World Shakers

A/N: Soooo, Pacific Rim is an amazing awesome movie that I couldn't help but write fanfiction for. The ideas are awesome, I love the characters and Guillermo De Torro is absolutely wonderful. In all honesty, I'm petrified to be posting anything on the site (I'm good at lurking about in empty silence), but I'm bursting with the opportunity to post something! One thing is, that I am positively absolutely terrible at updating at good points, and considering it's nearing exams...!

But still, with that in mind, I'm practically in love with Chuck. I love the basis of his character, and maybe it's the lure of having a more complex character than what appears (an arrogant hot-head with daddy issues). I don't know, I've given up trying to understand my fascination with characters like this.

In any case, I just felt like this slightly man-heavy movie could use a little bit more girl power. But well rounded, thought-out (I hope so) girl power. So... Enjoy!

Warnings: Alright, since I kind of believe that reality is one of the best things to have in a fanfic, bad words may be popping up occasionally here and there. I mean, it is a war story. Kind of. But there is military involved, and a lot of stressful fighting and tensions tend to run high a lot. That said, I do not believe in dropping f-bombs or whatever other nasty curse word in every single sentence. As such, any nasty words will be rare-ish in appearance. I'm a believer in a rather clean set of writing, no matter how bad my mouth can be in RL! Haha.

World Shakers

Ellie Caffey hasn't stepped in a Jaeger for almost three years. With a good setup in the UK, things turn upside down when she gets a visit from an old friend called Stacker Pentecost. Against everything she's promised herself years ago, Ellie finds herself returning to the Pan Pacific Defense Corps to stop the apocalypse, beside her old partner. With the end of the world nigh, she meets old friends, and new aquaintances, and a world she'd thought she'd left long ago.

Chapter 1: Atlas

It was making me angry, the way Stacker was staring at me–as if he knew better, but was still trying to figure out something reprehensibly stupid in my unhappy expression. He stood with a hand in his coat, expectant and calm–no different at all from when I'd worked with him so many years ago. Sometimes I had wondered if he was made of stone or marble–he never seemed to change, no matter what happened. Just like now.

I remembered that I had appreciated that part of him, then.

"Why, Pentecost? There's a reason we aren't a part of the program anymore. We left it behind us."

"And now I'm asking you to come back."

I glared. "Why?" I repeated.

With a straight face, he continued to stare, his chin lifting the slightest bit. It always happened when he was going deliver something more or less inspirational in his own subtle Pentecost way. "Didn't you hear, Caffey? I need you because the world is coming to an end. And I'm not going to sit on my arse and let it happen." With a small narrowing of his eyes, Stacker took a deep breath and sat down onto the cushioned stool next to me, his back to the counter. "Are you?"

I gave a small sigh as the small screen in front of the shelves lined with numerous bottles of alcohol buzzed excitedly, and wiped my thumbs up and down the sides of my glass, fiddling with the cold condensation and drawing shapes in the fog. It was a little weird to see Pentecost again, not to mention in some bar far away in another tiny foreign country. I wouldn't have put it past him if he'd had me followed for those past few days, but it seemed a little strange that he knew where I was going on some random night and had decided to meet me there, in front of so many civilians.

He should have just waited at my apartment.

"I've been hearing everything, Stacker. Just because I've left doesn't mean I don't know practically everything that's going on. The world of the PPDC continues to turn, and I'm watching, uninvolved, from the sidelines. I know the Jaeger program has been shut down. There's no use in coming back, and I won't be."

Despite the influx of people in and entering the bar, there was a surprisingly small amount of people moving about, seemingly more content with anchoring themselves at a table, booth or seat along the long bar that separated the patrons from the bartenders. Though I wasn't truly all that concerned with it, I knew that there was a very small chance that anyone would overhear us from wherever they sat. They were either too busy with themselves and their company, or too far away to be able to hear anything. The Pan Pacific Defense Corps tended to drill those security habits in really hard and when they got in you, they never really ever came out.

"Then you know how few of you there are left, Ellie. So few left to protect our planet," Pentecost urged as he leaned backwards against the countertop. I could see in the corner of my eyes, right outside the large window of the bar, men in military suits, all lined up with their backs ram-rod straight, eyes ready and watching for any complications in Stacker's strange visit.

"There are enough," I provided monotonously, focusing on my glass of half-empty whiskey and childishly refusing to look in his direction. He and I both knew I'd lied through my teeth. Four was most certainly not enough; not for anything, really, and certainly not for a planet. Leave it to the politicians to screw over their own people.

Frustratedly, Stacker sighed, and for once I could (strange things were happening absolutely everywhere huh?), from the corner of my eye, see the enormous weight that he had been, and was still carrying on his shoulders. They slumped almost infinitesimally (and honestly I don't know even now if they'd actually done that), and they never ever did that. Well, at least not ever when I'd been around to see it. It really was like he carried the world on his shoulders, I'd give him that.

"Well, if you know so much, then you know that they're all being sent to the Hong Kong Shatterdome for the final stand."

"I know," I replied, eyeing the TV above the shelves as one curly blonde-haired bartender fluttered about, putting on flashy shows with her male partner. I felt the harsh twinge in my chest as the two flung ice-cold shakers between each other, wow-ing the eager (and most likely drunk) patrons as they watched. They moved together as if they were neurally connected. "I'm not coming."

There was a pause then, and I wondered if Stacker had heard me at all, and was still waiting for my reply. I was about to turn to him and speak when he beat me to it. "You left us almost without a word. First you, and then her; both gone, with no explanation," he recalled quietly, staring ahead. "Have you ever thought what Stasz would think?"

"Gail," I spoke through gritted teeth, the grip on my glass tightening, "is not coming back to the program. We've been through this already. There is no way I'm letting her in a Jaeger again; we've been through enough." I finally risked a look at Stacker as he sat beside me in a dingy bar on the coast of Britain, the both of us wary and tired of the world, and each other. He was looking at me with that all-seeing expression draped over his superior face, and it brought back memories I fought to push back down. Hard.

"Even if she wanted to get back in?" Stacker asked gently.

"Especially if," I amended.

Grabbing at my glass, I threw the last contents of my whiskey down my throat, the alcohol burning all the way down and buzzing warmly in my stomach. I wasn't drunk, or even tipsy–that always tended to require a good amount of alcohol that I simply didn't have the taste for, and if I did get drunk my accent would become indecipherable. But alcohol numbed things; slowed them down, and that had been a gift that I had seldom been rewarded in my past when I had needed it the most.

Standing, I placed a few bills on the counter and threw my coat on, Stacker standing alongside me. "We won't do it, Stacker," I told him firmly as we walked out of the bar together, a few select people staring after us. They knew about me somehow, whether it was from the TV or whatever other reason. It was hard to keep the Jaeger piloting part of your past secret, then, and I wondered what they must have been thinking.

Is Ellie gonna get back in the game?

No, she wasn't.

As we came to a stop right outside the bar, Stacker looked at me, a heavy exhale leaving his chest. "The world is coming to an end, Ellie. The human race is spiraling into nonexistence. Where would you rather die?"

Gritting my teeth, I glared at him warily. Lastly, I warned him, "Don't go to her, Stacker. Keep her out of this. It's too dangerous for the both of us."

Then I turned on my heel and began to walk away, my hands tucked warmly into the pockets of my coat whilst steadily ignoring the thong of military men guarding the outside perimeter of the bar. It was still light out, the sun a thumb or two above the horizon, even at nine o'clock in the evening. My eyes fluttered shut as I let what small amount of sunlight that was left in the day warm my face. I hoped this would be the last of the subject I would have to deal with, but I didn't have high hopes. Deep down, I did not expect it to be.

But Stacker couldn't be so heartless as to let Gail back into a Jaeger... especially if we told him.

My eyes flew open at the sound of Stacker's voice, my legs freezing involuntarily. Either out of habit, or fear, I still don't know. It was probably both, I think. "She's already been moved to the Shatterdome, Ellie, even better than new. Don't you want this?" Once again my eyes flew shut as I felt my teeth begin to grind, my hands curling into fists in the folds of my jacket. I refused to even look at him as the anger, sadness and excitement pooled and boiled at the bottom of my gut before rising like bile up through my stomach and throat.

The sheer effort it took not lash out, move, scream, yell, fight–anything–had my eyes watering with obscene tears. Of course I wanted this. It was so close, and I wanted it so badly it was hurting inside, but there were things so much more important than my interests and anything I could have ever wanted. And it made me angry that he had to keep reminding me of what I had, just within reach, but could never touch.

I did not say anything in reply, and I did not move.

"Ellie, you weren't my first stop here."

I felt the boiling heat begin to crawl up my spine, pain spiking through the muscles in my chest and around my ribs as they clenched harder than any daily exercise I could have and had ever done. Excitement, fear and hurt battled wildly in me with my anger, and I attempted to take a deep breath, the air shuddering as it moved through my throat and into my lungs. I could feel the trails of hot tears as they followed gravity down my reddening cheeks, and felt the need to curse.

Don't let him fucking see.

"Make it your last, Pentecost. You won't see me again."

I hadn't even turned around, but I knew he could hear me. Stacker always did. I bit my lip to prevent myself from letting out the whine or whimper waiting in my throat. I tasted blood.

Without looking back, I walked off, and no one went to stop me.