we know, mental disorientation is a continued, unavoidable side effect. This doesn't even consider the fact that there is a great deal of change currently afoot, your uncle has recently passed, from what I hear you had a rather jarring trigger, and we're still in the middle of a damn war!"
Caleb blinked. "You talk too much."
Nathaniel suddenly pulled the bottle out from beneath Caleb's arm, almost making him hit the table. Unrepentant, he held that up along with an empty shot glass. "Glad to see my wisdom is respected around here. Now, the moment of truth, boys: stop now or go 'till dawn?"
"'Till dawn and beyond, Nate." Caleb waved the shot glass over. "Go big or go home, yeah? Or go to hell. Or both, depending on how immoral the company." He threw back whatever Nathaniel had poured into the filthy glass—gasped, choked, and whacked his hand so hard against the table he brought up splinters. "Whoooeee! That's what I'm talking about!"
"None for me, thanks." Ben waved Nathaniel off. It earned him a brief but approving look. Not all of them had the luxury of getting roaring drunk after a mission gone wrong. Not that Ben wasn't tempted. Washington had told him in no uncertain terms that he held Ben responsible for Caleb's lapse. Not that anyone could prevent a RABBIT chase of course, but the drift partner was expected to pull their partner out of it—and Washington knew Ben had the ability to do so. So why had Courier remained unmanned for nearly fifteen minutes, a potential threat to all nearby, actually shaking and hiding behind a crumbling building, scaring the civilians if not outright hurting them?
Well. It wasn't as if Ben could say, "I was curious, sir." Even if it was the truth.
He remembered their first mission, the parts he'd been awake for at least. Could recall the cold still clinging to his bones when he'd awoken days later, swathed in blankets and heating pads. Ben remembered short reports and Caleb's stubborn silence… could anyone blame him for wanting to know what else had happened in the river?
Washington apparently could. "I wasn't strong enough to stabilized the drift, sir" had earned him a rather, "are you shitting me" face. Under other circumstances, Ben might have laughed.
From near fatherly pride over their victory to a commander's disappointment at his failure. Sometimes Ben wondered if Washington was as mercurial as this outside of a war. Still, there was nothing to do but let the embers cool. The last thing he needed was to get on Washington's actual bad side. Not while Caleb was still recovering. There was still a hefty dose of grief there for his uncle and anger at himself for the chase, but Ben thought that tonight Caleb was mostly drinking out of embarrassment: at what Ben had seen.
Ben hid the slightest smile behind his hand.
Someday, months or even years from now, any residual pain would have dulled enough for them to joke and Ben could tease Caleb mercilessly about singing him nursery rhymes on a cold December night.
His voice was atrocious.
"You sure about that, Benny?" Caleb said, bringing him back. He sloshed another bottle his way. "It's right out mean of you not to drink with us."
"You," Nathaniel emphasized. "I prefer not to poison myself, thank you."
Ben shrugged. "You're on your own tonight, I'm afraid. One of us has to keep our head."
Luckily Caleb was just far gone enough that he didn't put the pieces together—that only Ben had to stay sober tonight since, in the event of an attack, he would once more be pairing with Washington. Caleb could drink to his heart's content. Between rearranged drift partners and the two week medical leave, he wouldn't be driving a Jaeger for a while.
Ben winced at his own thoughts. He turned to Nathaniel.
"Breach?" he said hopefully.
"Useless," came the rely, but Nathaniel immediately waved off his own word. "Oh everything is just fantastic in theory, but execution? Bah! We know where the breach is, we know its perimeters, what we don't know is how to get something down it."
"Throw it?" Caleb slurred, to which Nathaniel shot him a dirty look.
"Another brilliant idea from the peanut gallery. No. While you two were off playing clean up I ran a number of predictive models, all of which came back with less than stellar results." Nathaniel ran an agitated hand through his hair. "In simplistic terms the breach is a doorway. It should, theoretically, open at both ends. And yet—" His hands spread in surrender. "My calculations say that were we to try and throw a bomb down that gullet—a bomb we do not have, I might add—it would be useless."
Ben laid a hand on his arm. He'd been as excited as any to hear news of the breach and now he felt the disappointment just as keenly.
"There's an answer," he said, imbuing as much confidence into the words as he could. "Have you told Washington yet?"
"With you two giving him a coronary? Not yet. A naive part of me harbors the hope that I'll discover this answer before he needs to be told. There must be something else…"
Caleb took another swallow. "Maybe you're just not science-y enough, Nate."
"That is perhaps the closest thing to a truth that you've spoken in an age." Nathaniel snorted. "Washington hired me at the very start, back when we thought the Kaiju were man-made. 'Sniff them out!' he said. 'Those roars, those grunts—such a machine would never produce them randomly. It is a code, Mr. Sackett, and you will be the one to break it!' Of course, we realized quick enough that the Kaiju was not a machine or a creature engineered by the British, nor even by the Russians or the Chinese. No, we had an actual alien on our hands, God help us all. I was quite prepared to pack my bags, let me tell you, when Washington dumps me into this lab and says, 'Complete your work.' My work! My work is in codes and ciphers and information—facts! Not science fiction. DNA and predictive models, oh forget God, let drink help me." Nathaniel took a quick, regretful swing.
Caleb peered across at Ben. "What a story," he murmured.
"Fascinating, truly."
"Although I admit—"
"I'm pretty sure—"
"—that I've heard it once before—"
"—twice—"
"—a couple thousand times…"
Nathaniel leaned forward to flick both their ears, causing Ben and Caleb to yelp.
"You boys should respect your elders," he sniffed.
"I'll respect you better when you learn to drink right," and Caleb downed the rest of the bottle, showing him how it was done.
"Wait, wait…" Ben held up a hand, trying to hear over Caleb's chugging. There was something going on outside the K-Science lab and anything that loud couldn't mean anything good. The alarms weren't blaring though. Small favors… "Hold on a sec." Ben stood.
"Don't come back with a black eye." Nathaniel said wearily. He laid his head heavily in his hands.
"Come back with more booze!"
Ben was already out the door, following the sounds of frightened cries down the corridor. He was prepared for all sorts of things: tussles between engineers, between hot-shot trainees and anyone suspected of supporting the Wall—or worse, the Kaiju themselves. He'd seen fights start up over loyalties, whether they should continue following Washington or turn their hopes on Hewlett. Hell, Ben had seen fights about someone taking the last damn cookie in mess.
What he hadn't seen was Simcoe.
Literally. Ben knew of him, his reputation, but he'd never seen his face. He'd heard descriptions though… oh he'd heard enough. The lanky man who walked the corridors of Hewlett's shatterdome like he owned the place. The man with flaming red hair, like the devil himself, stalking Anna between his every shift. Ben knew enough to recognize him on sight and his fists balled in immediate, instinct response.
Simcoe had a young researcher pressed up against the wall, whispering into his ear. The kid was shaking from the knees down and squealing anxiously. His head shot towards Ben, picking him out like a cornered rabbit spotting salvation. Simcoe turned too.
"Run along," he told the boy. A second order wasn't needed.
"You're…" Simcoe paused, an oily smile spreading across his face. "Tallmadge. Yes! Yes, I recognize your picture. This is an honor, truly. I hear you recently had quite the victory with Marshall Washington. My congratulations. Oh." His smile suddenly fell, dramatically. "But I also hear there was a mishap with you and the youngest Brewster. How terrible. I only hope they don't hold such a rookie mistake against you. It happens to the best of us." Simcoe smiled once more. It was sweet as honey and Ben felt a thousand bees crawling across his skin.
"Don't you say his name," he growled.
Simcoe blinked. "Name?"
"Brewster. The man you killed."
"Ah…" Simcoe sauntered forward, one hand trailing along the wall. Ben noticed that despite the confidence, he walked with a noticeable limp. "You mean the man tragically, accidentally killed in an experiment gone awry." Simcoe spread his hands. "I thought myself capable of piloting a Jaeger solo. My mistake. It was hubris, I admit, and I have indeed paid for it. But even you must agree that in Humanity's time of need, certain sacrifices must be made. We all must do what needs to be done. To win, you understand." When Ben said nothing, Simcoe gestured to his leg, frowning. "I did suffer from that mistake. Have I not been punished enough?"
"Get out."
"But I can't, General. I'm here with Marshall Hewlett. Alliances are being formed! And I am reduced to a mere secretary in this story, following the Oyster Marshall about like a dog—"
"Get. The hell. Out. Of my shatterdome." The words hissed out between Ben's teeth.
Simcoe kept creeping forward though until they were nose-to-nose and just a breath away.
"Your shatterdome?" Simcoe whispered. "Now who's the arrogant one?" He leaned up against Ben's ear, exactly as he'd done with the boy.
"Make me," Simcoe chirped.
Ben knew exactly three things in that moment:
1. The man who'd been tormenting Anna, had killed Caleb's uncle, and was an all around blight upon the Jaeger program was standing before him—temptation.
2. He was a trained general, a drift partner of Marshall Washington himself, and an example to all other rangers—restraint.
3. Simcoe's weak leg was right there.
With a cry of rage Ben dropped, kicked, and threw them both to the floor.
Ten minutes later he stumbled back into the lab, leaning slightly on the doorjamb to make it.
Caleb stood on unsteady legs. "You don't have any alcohol there, Benny Boy," he said faintly.
It was Nathaniel who rushed forward.
"God damn you, boy!"
In his defense, Ben hadn't come back with a black eye. He'd come back with far more.