Chapter 04: Sacrifice and Aftermath
They transfer onto a boat as the sun hangs low in the sky, a few hours to darkness. The summer weather is a boon because it gives them more hours of daylight.
Raleigh hopes for a last minute reprieve, for a way out to appear before him or for Patrick to ride in with the cavalry. It doesn't happen. He knows Patrick must be close, must have been tracking them for days (unless the GPS is no longer functioning, which Raleigh refuses to consider). Patrick must be close. But Raleigh knows that organizing a raid is difficult, especially when Patrick has to fight the lead Homeland Security agent on the case, who Raleigh thinks would be perfectly happy to see Chuck die for the sole reason that it would give him more ammunition against Mills.
Raleigh knows that Patrick is coming. He just doesn't know when or if she'll get here on time.
Most of the convoy spreads out along the dock behind them as Mills and his closest followers load Chuck onto the sleek, double-deck yacht tied to the dock.
As the last of the men load onto the yacht and Carl motions for Raleigh to join them, Raleigh looks around on final time. There's no last minute reprieve coming. He blows out a breath, prays that Patrick will catch up to them on the water (before Raleigh has to do something stupidly dangerous), and walks onto the boat.
It feels like stepping into his own grave, like those were his last moments on Earth.
The boats engine starts up with a low roar, Carl and two other men slip the lines free, and the boat slips free of the dock, making for open sea.
Raleigh watches the dock as it slips out of sight and hopes for a miracle. When land is no longer in sight, Raleigh goes to head down into the yacht's cabin to sit with Chuck. Mills stops him with a hand on his chest at the cabin door.
"No Raleigh," he says.
Raleigh opens his mouth to protest and Mills hushes him.
"You have done much for our cause," he says, "but only those blooded into our brotherhood can prepare and carry out the sacrifice. We have allowed you to be present, but we cannot allow you to participate." Mills sees Raleigh's frown and mutinous expression and places a hand on Raleigh's shoulder. "We know you are devoted to us," he says, "but you bear the blood of our gods on your hands. We will not have the sacrifice tainted."
"I have repented," Raleigh says urgently.
Mills nods. "I know you have," he says, "but you have not been cleansed. Once the sacrifice is done, you will be cleansed and become truly one of us." He turns to go back into the cabin, pauses, and turns back to Raleigh.
"Stay here, Mr. Becket," he orders, and waits until Raleigh nods before allowing his expression to soften.
"It will be alright," he says. "You have a role to play in this. You must be patient."
Raleigh nods reluctantly and lets Carl guide him to one of the benches at the back of the yacht. He takes a deep breath, settles back on the padded bench, and turns to stare out at the horizon. He won't let anyone see his nerves and his intense fear that the situation is spinning out beyond his control.
Several hours later, the boat begins to slow and Raleigh is jerked from his desperate searching of the horizon. No Kaiju, yet, but also no FBI or Coast Guard. At this point, he'll be happy with a helicopter crew from the San Francisco Shatterdome. Or even a fishing trawler. Anything.
"We're here," Carl says, coming up to his side.
Raleigh nods and stands, stretching out his stiff limbs. He glances around and sees nothing but open ocean in every direction.
"What's so special about this spot?" he asks.
"Nothing," Mills says, coming out from the yacht's cabin. "It was chosen as virgin space that we may mark it with our sacrifice."
Raleigh swallows. "When?" he asks.
"Not long now," Mills says, his eyes alight. He gazes out towards the horizon, away from the shoreline.
"The Kaiju will come," he says. "And when he arrives we will gift him with our sacrifice."
He turns to one of the other men on the boat. "Bring out the child," he says.
The man nods and heads back into the boat.
What feels like hours later, but is likely only a few minutes, the two men are guiding Chuck through the door of the yacht. The transformation the teenager has undergone is remarkable. He's been cleaned, his injuries bandaged, and he's been redressed in a pair lose-fitting white pants and a thin white t-shirt, and nothing else. Though it's summer, the temperature is cold out on the water, and Raleigh shivers in sympathy.
Chuck doesn't seem to notice the cold though. He sways where he stands, completely unbound. Raleigh peers closer and sees that his eyes are glassy and unfocused.
"Is he… drugged?" he asks cautiously.
Mills nods. "It is for the best," he says. "Don't worry. The drug will be mostly worn off by the time our gods and the time of sacrifice arrive. We must have the child's spirit and fire in our sacrifice. This is merely to keep him… compliant… until his time comes."
Raleigh blows out a breath, feeling relieved, but still nervous about Chuck's glassy stare and blank expression.
Mills motions to the guards, and they nudge Chuck over to the side of the boat. Under Mills' firm glare, Raleigh stays out of Chuck's space, though he's itching to go over and thoroughly check the other pilot for any new damage.
Mills gives the two guards instructions, voice soft and carried away by the faint breeze before Raleigh can hear what he's saying. Mills leaves the group standing on the deck and goes back inside the yacht. An uncomfortable stillness falls.
Raleigh keeps part of his attention on Chuck, swaying slightly between the two guards. His eyes flick constantly over the horizon, searching for any sign of movement. There is nothing.
A burst of excited noise from inside the cabin draws Raleigh's attention away from the ocean horizon. Mills steps through the door a moment later, his face alight.
"Our god is coming," he says. "He will be here in mere minutes. Prepare the sacrifice!"
Raleigh takes one last look across the horizon, praying to see the shape of an FBI or Coast Guard boat or chopper, but none are in sight. The only thing he can see, far in the distance, is a dark shape churning up the water and moving steadily closer.
The Kaiju.
Time's up, Raleigh thinks.
He turns back towards the group on the boat. One of the guards is binding Chuck's hands in front of him. Another two have taken hold of his arms. The drugs have obviously begun to wear off. Chuck is blinking rapidly and shaking his head, as if coming out of deep sleep or great fog.
Mills is sitting against the wall of the cabin and sharpening a very large knife.
The guard finishes tying chuck's hands and steps back and Raleigh approaches steadily. He firmly and deliberately jostles the man on Chuck's right, making him lose his grip on the teenager.
"Hey! What the—" the man says as he takes a stumbling step away from Chuck.
Mills glances up and makes and questioning, stern face at Raleigh.
"Raleigh," he starts, but Raleigh isn't listening.
He closes one hand around Chuck's arm and pulls him back sharply. The guard on the other side is caught off balance and Raleigh catches him across the face with a powerful right hook, sending him spinning away with blood pouring from his nose.
There's a burst of confused noise from the rest of the group as Raleigh drags Chuck towards the back of the boat, shoving the teenager protectively behind him. The men are shouting angrily, voices overlapping as they reach for weapons. Raleigh wishes desperately for the FBI issue sidearm he'd qualified on but hasn't ever been able to carry, and angles his body so that he's firmly between Chuck and the cult.
Mills steps through the crowd then, his face tight and angry.
"What, exactly, do you think you are doing, Mr. Becket?" he asks softly.
He has the kind of voice that makes men shiver when he's angry, but Raleigh has faced down Kaiju and Marshall Pentecost. He's not easily intimidated.
"My job," he says.
"Your job?" Mills says. "Your job is to bear witness to this sacrifice and truly become one of our family. Or did you forget that?"
Raleigh shakes his head. Behind him, he can feel Chuck shivering, whether from cold or fear or a combination of both, as he presses against Raleigh's back.
"That's not my job," Raleigh says softly.
Mills spreads his hands. "Then please. Enlighten me. What is your job?"
"To keep you from killing Chuck Hansen," Raleigh says. "To keep you from killing anyone." He's probably only minutes away from death, but the reveal, the moment when the criminal realizes he's let an FBI agent close enough to destroy him… this is the moment he's been anticipating for two long years. "That's been my job from the beginning," he says. "To get close. To become trusted. To become family. To be close enough to know your plans, your tactics, your members, your location… and to make sure you never get the chance to hurt anyone. Especially not the men and women of the Jaeger program." He smiles viciously. "I work for the FBI."
Mills face twists into an ugly mask. "It was a lie," he spits. "Your story about your journey to the truth. Your repentance. It was all a lie."
"Yes," Raleigh says. "Every word."
"You were never one of us," Mills says darkly.
"Not for a single, solitary minute," Raleigh says.
Mills breathes harshly and glares at Raleigh. For a few moments, there is silence and stillness on the boat. Then Mills' face twists with rage.
"It doesn't matter," he says. "Now you're just going to die with him."
He brandishes the knife and steps towards Raleigh, but is pushed aside by Carl, stepping forward with a gun shaking in his hands.
"You blasphemer!" he shouts and his fingers tighten on the trigger.
Then everything explodes into chaos. There's a roar of sound as the Kaiju surfaces only a few hundred feet from the boat. The water churns tossing the boat like a cork. Everyone on board is shouting, but the sound is drowned under a great foghorn blast of sound. The waves spin the boat around and Raleigh sees the Nova Hyperion striding forwards through the water.
He smiles wildly and that smile turns into an outright grin when he hears the sound of a loudspeaker under the roar of the giants above them.
"—FBI! You are under arrest! Place the weapons on the ground and put your hands in the air!"
It's Patrick.
Raleigh wants to throw his hands in the air and do a little bit of a victory dance. They're not out of the woods yet, but they're a hell of a lot better than they were two minutes ago.
"Blasphemer! Betrayer!"
Raleigh's attention snaps back to the boat where Carl is getting shakily to his feet, the gun clenched in his hands. He raises the weapon, pointing at Raleigh and Chuck and Raleigh thinks Oh shit. The FBI boat isn't in a position to get off a good shot of their own and Carl's fingers are tightening on the trigger.
Raleigh makes a split second decision, twisting to grab Chuck around the waist and shove them towards the edge of the boat. He hears the explosive discharge of the gunshot and feels an agonizing stab of pain in his back just as he flips them over the back railing of the boat.
The cold waters of the Pacific hit him like a hammer and darkness creeps in at the edges of his vision. He fights for consciousness, holding Chuck against his chest to keep them both out of the water.
He's so focused on staying afloat, on staying conscious, that he barely notices the hands pulling them out of the water until someone tries to take Chuck from his grasp. He lets out a wordless, rasping cry and tightens his grip, lashing out with his legs.
"Raleigh! Raleigh, it's okay! You can let go now! We've got you."
Patrick.
Safe.
Raleigh lets go and slides into unconsciousness.
Patrick breathes a deep and heartfelt sigh of relief when his agents pull Raleigh and Ranger Hansen out of the cold Pacific waters. Both are dazed and shivering, but they're alive. Agent Matthews tries to pull Hansen from Raleigh's hold to get the teenager medical attention and barely avoids getting kicked in the face when Raleigh lashes out. Matthews stumbles backwards in shock and Patrick darts in before any serious damage is done.
"Raleigh!" he shouts. "Raleigh, it's okay! You can let go now! We've got you."
Raleigh blinks dazedly at him, then his grip loosens and his eyes slide closed.
Agent Matthews and one of the Coast Guard medics make quick work dragging Chuck from Raleigh's hold and bundling the teenager into thermal blankets.
It's only when Chuck is out of the way that they can see the pool of blood growing under Raleigh's back, turning pink as it mingles with the water on the deck.
"Jesus Christ," another medic curses and darts forward. They roll Raleigh onto his front, frantically finding the hole in the middle of his back. The medic starts shouting for gauze pads, and more hands are darting in to help.
Patrick wants to be in there, but Commander Erikson is dragging his attention away with a firm, insistent tugging on his arm. He snaps his attention to the commander, ready to berate the man for distracting him, when he follows the direction of the man's gaze and sees what the urgency is about.
The loud thunder in his ears is the sound of a Kaiju and a Jaeger slamming into each other. The two behemoths are only a few hundred feet from the boat, grappling and striking each other.
"We have to get out of here!" Commander Erikson shouts, just as Nova Hyperion deals a powerful blow that sends Ironclaw sprawling backwards and smashing into the Songs of Blue yacht. The yacht vanishes beneath the water in an explosion of fire and flying debris.
"Yeah," Patrick says. He turns to meet Erikson's eyes. "Get us the hell out of here."
The Commander nods and darts into the boat's pilot house.
Moments later the boat's engines lurch into high gear and the boat heaves into motion away from the battle. Patrick watches the battling monsters grow smaller in the distance, hands gripping the railing tightly, until he can barely see them, then turns back to the deck.
Raleigh, Hansen and most of the agents have moved inside. Patrick takes a deep breath and follows them in. He hears the sound of loud, urgent voices, deeper in the ship but makes himself turn away from them and towards the communication station. Patrick gathers himself, settles his impassive mask, then starts making calls to their ground support, the nearest ER, and his bosses.
It's time to see what they can salvage from this shit show.
Chuck knows he's in a medical facility the minute he wakes up to the unmistakable smell of disinfectant and the feel of scratchy sheets against his skin. It takes him a minute to force his eyes open, and then he has to blink slowly at the worn tile ceiling for a few more minutes before he has the energy to do anything else.
Slowly, awareness begins to trickle back.
His entire body aches, but in the dull, distant way that tells him he's getting some very good drugs right now. The worst aches are in his hand and his head. He rolls his head gently to one side and sees that his broken hand has been bandaged and encased in some kind of metal splint. He wonders why there isn't a cast, but lets the thought go and resolves to ask a doctor later.
There's a heaviness in his other hand as well, but he can't remember taking any damage to it.
He rolls his head in the other direction and sees that the heaviness is caused by his dad. Herc is sprawled half on the narrow hospital bed mattress, his head resting on Chuck's forearm and gripping Chuck's hand tightly in his.
Chuck takes a deep breath and blinks ferociously to get rid of the tears that are threatening.
His father is here.
For the first time since he was kidnapped from a dingy Anchorage bar (that he was definitely too young to be in) Chuck feels safe.
He's never been good with emotions, so he blinks away his tears, swallows down the lump in his throat, puts on his cocky face, and gives his father's sleeping face a hard nudge with his elbow.
Herc jerks awake with a startled curse and looks around wildly to see what woke him. Chuck waits patiently until Herc's gaze flits to his face, then says "Hey old man."
His voice comes out soft and raspy, and just saying three words makes him feel like his throat is on fire, but it's worth it to see the dawning wonder and joy on his father's face.
"Chuck," his father breathes, reaching forward to brush Chuck's face with shaking fingers. "You're awake."
"Yeah," Chucks rasps, then winces and coughs as that one word sets his throat on fire.
Herc surges out of his chair and rushes to pour Chuck a glass of water from the pitcher beside the bed. His hand shakes and water slops onto the tray, but Herc ignores the mess. He helps a still coughing Chuck sit up and gently sip from the glass of water.
"Easy," he says softly as Chuck greedily gulps down the soothing liquid. Chuck forces himself to sip slowly, lest the water be taken away from him. Herc lets him finish the glass and sets it, empty, back on the bedside table, but doesn't move from his position sitting at the edge of Chuck's bed.
He hasn't let go of Chuck either and gently draws the teenager into a hug.
Chuck and his father aren't normally the hugging sort, but Chuck doesn't object. He curls his unbroken arm, also the one without the IVs, around his father's back and tucks his head into Herc's shoulder and just clings. He feels trembling and hears the sound of muffled tears and thinks that it's him, that he's broken down crying, but his cheeks are dry and his collar is getting wet.
It's Herc, crying on his son's shoulder.
Chuck feels his own eyes get wet and simply holds his father tighter.
He's alive, his father is here, he's safe. He survived.
He thinks they've both earned the chance for a little breakdown.
They stay curled together for several minutes, both cherishing the chance to be together, to cling to someone you love.
Finally, Herc eases away and wipes his reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks with one sleeve.
"Didn't mean to cry on you kid," he says roughly.
Chuck laughs wetly. "Neither did I, old man," he says.
Herc smiles back and doesn't make his typical objection to the term "old man."
"How are you feeling?" he asks instead.
Chuck shrugs, careful not to jostle his broken hand or his fragile ribs, but unable to avoid the slight wince of pain that even that slight movement causes.
"I feel… alive," he finally settles on.
Herc snorts and smiles. "And I'm very glad of that," he says, voice shaking a little. "So incredibly glad."
Chuck swallows and clears his throat, looking away from his father.
"How long since I…?" he asks.
"How long were you gone?" Herc says. "Or how long since you were rescued?"
"Both," Chuck says, meeting Herc eyes.
Herc sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. "You were… taken… almost four weeks ago," he says. Chuck suspects he knows the exact number, down to the hour.
"You were rescued three days ago," Herc continues.
"Three days?!" Chuck says, alarmed. He tries to sit up but Herc pushes him back against the pillows.
"Yes," he says, "three days."
"But… what…"
"You had a skull fracture, Chuck," Herc says gently. "The doctors said you'd been bleeding into your brain for days. That if… that if you'd gotten here much later you might have been dead."
Chuck swallows. "I don't remember…" he starts and trails off because he does remember.
He remembers the sharp pain when those cultist assholes had thrown him in the back of the van. He remembers being unconscious for what felt like a long time, and that headache that had persisted when he woke up. He remembers Raleigh Becket's large hands holding his chin and shining a light in his eyes. He remembers Raleigh Becket's concerned face and soft voice telling him that it was as bad as it could possibly get.
He swallows harshly and has to breathe deeply to fight down the nausea.
He hadn't… he hadn't thought it was that bad. The headache was just one more pain in a body full of injuries. Becket's concern was just one more technique the cult was using to try and break him.
Except… Becket's concern had been genuine. Even when Chuck hadn't trusted him, had hated him, his concern had been genuine.
Chuck was still a little hazy on the last few days of his captivity, and those last hours on the boat were blurry at best, but he remembers Becket stepping in front of him, refusing to back down, telling a man with a knife that Chuck wasn't going to die. He remembers the way Becket had held him above the water, had fought to protect him.
And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been wrong to have Raleigh Becket as his childhood hero.
"Chuck?" Herc's voice shakes Chuck from his musings and he glances up to meet his father's concerned gaze.
"Sorry," he says. "Just… thinking."
Herc's face creases with concern.
"Thinking about…?" he says leadingly.
Chuck ignores the question. He's not ready to talk about this yet.
"What happened?" he asks. "On the boat?"
Herc sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Honestly," he says, sounding frustrated, "you probably know more about it than I do."
He sees Chuck's incredulous expression and gives him a wry grin. "I'm not kidding," he says. "No one's told me anything, except that you were retrieved from those cult bastards and rushed to the hospital."
"Nothing else?" Chuck presses.
Herc shakes his head. "I've been trying to get answers, but… well…" He shrugs ruefully and glances away. "It would take a lot of time and effort and badgering, and I've had more important things to worry about."
Chuck knows his father means him. He ducks his head to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. Avoiding his father's gaze, Chuck takes a moment to glance around the hospital room. It's clean, modern and well-lit by a broad window overlooking a sprawling cityscape. Chuck can see the tall towers of the Memorial Bridge, built three years after Trespasser's attack on the city, and realizes that he's still in San Francisco.
Half of his view out the window is blocked by another patient bed, though Chuck can't see who's in it because heavy curtains are hiding the patient from view.
"So, who am I sharing with?" Chuck asks idly.
Herc shrugs when Chuck meets his gaze. "Right now, no one," he says. "They're moving someone in here this afternoon, but they haven't said who." He looks unhappy with the news and Chuck can't blame him. He's not sure how happy he feels to be sharing a room with a stranger. Not after what he's been through these past weeks.
He's saved from making a response, or worrying about who his future roommate will be, when the wide door of the hospital room is shoved open and several orderlies wheel in a second hospital bed.
Guess I won't have to wait, Chuck thinks.
The orderlies' broad backs and shoulders block Chuck's view of the new patient as they wheel him in, whisk back the curtain, and maneuver the bed into place by the window. He watches the bustling with absent curiosity. The orderlies and nurses hook the man up to a pulse monitor and maneuver an IV into place. The man doesn't seem to be attached to any of the more serious machinery, so Chuck guesses that that means they aren't worried about him keeling over and dying at any moment.
The orderlies and nurses leave one by one, until only a white-coated doctor is left, checking the monitors and leads. When the doctor moves to the ends of the man's bed to write something on his chart, Chuck finally sees the face of his new roommate.
It's a face Chuck recognizes.
"Raleigh Becket," he says, shocked, remembering how that face had been soft and kind when he bandaged Chuck's injuries. Remembering how it had gone firm and stubborn when he stepped between Chuck and the knife.
"What?" he dad exclaims, head snapping around to look at the other man. "What the hell?"
The doctor glances over and notices that Chuck is awake. He smiles, distracted, and heads over to Chuck's bed.
"Ah," he says. "You've woken up."
Duh, obviously, Chuck thinks, but bites his tongue
Herc's side-eyed expression tells Chuck that his dad was expecting one of Chuck's sarcastic remarks. But weeks of torture have taught Chuck that back-talk brings pain. He won't stop the sarcasm and the talking and saying what's on his mind. He's not broken enough for that.
He won't let himself be broken enough for that.
But, he thinks, he might have finally learned the value of his father's oft-repeated maxim "There's a time and a place."
He doesn't think he's going to tell his dad that though. This whole disaster has already made Herc crazy enough. Chuck doesn't want to add to that.
"—you feeling?"
Chuck tunes back in to his surroundings and realizes that the doctor has asked him a question.
"Sorry, what?" he says.
The doctor frowns. "I asked how you were feeling," he says, frowning. He pulls out a penlight and leans over to flash it in Chuck's eyes. "Any pain? Headaches?"
Chuck winces and ducks his head away from the light. "Not 'til ya shone that thing in my eye," he grumbles.
The doctor snags Chuck's chart and starts flipping through it. "Any blurred vision? Dark spots?" He pauses and peers intently at Chuck. "Lapses in concentration?"
Chuck refrains from rolling his eyes. "I'm fine," he says. When the doctor looks skeptical, he says, "No really. Considering what the last few weeks have been like, I feel fine."
The doctor nods slowly, looking like he's not quite all the way to accepting Chuck's assertions.
He steps forwards and does a quick exam, standard procedure for a patient who's just woken from a several days coma, and Chuck puts up with it with ill grace.
The aggravation is worth it though, to see the relief on his father's face when the doctor steps back and proclaims that Chuck appears to be fine, though they'll continue to monitor him for several days to be sure.
Chuck sighs at the thought of being stuck in the hospital for much longer but subsides at a quelling glare from his father.
"Now," the doctor says, "I want you to rest as much as possible. I know, I know, you don't want to be stuck in bed," he says, seeing Chuck's mutinous expression, "but your body needs time and to heal, and the best way to give it that is to stay in bed, sleep, and eat."
Chuck nods grudgingly. He knows that forced bed rest will drive him crazy, but he doesn't want to admit that right now, that sounds like a great idea.
The doctor peers suspiciously at him, studying him and judging his sincerity, before finally nodding.
"If there are no further questions for me…"
"Actually," Chuck says, "I have a question."
The doctor nods for him to go ahead.
"What happened to him? Becket. My roommate," he says, tipping his head to one side to indicate the other pilot laying limp on the second bed.
"He was shot. In an FBI raid," the doctor says. "I'm sorry, I don't know much more than that. Both of your cases are considered confidential, and I'm only filling in for your regular doctor, Dr. Heron, for a few hours." He shrugs. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He turns away from the Hansens and strides out of the room.
Both Hansens sit in stunned silence for a moment. Chuck dredges through his memory, trying to drag his floaty, fragmented recollections of those last hours on the boat into a clearer picture. He remembers Raleigh stepping between him and the knife. He remembers the roar of the Kaiju rising out of the water. He remembers the feel of Raleigh's arms around his waist as he threw them overboard.
He doesn't remember a gunshot, but in the confusion he admits he might have missed it.
He was also drugged out of his mind, he thinks ruefully, so his recollections are bound to be a little spotty.
"Shot. In an FBI raid." His dad's angry voice drags him back to the present. Herc is glaring across the room at Becket's slack face.
He turns to Chuck.
"Was he there?" Herc says, his voice shaking with anger. "Was that traitor involved in… Chuck, was he there?"
"Yes, but—"
"I'm going to kill him," his dad says, shoving to his feet and glaring at the form of the older pilot.
Chuck sees the rage on his dad's face and panics.
"No!" he says, reaching for his dad and catching his wrist. Herc looks murderous and like he's about to charge across the room and beat Raleigh to death with his IV pole.
"He saved my life," Chuck says urgently. "He saved my life."
Chuck tries to tug him back into his seat, but his dad still looks murderous.
"He's a God-damned traitor," Herc growls, taking a step away from Chuck.
"Watch your mouth when you're talking about one of my people," says a sharp voice from behind his dad.
Herc spins and shifts out of the way slightly, letting Chuck see the speaker. Standing in the doorway of the hospital room is a slender man in jeans, Kevlar, and a button-down shirt. He's flanked by two men wearing identical black suits, one at each shoulder. The man steps forwards and Chuck can see the letters "FBI" stamped on the badge hanging around his neck.
"Your people?" his dad says aggressively. "Who the hell are you?"
He smirks at Herc and says, "Special Agent Patrick Boyer, FBI." He taps his badge for emphasis.
Chuck can see his dad back down, but the old man still looks a little belligerent.
"And Raleigh Becket is one of your people?" he asks. "One of your criminals?"
Boyer lets out a sharp bark of laughter.
"Hardly," he says. "Agent Raleigh Becket is one of my best undercover operatives."
Chuck and Herc both stare incredulously at Boyer.
"Agent…? What?!" Herc finally exclaims. "What the hell are you talking about? Raleigh Becket is a Kaiju worshipping traitor."
Boyer snorts and shakes his head. He gestures with one hand, and his matching suited bookends break away. One turns to stand guard at the hospital room door, and the other crosses the room to stand forebodingly at the end of Becket's bed.
Boyer finally turns back to Chuck and Herc. "Raleigh Becket is not a traitor," he says, "and he never was." He raises a hand to forestall Herc's protests. "He never was," he insists. "I brought Raleigh into the Bureau almost two years ago. He came to us with information about a disgruntled group of anti-Jaeger activists who were planning to bomb the Anchorage Shatterdome. It turned out that Raleigh was a terribly effective undercover agent so we ran with it, and he's spent the last two years saving your asses." He says the last part harshly, glaring at Herc. "Not that he got any thanks for it."
Herc snorts. "That's not what it looked like from where I'm sitting."
"Of course not," Boyer says dismissively. "He wouldn't have been very good at his job if there was any suspicion that he hadn't converted wholeheartedly to the Kaiju worshipping movement."
Herc looks like he wants to say more, but Chuck breaks in first.
"So," he says tentatively, "Raleigh never worshipped the Kaiju."
"No kid," Boyer says gently. "Raleigh hates the Kaiju."
"And… you said he's been saving us?"
Boyer nods. "He's spent two years infiltrating Kaiju worshipping cults and anti-Jaeger terror groups, helping us take them down and derail their plots before they succeed."
Herc snorts distrustfully. "I don't know," he says. "There have been a lot of close calls these last few years."
"Exactly. Close calls. Failures. Not successes." He raises an eyebrow at them. "Who do you think was responsible for keeping them from being successes?"
Chuck glances unconsciously over at Becket.
"Do you… Do you believe this, Chuck?" Herc asks, sounding astounded. "Becket was involved in your kidnapping, your torture, and you actually believe he's one of the good guys?"
Chuck bites his lip. The part of him that was devastated when Becket left the program and joined the cults and the part of him that was sucker-punched to see Becket standing with his torturers want to say "no." To vehemently deny that he could have been wrong, that Becket could have been on their side all along.
And the reason those voices are so strong is that part of Chuck that has hero-worshipped the Becket Boys and Gipsy Danger since childhood. That wants to believe that Raleigh Becket would never turn his back on them… on Chuck.
That's the part the lets him think.
That lets him remember every moment of his interactions with Raleigh in the last few days. That lets him remember how Becket was, unfailingly, kind at every turn. He'd never hit Chuck, even when Chuck had given him every provocation. He'd fed Chuck, treated his injuries, and given him back the dignity of a private bathroom break. He'd treated Chuck like a human.
And he'd protected Chuck. He'd convinced the cult to stop beating Chuck, he'd tackled Chuck to the ground to protect him from a bullet, he'd stepped in front of a knife for him.
"Yes," Chuck says, staring at Raleigh's slack face. "Yes, I believe."
He turns and looks at his father. Herc's face is twisted in fury and his mouth is open to argue.
"I believe," Chuck says, "because I was there. Raleigh was there. You weren't. When I needed help, Raleigh was there. When those… monsters… would've… Raleigh was there. He protected me. He saved me. When I needed help, Raleigh was there. And you weren't."
Herc looks like he's been sucker-punched. "Chuck," he says, voice wavering and pained.
Chuck cuts him off with a gesture. "I'm not, I'm not mad. Just… Raleigh saved me. And nearly got himself killed saving me. So yeah, I believe that he was on our side all along."
He turns back to meet Boyer's gaze. He looks… impressed. And satisfied.
"Is Raleigh going to be okay?" Chuck asks.
Boyer's expression falls slightly and he sighs, glancing over at Raleigh's bed.
"We're not sure yet," he says. "This is the second bullet he's taken in the last six months, and this one was a lot more serious than the last. But, he survived surgery and he's out of ICU, so…" He shrugs. "Now it's up to him."
Chuck nods, throat tight as he gazes at Raleigh's limp face.
"Do you think he'll make it?" he asks.
He hears Boyer sigh. "I hope so," he says.
There's a muffled moan from the other bed and Chuck's head snaps in Raleigh's direction in time to see the other pilot blink slowly back into awareness.
"Patrick?" Raleigh asks, voice slurred.
Boyer is at Raleigh's side in two strides and leans over the side of the bed to smile down at him.
"Hey Becket Boy," he says, smiling.
"Hey," Raleigh says back, his voice sleep-soft. "Did we win?"
"What do you think?" he says, and tips her head towards Chuck.
Raleigh rolls his head sideways and blinks at Chuck, then smiles. It's that dazzling smile that decorated the magazine covers and posters only a few years earlier, but somehow softer and more real.
"Hey you," he says.
Chuck can't help but smile back. "Hey," he says hoarsely, feeling a bit of a blush stealing across his cheeks and cursing his teenage hormones.
"You okay?" Raleigh asks.
Chuck nods carefully. "Yeah," he says. "You?"
Raleigh blinks and his face twists in thought. "I think so," he says finally. "I feel drugged. Very drugged." He rolls his head back to look at Boyer. "Patrick, am I drugged?" he asks.
"Yeah Becket, you're drugged," Boyer says with a fond smile.
"Thought so," Raleigh says, nodding and looking satisfied.
After a moment's pause, his face twists back into unhappiness. "Patrick, did we get them? The cult. Did we get them?" he asks.
Boyer nods. "Most of them," he says.
"Most?" Raleigh asks. "The Shepherd?"
"We didn't find all the bodies from the boat, and we think some of the ones on the dock may have slipped away during the raid," Boyer says.
"The Shepherd?" Raleigh asks again.
"Dead."
"Are you sure?"
Boyer nods. "Absolutely sure. We found his body in the remains of the boat. We think he got crushed by the Kaiju."
Raleigh grins and snorts with laughter. "The irony," he says.
Boyer smiles. "He certainly got what he deserved," he says.
"And… the Kaiju?" Raleigh asks.
"Nova Hyperion kicked its ass," Boyer says.
"Good," Raleigh says, nodding. He blinks slowly, obviously fighting to keep his eyes open but having difficulty.
"Patrick?" he says, words slurring.
"Go to sleep Raleigh," Boyer says.
"Mm'kay," Raleigh says, settling back into the pillow and letting his eyes fall closed. Moments later his breathing evens out and his body relaxes back into unconsciousness.
Boyer watches him fondly for a moment before turn back to the Hansens, his expression hardening.
"I trust that Raleigh will come to no harm if I leave him to recover here," he says.
It's not a question, but Herc and Chuck both nod.
"Are you… not staying?" Chuck asks tentatively.
Boyer sighs. "I would, but I have a cult to finish dismantling," he says. "Agents Terrence and Wilson will be staying." He nods to the agent by Raleigh's bed and the one standing by the door.
He lays a gentle hand on Raleigh's forehead and sweeps back some of his hair. He casts a lingering look at his sleeping face and for a moment his expression is soft, then he takes his hand away and the hard mask comes back up.
On his way out the door, he stops at the end of Chuck's bed.
"When you're ready, Ranger Hansen, we need to take your statement about the last few weeks," he says.
Chuck swallows and nods carefully. His throat and chest feel tight. He doesn't know if he can talk about the last few weeks of Hell.
"When you're ready," Boyer says gently. He pats Chuck's ankle and strides out the door.
Chuck shares a long, speaking look with his father, and together they turn to look at Raleigh's sleeping form. The revelations of the last 20 minutes have been a lot to take in and the one person who can really explain it all, the only one who could provide adequate answers to Chuck's questions, is unconscious on the other side of the room. So close, and yet incredibly far away.
Herc reaches out to take Chuck's hand, squeezing gently in reassurance. Despite himself, Chuck can't help but relax into the feeling of safety his father offers. He yawns and feels his eyes drift closed.
As he slides back into unconsciousness, he feels his father kiss his forehead and whisper, "Sleep well, Chuck."
Raleigh first few attempts at consciousness are spotty at best. He remembers those last terrifying minutes on the cult yacht, then the water, then the relief of rescue, of knowing that Patrick was there and could handle it.
After that, things go a bit disjointed. He has hazy memories of waking several times in the hospital, at least once in the ICU with Patrick leaning over him repeating, "It's okay Raleigh. You're okay. You're safe. We got them."
There are more hazy memories of drugged conversations with his doctors, with Patrick, and at least one where he's sure Chuck and Herc Hansen were there for. (Chuck was in a bed, a hospital bed like Raleigh's. Was he okay? For some reason, Raleigh thinks he knows that Chuck is okay.)
When he finally swims back into what feels like real, solid consciousness, everything hurts. He's lying braced on his side, he assumes to keep pressure of the wound in his back. (He was shot in back. He's trying not to think about that.)
He blinks dazedly for a few moments, letting his brain come back online before he tries to do any serious thinking.
It takes a while before he realizes that there's a set of eyes staring right back at him. Raleigh blinks and forces himself to focus and… Herc Hansen is sitting at his bedside, watching him with dark eyes and a smooth, expressionless face.
"Ranger Hansen," Raleigh says, then winces at the raspy sound and the pain that talking causes him.
"Ranger Becket," Hansen says.
"Ex," Raleigh says, wincing from both the pain in his throat and the sharp knife in his heart that acknowledging his abandonment by the PPDC always causes. He winces again and the wince turns into a cough that scrapes his dry throat.
Hansen's expression softens as Raleigh keeps coughing helplessly. He reaches forwards and offers Raleigh a drink from the plastic cup on the bedside table. Raleigh takes a few sips until he stops coughing, then lets Hansen help him reposition the bed and sink into a semi-upright position. Hansen refills the cup, then holds it steady as Raleigh drinks gratefully.
"Thanks," he says quietly when the cup is empty.
Hansen settles back in his chair and watches Raleigh. "Seems like I should be the one thanking you," he says. He twists a little and nods his head across the room. "For Chuck," he says.
Raleigh glances past Herc's shoulder and sees Chuck sprawled out asleep in his own hospital bed.
He'd kind of thought that part was a dream.
"Is he okay?" Raleigh asks.
Herc glances back at Chuck then turns back to Raleigh.
"I think… he will be," he says.
Raleigh nods slowly. "That's… good," he says. "That's, that's really good. I'm glad."
Herc studies Raleigh, his gaze shrewd and piercing.
"You really were trying to save him," Herc says.
Raleigh nods, hesitates, then figures, what the hell, and says, "I was trying to save all of you."
Herc blinks, looking a little startled.
"So your FBI friend said." He winces a little. "Very stridently."
Raleigh smiles a bit. "Yeah," he says, "Patrick is like that."
"You've… known him for a long time," Herc says tentatively.
He considers Herc and his question, and thinks about how much he wants to say. Being abandoned by what was left of his family had hurt and dealing with their condemnation of his new life (which Patrick and the FBI psychologist had told him to expect, but he hadn't really been prepared for) had been hard. On the one hand, he wanted to prove them wrong, for them to see what he'd been doing for years to protect them and be appreciative. On the other hand, be didn't want to give them enough of an opening to hurt him again.
But, he thinks, looking at Chuck's pale face and the white bandages wrapped around his head and the mottled bruising on his cheekbones and poking out from under the hospital gown, Herc, at least, deserves to know happened to his son.
"Yeah," he says, turning his gaze back to Herc, "Patrick and I have known each other for a few years now. He was the one that brought me into this operation in the first place."
"The operation?" Herc asks.
Raleigh nods. "We're part of a taskforce investigating and arresting Kaiju worshipping cults and anti-Jaeger terrorist programs."
Herc blinks. "I've heard some noise about that in the last few years, but it's never really been big on the news."
"They've been keeping it out of the press," Raleigh says, "as much as they can anyway."
He sees Herc's confused look and shrugs, wincing when the movement pulls at the wound on his back.
"We're trying to keep people from panicking," he says. "Bad enough that they have to deal with the Kaiju coming through the Breach. Worse that they have to deal with Jaegers actually losing to Kaiju. The last thing we needed was the general public realizing how close some of these cultist and terrorist bastards to doing serious damage to the Jaeger program."
Herc's gaze sharpens.
"And how close did they come?" he asks.
Raleigh meets his gaze without flinching.
"Close," he says. "Very close."
Herc raises an eyebrow, a silent gesture for Raleigh to elaborate.
Raleigh's awe and hero-worship of the infamous Herc Hansen has dimmed a little in his years working for the FBI, but he still feels a bit like a pilot candidate back at Kodiak Island getting called to task by one of his trainers.
He sighs. "There were several attempted bombings and assassinations that were… let's say narrowly avoided."
He remembers the sick feeling of staring down at a bomb buried deep in the heart of the San Francisco Shatterdome's nuclear reactor, the seconds ticking away to the explosion, Patrick frantically calm in one ear and the FBI bomb tech in the other as they tried to disarm it, no time left to evacuate the building.
He remembers getting "caught" in Peru by a group of J-Tech engineers and mechanics and beaten into unconsciousness, the commotion providing enough distraction for the FBI to arrest a would-be assassin and a cover to protect Raleigh's own role in the arrest.
He can see that Herc wants to ask for more information, but he must see something in Raleigh's expression that gives him pause.
"You've saved a lot of lives," Herc says, looking at Raleigh as if he's seeing him in a new light.
Raleigh ducks his head uncomfortably and says nothing.
He startles when Herc's hand covers his own and his gaze snaps up to meet that of the older pilot.
"Thank you," Herc says. "We owe you."
Raleigh doesn't quite know what to do with that. It's what he's wanted for years, but he's not sure how to take it now that he has it. He doesn't say anything and that doesn't seem to bother Herc.
The older pilot takes his hand away eventually and they sit quietly together.
Raleigh Becket: A Hero Unmasked
by Sarah Tepper
INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER
In an astonishing announcement, the FBI has revealed the undercover agent responsible for the large Kaiju-cult bust in history and the dramatic rescue of kidnapped pilot Chuck Hansen last week: former PPDC Ranger Raleigh Becket. For years, the world has thought that Becket, former co-pilot of the Gipsy Danger, betrayed the PPDC and turned away humanity's fight for survival by joining the Kaiju-worshipping cult Song of Blue. Today, the FBI has revealed that, that Becket, now Special Agent Raleigh Becket of the FBI, was recruited into the bureau specifically to go undercover as part of the bureau's years-long operation against the Kaiju-worshipping cults.
The FBI has been close-mouthed about the details of the operation, citing it as an ongoing investigation. What we do know is that last week, years of investigative work culminated in the arrests of dozens of members of the notorious Songs of Blue cult, including their highest ranking members of the cult, many of whom were on America's Top 10 Most Wanted list. The operation also resulted in the rescue of kidnapped Ranger Chuck Hansen who inside sources tell us was intended as a sacrifice for the Kaiju Ironclaw.
Supervisory Special Agent Patrick Boyer, the taskforce's lead investigator, confirmed today that Becket was instrumental in the recent arrests and in Chuck Hansen's safe recovery.
"This has been a long, hard process," Boyer said at a press conference today. "Two years of effort and undercover work have gone into these arrests. We are very proud of the hard work all of our agents have put into this operation and especially grateful to Special Agent Raleigh Becket. Agent Becket has sacrificed two years of his life and endured a long and dangerous undercover operation and the scrutiny and disdain of the public to help bring this cult to justice and safeguard the men and women who protect humanity from monsters."
Details of the long operation are still being revealed, but the FBI has confirmed that half-a-dozen serious attacks on the PPDC and the Jaeger Program were narrowly averted in the last few years, with Becket being a key factor in preventing disaster.
Requests to speak with Agent Becket were denied and the FBI has released a statement confirming that Agent Becket was seriously injured during the recent conclusion of Operation Takedown. They would give no further information about Becket's condition or location, save to say that he was recovering.
The Hansens were a little more open. Chuck Hansen confirmed that Becket had been present during his rescue from a cult-owned yacht in the Pacific Ocean. "He stepped in front of a knife meant for me," the teenage pilot said. "Then took a bullet to protect me." Chuck Hansen still bears the marks of his ordeal, and nearly a week after the incident is still recovering in PPDC medical facilities.
Neither Hansen would provide any additional information about Becket's condition or location, saying that the man deserved to recover in peace. They did confirm that Becket is not in serious condition and is expected to recover from his injuries.
They were also adamant that Becket is every inch the hero the FBI has proclaimed him to be.
"Raleigh almost died saving my life," said Chuck Hansen. "Far as I'm concerned, he's a hero."
His father, Ranger Hercules Hansen, concurs. Responding to protests and disbelief over Becket's role as an undercover operative, Hansen stated that, "Even if I didn't believe that Raleigh was one of ours all along, he saved my sons life. I owe him a debt I can never repay. We all owe him a debt. I've seen the evidence and I've spoken with him. Raleigh Becket is and has always been a hero and a loyal defender of humanity."
The response from PPDC personnel to the startling revelation about Becket's true loyalties has been almost universally positive.
"I wish we'd known sooner what he's been doing for us," said Martin Clearwater, co-pilot for the Jaeger Fighting Fury. "He's saved all our asses, and we've been thinking his a traitor the whole time."
Long-time colleagues of Becket were equally regretful. "I worked with Raleigh and his brother for years," said J-Tech Officer Tendo Choi. "It was hard to believe, when he left the program, that he'd change so much. Knowing now what he's really spent the last few years doing, I can tell you that he hasn't changed a bit."
While unanswered questions still surround the recent arrests of the Songs of Blue, on thing is clear. Every child, teenager, and adult that looked up to Raleigh Becket as a hero can rest a little easier, knowing their hero is still an adamant protector against the Kaiju and their evil, even if that evil is in human form.
Two days after they release Chuck from the hospital in the care of PPDC Medical and the day before Raleigh himself is due to be released, Raleigh comes back from his afternoon physiotherapy session to find Marshall Stacker Pentecost sitting beside him empty hospital bed.
Under normal circumstances, he would have frozen in the doorway then turned around and walked away once he'd seen what was waiting for him.
These aren't normal circumstances.
For one, Raleigh is in a wheelchair being pushed around by a nurse and after a grueling hour of physio, he's not sure he has the energy to stand, never mind walk away.
For another, Raleigh isn't facing the Marshall as a washout pilot or a Kaiju cultist traitor. Raleigh's facing him as a hero FBI agent who got shot directly saving the life of one the Marshall's pilots and whose work saved dozens, maybe hundreds, more.
Raleigh tells himself that he has no reason to be nervous or guilty or defensive and squares his shoulders, ignoring the pain it puts on his still-healing wound.
The nurse wheels him across the room and helps him back into the bed. Raleigh refuses to be embarrassed. Three years ago, the idea of needing someone to help him into bed would have been mortifying. But then Knifehead, and Yancy, and three months recovering alone in an Anchorage hospital happened. And Patrick, the FBI, and the cults happened.
Raleigh has nothing to be embarrassed about.
When he's settled back into his bed, he finally nods to the Marshall, acknowledging his presence and meeting his gaze.
"Marshall," he says evenly.
"Mr. Becket," Pentecost acknowledges.
They stare at each other in silence for a moment and Raleigh is abruptly reminded of his confrontation with Mills what feels like ages ago now. He smiles a little. The Marshall tilts his head in question.
"Something amusing, Mr. Becket," he asks.
"You remind me of someone," he says, and ignores the Marshall's silent request for more information.
"Is there something I can help you with?" he asks.
Pentecost regards him silent and considering.
"I came to see how you were doing," he says.
Raleigh snorts "It's a little late for the false sympathy," he says.
"There is nothing false about my consideration," Pentecost says. "I apologize for not coming earlier. As you can imagine, these last few weeks have been very busy."
Raleigh huffs a disbelieving breath. "Cut the crap," he says. "I know you don't care all the much about me. You proved that well enough three years ago."
He cuts the Marshall off with a sharp gesture when the man looks like he's going to respond.
"I'm not interested in talking about the past," he says. What he means is I'm not interested in hearing your excuses.
"What I want," he continues, "is for you to tell me why you're here now."
Pentecost sighs. "Regardless of what you think, it was not my intention for you to feel abandoned three years ago," he says.
Raleigh doesn't respond, letting his expression speak for him.
Pentecost is smart enough to change the subject.
"And whether you believe me or not, I truly do care about how you are doing now," he says. "If you won't accept that, will you at least accept my gratitude for the work you have done over the last few years and your actions in saving Ranger Hansen?"
"I was just doing my job," Raleigh says reflexively. "Trying to help. I didn't do it for you."
"Trying to help," Pentecost says, considering. "That seems to be a theme with you."
Raleigh thinks maybe he should be insulted but the Marshall had sounded almost… fond.
"Is… that all you came to say?" he asks, pushing Pentecost's strange behaviour from his mind.
"I came to thank you," Pentecost says. "The FBI has allowed me to read some of their reports on this operation. You've done a great deal to safeguard my people and all of humanity."
Raleigh ducks his head and curses himself for letting the Marshall's praise mean so much to him.
"I thought about asking you to come back to the PPDC," Pentecost continues.
Raleigh's head snaps up and he stares at Pentecost incredulously. Pentecost easily reads his expression and smiles a little. Raleigh has never seen Pentecost smile. It's a little terrifying.
"Yes, I thought that would be your reaction," he says. "Still, there is a place for you, if you ever want it back."
"I won't," Raleigh says definitively.
Pentecost acknowledges his certainty with a small nod.
"Nevertheless," he says. Then, he pauses. He seems to want to say something but hesitates.
Raleigh, who's never seen the Marshall as anything but absolutely certain and absolutely fearless, is irresistibly curious.
"I never wanted to abandon you," Pentecost says finally. "After Knifehead and your brother's death. What happened to you… that wasn't my intention."
Raleigh is suddenly furious. He does not want to talk about this. Pentecost's raised hand stops Raleigh's angry retort before it leaves his lips.
"Please," Pentecost says, "let me speak."
Raleigh's mouth snaps shut and he's shocked into silence.
He has never heard Marshall Stacker Pentecost use the word 'please.'
This is a day of firsts.
He nods cautiously and the Marshall continues.
"You disobeyed orders. You got your Jaeger destroyed. Your co-pilot died," Pentecost says. Raleigh grits his teeth and contemplates punching Pentecost in the face. He doesn't need or want to hear this crap again.
"But," Pentecost says, "you won. You saved that fishing boat. You killed the Kaiju. You got your Jaeger back to shore. You survived."
He sighs.
"What I wanted to get you the best medical care in the world, give you time to recover, bring you back into the program and see if you could pilot again. Obviously, that is not what happened."
Raleigh gapes at him. He wants to scoff, to disbelieve, to call the Marshall a liar. Raleigh remembers waking alone in the Anchorage hospital, far away from the PPDC's state-of-the-art medical facilities. He remembers the long months of his recovery and the near-complete lack of visitors. He remembers the horrible day when, only a few days after he'd woken, still drowning in grief over Yancy, then some PPDC peon had shown up in his hospital room to personally give him the boot, telling him he'd been dismissed for disobeying direct orders and dereliction of duty. That the PPDC held him responsible for the destruction of Gipsy Danger and for Yancy's death. He remembers his stunned and pained disbelief when he'd seen his fate publically broadcast in an official statement from the PPDC. He remembers what it felt like to be stabbed in the back by his family.
But Pentecost seems so very sincere.
"If that's what you wanted to happen," Raleigh says, surprised by how choked up he sounds, "then why the hell did you aba… why was I left… why was I dismissed and treated the way I was?"
Pentecost sighs. "I was overruled. By the United Nations Pan-Pacific Breach Working Group. They acted despite my protests and before I could put anything in place to stop them." He rubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking very tired. "They were frightened. The fight with Knifehead was our first failure. The first time a Jaeger had fallen in combat. They would rather have believed that it was the fault of the pilots than consider the possibility that the Kaiju were getting more dangerous." He meets Raleigh's angry gaze unflinching. "I offer no excuses for their actions," he says. "Only explanations."
"And what about for your own actions? Or, your failure to act?" Raleigh demands.
"What was done, was done," Pentecost says. "I couldn't change it. The Kaiju were becoming more dangerous. I had to look to the future and the safety of my pilots."
All your pilots but the one you'd already fucked over, Raleigh thinks, but he doesn't say it.
Still, he can see how Pentecost could make that choice. The coldness that allowed him to run a program of metal monsters hundreds of feet tall in combat against giant monsters from another dimension must have served him well that day.
Raleigh nods slowly at Pentecost.
"I understand," he says.
He's willing to accept the Marshall's explanation.
That doesn't mean he's going to forgive. Or forget.
Pentecost nods. His face is blank, so Raleigh can't tell whether he heard the unspoken in Raleigh's acknowledgement, but Raleigh suspects the other man is well aware of wasn't said.
"So where do we go from here?" Raleigh asks.
"Forwards," Pentecost says and Raleigh snorts.
"You're a hero, Mr. Becket. I doubt you'll be able to do much hiding and it won't be possible for you to go back undercover."
Raleigh nods, knowing that it's true. His face has been splashed around the world in the last few days, with media outlets everywhere trumpeting his story. Getting another undercover gig would be impossible. And Raleigh doesn't want one anyway.
"I did what I set out to do," he says.
Pentecost nods "When you're ready," he says, "I'd like you to come back to the program. Not for good," he adds, seeing the expression on Raleigh's face, "just to speak to my pilots and the trainees. I think it would do them some good."
Raleigh twists his mouth, undecided. "Think about it," Pentecost says. "I know the Hansens, at least, would like to see you again."
Raleigh smiles at that.
Chuck Hansen had been rather vehement in his assertion that he expected to see Raleigh again and his promise to hound the entire story of Raleigh's last few years out of the older pilot. Raleigh can't say he minds all that much. Chuck energy helps fight back the ever-present weariness Raleigh has felt since Yancy's death.
"I'll think about it," he tells Pentecost.
"That's all I ask."
There's nothing more to say, but Pentecost doesn't leave, and Raleigh feels surprisingly okay with his presence. He settles back against the pillows and turns to watch the San Francisco skyline out of the large hospital room window.