There are times when Stacker wonders if he and Tamsin would have been Drift compatible in the old, sane world, before Luna died.
Logically, he knows that Drift compatibility is a complex condition, a perfect storm of brainwave patterns, temperament, trust, and history; in other words, not something that can spring up from nowhere as the result of a single event, however traumatic. But he knows also that more devastating changes have been wrought with less, and the fact is that however well he and Tamsin had got on before Trespasser, they could never have done anything like this.
"Initiating neural handshake," Dr. Lightcap's voice crackles over the intercom. Stacker closes his eyes, consciously relaxing his major muscle groups to better absorb the shock of the Drift. Beside him, he knows, Tamsin is trying to do the same, but she's never learned the knack of it and always resists just that tiniest bit…
The inside of his eyelids explodes into blue luminosity, his body shudders with neural feedback and Luna is alive again.
laughing running through wild streets shouting can't catch me Stacks - first day of flight training she picked a fight with the instructor and I fell in love - we were partners in crime she said - never washed out a damn mug a day in her life - we went up in planes every day but when she kissed me I learned to fly -
This is where Tamsin and Stacker connect. Circling the same abyss, they are thrown into orbit with each other. Their memories build and collect, bringing back
the courage with which she tried to hide him after the fire - the scent of her hair on the pillow next to mine - her hard smile and her hard-won laugh - her horrible tone-deaf taste in music -
almost all of it, almost enough. Almost.
"Neural handshake holding strong." Dr. Lightcap's voice breaks through the veil of memory like a shaft of light. "How are you feeling, Rangers?"
"Fully functional," Stacker grunts.
"What Stacks means to say is that we're feeling bloody fantastic and ready to kick some kaiju ass." Tamsin sounds cheeky, cheerful, but Stacker is in the slow current of grief underneath the laughter.
He knows the truth, and Tamsin knows; that what keeps them in the Drift isn't the Pons, but shared love for a ghost.
The test of Coyote Tango is flawless. Afterwards, Stacker stretches out on his bed with the lights off, staring up at the ceiling, striving to control his breathing.
The Drift leaves an ache, a persistent tug, towards Tamsin, towards the Luna they create and destroy every time they climb into a Conn-Pod. Stacker resists the pull. He knows perfectly well that it will destroy them, this shared grief. It's not healthy. They should move on.
He thinks that's funny, in a way - how if they move on, millions may die. How they can look out at a burning world and worry about stitching their own wounds. The open wound he and Tamsin share is what lets them fight; it will stay open. It will be a weapon of revenge against the kaiju who inflicted it. Anything can be a weapon, he thinks, if it can be properly controlled.
He feels Tamsin coming before he hears her. She breezes into the room and shoves a mug at him as he sits up. It's probably meant to be tea, but real tea is getting impossible to find these days, so she's had to make do with the overcaffeinated synthetic gruel the mess hall has been passing off instead.
Stacker sips it and grimaces. "What's this?"
"A bribe. Get the hell out," Tamsin replies. "I've got to get changed. Got a date tonight." Her manner is light and airy, but to Stacker it's all brittle and hollow, all wrong.
"Anyone I know?" he asks, stirring the fake tea idly as Tamsin digs through her closet.
"I doubt it. She's not a recluse, actually gets out and has fun once in a while. Now, are you getting the hell out or not?"
"All right." Stacker sets the tea aside, stands, stretches, and heads for the door. On the threshold he pauses and looks back at the fiery glow of Tam's hair in the gloom. He wants to tell her that going on dates won't help, that nothing will as long as they keep doing this to themselves and each other. He wants to tell her that he loves her, and because he loves her he would stop, if he could. If they could. If there weren't so much more at stake.
What he says instead is "I'll see you later then, shall I?", and turns to leave.
(Twenty years later he will say to his daughter, "You can always find me in the Drift," and he will know that she understands.)