Chapter 2 up!

Still wrapping my head around this crossover thing, guys, but I'm having a ball with it.

More angst (and dialogue) to come in future chapters, I promise!


His first week there, he did jack shit.

Daryl was ushered into large rooms to listen to boring lectures that literally lasted the entire damn day, breaking for meals and the occasional piss.

If he'd had it all his way, he'd have slept through them all.

But this was damn government, practically the military, and damned if they were gonna let him get away with it. Instead, he picked which "crucial" information to absorb, blocked the rest out, and took to birdwatching.

And by bird, he meant her.

The meek little woman two doors down sat exactly two seats ahead of him in every class, and during one of the endless courses on "Drift compatibility", Daryl couldn't help but wonder if it all meant something.

She would glance at him from time to time, usually in the mess, before choosing a mostly-empty table to quietly eat at. Daryl made attempts to sit away from the crowds as well, and part of him—that part that shifted and twisted and turned every time he saw her—wanted to just say "fuck it" and pick up his plate to join her.

But he never did. Not because he was mysterious, and not because he was a "lone wolf" (whatever that shit meant)….

But because he was a fucking coward, and he didn't want to admit that this complete stranger was pulling him in.


Exactly eight days into the Ranger training, she made the move.

It was breakfast before their first-ever round of PT, and he had to admit, he wasn't looking forward to pumping out push-ups for some loudmouthed ass yelling in his face. Daryl felt himself coil tight at the thought, the doubts seeping in.

Was fighting in this damn war really something he wanted to do? Was there even a point? He wasn't a soldier any more than the lawyer across the hall, or the short-haired woman whose name he still didn't know.

Was becoming one really worth his time, just to get the fuck away from his shit life?

And was dying in the war any better than living back home,

Alone, in that shack, or worse…with Merle cooking meth in the kitchen while he tried to decide if he was going to do any?

Daryl started when a shadow loomed over, and he realized he'd been staring at his untouched tray.

He looked up. There she was.

"Do you mind…?"

He blinked, and suddenly all of his questions meant nothing; life itself was shit anyway and the way this woman was peering down at him was a hell of a lot more interesting. He gestured with a jerk of his head, watched her from under his lids as he bent his head down to begin picking at his eggs.

She sat.

They ate.

Didn't speak.

And somehow, that made it easier.

A sound rang out through the mess hall, a horn of sorts to tell them it was time to move on.

When he stood, thumbing the metal of the tray and trying to consider whether or not to say something, she began backing away from their table with a small, almost sad smile.

"I'm Carol."

He breathed.

"Daryl."

"Nice to meet you, Daryl. Thanks for the seat."

And damn him to the worst kaiju-infested hell, he felt the pull again and his lips quirked despite himself,

"Sure."

And she was gone, into the lumbering, sleep-deprived crowd that would reconvene outside to make fools of themselves doing jumping-jacks.

He'd be one of 'em.


She sat at his table every meal after, and eventually, the two or three people that sat with them wandered away, their attempts to pull himself and Carol into their conversations failing and apparently frustrating them.

Daryl couldn't give two shits.

And Carol…

She kept to herself just as he did, and they hardly spoke to each other.

And that was just fine, he figured, because what was there, really, to talk about, aside from the kaiju that just broke through the Breach, and the Jaeger team that died taking it down?

Everyone else was already buzzing about it, and already, at least twenty people had pulled out of the program as a result.

He wanted to laugh at them.

If they didn't join to die, they shouldn'ta' joined at all.

Because they were all going to die.

Even him.

Even her.

Daryl finished his dinner and looked up to meet Carol's gaze.

She smiled at him as she chewed.

He waited for her to finish her meal before they headed to their rooms in silence.


Three weeks, and a few compatible teams had been confirmed. Mostly made up of those who'd joined together: fathers and sons, siblings, twins, even a middle-aged married couple….

The rest of them, separate, hapless, began screening, meeting with the program shrinks to answer hour-long personality questionnaires that seemed to just be the docs repeating the same damn questions fifty times in a row.

When the simulator tests began, Daryl knew it'd end for him one of two ways:

He'd match with someone, move on to begin Jaeger training.

Or he wouldn't, and that'd just be it for him.

The simulator, a large room built to look and act just like the cockpit (or fuck, what did they call it in class….Conn-Pod) of a Jaeger, was apparently able to test them one at time, as well as a team. Two by two, the rest of them went in. Two by two, they followed simulated movements together and Daryl knew the damn Drift sequence wasn't even being initiated yet. They didn't have time for this slow-moving shit.

If the program was so desperate to get pilot teams out and fighting, they needed a faster way of-

Two names were called out. The next team to try their luck.

Carol was sent into the simulator with him.

Daryl's brain shut down as they stood side-by-side, felt himself being attached to the operating systems, latched in, head to foot.

When they were ready, and the basic simulation began ("move this arm, lift that leg, in unison, now, don't falter!") he knew.

Daryl looked to his left (she was always at his left, it seemed) and he knew.

They were gonna Drift together.