one of these chapters i'm going to be able to start off an author's note with "this chapter was NOT like pulling teeth" but it is not this chapter
this chapter took so goddamn long despite a lot of it being plotted out already because i didn't think we were fleshing out enough people as we'd wanted to, so there was a whole lot of dialogue overhaul. mostly i just want to be done looking at this chapter, haha
it also came to our attention that folk may not be super familiar with Pacific Rim (thanks, ARandomWeirdo and ilovemanicures for the head's up) and so parts of the crossover are confusing. PacRim actually has a super detailed wiki you can check out (thanks to GdT), but suffice it to say that the basic plot is that when aliens come, they actually come from a rip in time and space in the bottom of the Pacific Ocean instead of space, and set about generally making life really shitty for humankind and trouncing every pacific coast city they can get to. humans decided that the best way to fight them was with giant robots (think Gundam) except piloting a robot on your own will basically kill you because of the strain, so the load is shared between two pilots that basically mind-meld. we try not to go super-heavy with all the tech terms from the movie, but a few that are good to know is that the Conn Pod is the Jaeger's head where the pilots are hooked up, the Drift is what they call the mind-melding, and for this chapter and the next, chasing the RABIT (Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers) is getting trapped in a memory instead of focusing on the Drift. also, also, PacRim is available to watch online on putlocker and the like in high-ish def, and i would highly recommend watching it because the movie itself is just very cool.
also, y'all don't want to know how many goddamn times we watched THIS SCENE (watch?v=eiNVjkJDsqI just plug that into google, it should pull up the correct video) to get the fucking setting right. which wasn't exactly a massive hardship, considering how much i love the music in this movie.
The lone good thing about Malik and Atem's first drop (Kaiju clobbering and near-death experience notwithstanding) was that the attack had come in before everyone was awake, with no one but LOCCENT and Blue Eyes aware that they were coming to assist.
Ryou and Malik are not given this same consideration, and their Drift-compatibility test is scheduled for two in the afternoon.
Everyone shows up.
Malik, possessing of a stubborn streak to rival Bakura's, had wheedled himself out of the infirmary and back to active duty in record time for someone who solo-piloted a Jaeger from just past the Miracle Mile all the way back to shore. Even Atem, who took the brunt of the initial shock, was still in a wheelchair for another week under threat of a court-martial (from their CO) and severe bodily harm up to and including amputation (from Yugi). That, however, hadn't stopped him and literally every other Ranger from crowding LOCCENT and the bay deck to watch Ryou and Malik get crammed into their Drift suits.
Out of possessive, older-twin habit or perhaps still reeling from the last disastrous drop, Bakura and Marik scare away the technicians and start gearing Ryou and Malik up themselves, riveting them into their suits. Ryou and his brother are used to slapping on most of their armor on their own, anyway, but there's always the push and snap when someone hooks them into the spine clamps and the entire suit clicks and locks into place, ready for uplink to the Jaeger. Bakura's hands linger for a moment on Ryou's shoulders after he hooks the spine into place and squeeze before Bakura moves back to stand with the rest of LOCCENT. Clearly, all of Ryou's assurances that this was just a test and the War Clock was nowhere near countdown had fallen on deaf ears, if Bakura's thunderous scowl was anything to go by.
Ryou slips his helmet over his head and bounces on his heels as it pressurizes and the visor clears, glancing over as Malik does the same. They're both anxious, Ryou doesn't even need the Drift to tell, as they step into the Conn Pod and fit themselves into their cradles.
"Good afternoon, Rangers!" Marshal's voice pipes in with a hiss of the communications system as Daddy Issues boots up around them—most Rangers were passably familiar with Marks III and IV, so the more practice they could get in the Ishtar's Mark-V, the better. Ryou was just excited to work in something that didn't have parts as old as he was. "Are you ready?"
To his left, Malik clips his boots into the mounts that would connect to the Jaeger's legs. "If we say no, can I go back to sleep?"
"No." Seto cuts into the feed. "Ryou, did you—?"
"Read up on the latest diagnostics and hardware comparisons between the different Jaeger Marks and models?" Ryou finishes, flipping on his row of switches. "All three hundred pages."
Seto's distinct lack of amusement translates perfectly from LOCCENT, but then there's the distinct sound of a scuffle that may or may not be a person being bodily shoved away from the mic and Jounouchi speaks next. "Alright, let's get this show on the road! Data relay gel's dispersing in the circuitry suit, handhelds should be coming online," steel rings of control buttons, holographic readouts, and neural calibration arrays swing up from the underside of the cradles to hook onto their hands, Ryou's right and Malik's left, "and we're engaging the drop."
It's all familiar from here, the Conn Pod securing around them, technicians sealing the outer doors shut and Drift arrays prepping to transmit data between the pilots. Ryou and Malik exchange an apprehensive look, one that Ryou tries to temper with a (hopefully) reassuring smile, and then reaches up to tell LOCCENT, "Release for drop."
It's always a bit jarring when the Conn Pod drops several stories from LOCCENT to where the Jaeger body is stored in the dock below, and no matter how controlled the descent, Ryou's stomach still tries to crawl up his throat—whether it's residual nerves before a Drift even after all these years or the fact that Ryou, like a Jaeger, needs to have his head screwed on in order to properly function, it's not a sensation he's fond of. The Conn Pod slows to nearly a crawl as it approaches the rest of Daddy Issues and rumbles as the head locks in firmly to the rest of their war machine, turning left and right to be sure of the smooth connection. Above them, the AI reports, "Coupling confirmed."
From LOCCENT, Marshal orders, "Engage pilot-to-pilot protocol."
The AI begins rattling off protocol specs as the Jaeger calibrates and lights up around them, the XIG Supercell Chamber core—KaibaCorp's pride and joy—humming beneath their feet. Daddy Issues' visor clears and loads their outside view just as the dock doors open to reveal the ocean.
The AI announces, "Pilot-to-pilot connection protocol sequence," and the entire Jaeger rocks under them as the dock rolls forward to move the Jaeger towards the door. The clanking, pounding, whirring cacophony of the Shatterdome gives way to nothing but ocean air and waves that crash against the metal of their feet.
Where Ryou and Bakura would've had to punch in activations to finish the calibration on Tomb Raider, Malik just consults the read-out on a display to his left. "Daddy Issues, ready and aligned."
LOCCENT explodes into a flurry of sound as a dozen voices speak rapid-fire one after the other and Ryou leans back into his cradle and attempts, against all odds, to relax. "Prepare for neural handshake—handshake starting in fifteen seconds—neural handshake, initiated—"
And then, Ryou and Malik inhale as two separate people and exhale as one.
At first, it always feels a bit like being submerged to the neck in wet cement, even though Ryou knows that's just the initial resistance of the datastream catching up to his nervous system. Then it's gone, and Ryou feels the Jaeger like it's his own armor, fitted tight and perfect. He curls his—its—their fingers and feels the movement ripple up his carbon-steel arm though hydraulic veins and iron pistons easily the size of his human body.
Above them in LOCCENT, Jou comments wryly, "Don't go chasing any RABITs, now."
Oh. Ryou had almost forgotten, so used to Bakura to his left that he'd almost completely overlooked the new mind meshing with his. Malik's life washes over Ryou in a flicker of half-formed impressions that are easy enough to observe and let go—four children sliding down a sand dune and laughing, Jaeger Academy barracks and classrooms and simulations, Malik and Marik in a Shatterdome mess hall in Korea staring at a cell phone on the table between them—without chasing the RABIT, without latching onto a memory so intently he gets tangled in its wake. Malik's look through Ryou's head is about the same, wandering through a nondescript childhood and cookie-cutter apocalypse fallout, complete with a dry stint at the Jaeger Academy.
Malik hears Ryou's assessment of his own mind (or feels it, more specifically) and snorts, amusement coiling between them like physical warmth. The AI marks off neural handshake progress and Ryou resigns himself to a few more moments of meandering through Malik's head, but then—
But then he skips over something in Malik's memory, like the stone in the center of a cherry or a locked door, bouncing Ryou off before he can get a good look at it and then it's too late, the uplink is complete and Ryou's pulled back to the present.
He frowns, disoriented and confused. The Drift was designed to overlap two people completely to bear the brunt of controlling the body of a giant machine, and as uncomfortable and awkward as that may be, it was supposed to bear everything up for scrutiny, every memory, every moment, every miniscule detail of a person's life so that they could find enough in common to operate as one. Ryou can't begin to understand how an entire chunk of someone's life could be edited out so completely as to leave an actual, tangible gap in its wake, let alone how it would affect their connection—
But regardless of his concerns, the readouts must be fine when Jou looks them over. "Neural handshake strong and holding."
There's an awkward pause where Ryou realizes they're expecting his response as Pilot One. He clears his throat. "Right hemisphere, calibrating."
Malik responds, "Left hemisphere, calibrating."
"Proofed and transmitting," and the Jaeger comes alive under them, as them. Malik and Ryou step forward, off the dock and into the water, sinking into the sand and scattering wildlife. Holographic readouts swarm in front of them, reporting water depth, radar, real-time diagnostics, shuffled to the side when Ryou blinks twice to get a clear view of the ocean before them. To their left, Domino stretches out, deceptively peaceful-looking for beachfront property during the apocalypse.
Everyone in LOCCENT must've breathed a collective sigh of relief because when the comm comes back on, Marshal sounds decidedly lighter. "I think we can call that a success, wouldn't you say?"
Ryou wouldn't, actually, but he's careful not to let his suspicions filter down the neural bridge back to his copilot. "What're our orders?"
"Take a walk," Honda pipes in, most likely monitoring their readouts next to Jou as Ryou and Malik move through the water, kicking up twenty-foot sprays. It's not the first time Ryou's heard those words in relation to an Ishtar brother, and he scowls. Honda continues, "Just get your bearings, wander around a bit."
"We'll be up here keeping an eye on you," Marshal adds. Ryou thinks that it's supposed to be comforting instead of ominous, but their CO doesn't quite pull it off.
Yeah, that didn't sound creepy or anything. When Ryou whips around to look at him, Malik shrugs sheepishly and says out loud, "Sorry. Marik and I usually bypass actually speaking when we're linked up."
"It's fine," Ryou tells him, attempting to recall every mindful meditation blurb he'd been force-fed during training to keep from crawling out of his skin. "You just surprised me." He'd have to look at the research when they got back to shore, because Malik looked so normal, seemed like a relatively decent person, and yet—Ryou shrugs, piston-shoulders shrugging around his ten-ton head, birds circling the rocket-launcher ports across his sternum. "Let's go take that walk."
/
They're at the bottom of the ocean, doing laps around the bay before Ryou realizes the anxiety creeping between his ribs isn't just the newness of a Drift with someone who isn't Bakura or even his lingering concern over the literal gaping hole in Malik's head. He turns to watch his copilot as they trudge across the seafloor, rolling their shoulders and clapping their hands and generally making a giant, mechanical idiot of their Jaeger. "Is something the matter?"
Malik jumps, startled, and the plating across their energy cell core shifts and resettles. There's something frenetic and strained pressing against the curve of Ryou's spine now, so when Malik doesn't respond, doesn't seem to hear him, Ryou reaches up and very calmly mutes their comm connection to LOCCENT. "Malik?"
"It's nothing." Malik's attention is on one of the holo-displays, but Ryou can tell he's gritting his teeth.
Ryou frowns as they side-step the reef and head into deeper water. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," he says, though he sounds anything but, the hinges of his gloves squeaking with the strain of his grip on the handheld.
It filters across their Drift before Malik can think to control it—the world narrows around Ryou, it's suddenly harder to draw air, the Conn Pod seems like it's pressing in on all sides—Ryou gasps, caught off guard. "You're claustrophobic?"
They stand in steely silence for a minute, like Malik is waiting for Ryou to say more, to make a comment. Instead, Ryou goes back to running diagnostics, marveling at how much of the Mark-V's systems were automated and AI-processed. Finally, Malik asks, "That's it?"
"Hmm?"
A school of fish dart in front of the Jaeger and as one, Malik and Ryou reach up to brush them away. "That's all you're going to say?"
Ryou smiles absently, checks the coolant circulation. "I couldn't swim until the Jaeger Program. First day of training, the ex-Navy SEAL instructor literally threw me into the pool." He laughs. "Bakura had broken his nose by the time I managed to haul myself out, soaked to the bone and bearing a stunning resemblance to a drowned rat."
At that, Malik chuckles. "Drifting with Bakura must be something else, huh?"
"It certainly is something." Ryou agrees. He can feel amusement curl between them, but also—relief? "It's a bit like looking in a fun-house mirror, isn't it? Piloting with them, I mean. It's like watching your own life, being in your own head, but upside-down and two feet to the left."
"It is." The school of fish has returned, this time intent of examining the Jaeger's visor. "This is different than what I'm used to," Malik admits. "Quieter. Calmer."
Ah. "Marik has a loud head?"
Malik barks a laugh. "Something like that." Ryou arches an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate, but it isn't until they finish the final lap and turn back to shore that Malik adds, "You're not a fucking psychopath, for starters."
"That's—" an interesting word choice, rather emphatic, the beginning of a shitty story, "—not a very nice thing to say about your brother."
Marik laughs again, sharp and a bit bitter. "Yes, well, you could say Marik is a bit more enthusiastic about killing Kaiju than is strictly necessary."
"Wait until you pilot with Bakura." Ryou chuckles and shakes his head. "It's like sharing headspace with Freddy Krueger."
"Who?"
Ryou pauses halfway through testing the right wrist's range of motion. "Freddy Krueger." Malik doesn't look any less confused. "Nightmare on Elm Street? It's an American—" Ryou cuts off with the uncanny sensation that he was talking to a brick wall. "My point is, Bakura likes to hit first with an unnerving amount of gusto and ask questions later and I'm sorry, but—have you never heard of Freddy Krueger before?"
Malik's face is completely deadpan when he says, "I didn't watch a lot of American cartoons growing up."
Ryou doesn't even try to stop the wall of affront and horror he barrels at Malik across the neural bridge and Malik just laughs. "You realize you could just show me what it is, right? I am in your head."
"It's not the same!"
They lapse into an easy (and mortally offended, on Ryou's part) silence for a while before Malik asks, "So Marik took you on the bike?" When Ryou blinks, confusion pulsing between them, he adds, "It was sort of on your mind, sorry."
Malik shares the memory of a garage, cracked cement surrounded by miles of sand, and Ryou can feel motor oil rubbed across his palms. "The bike is yours?"
"Built it from scratch," Malik tells him, "not that Marik's got an ounce of respect for the fact that it's mine, and certainly not my problem that he wrecked his back in Peru—" he cuts himself with a world-weary sigh that Ryou himself has made more than once in his life when talking about Bakura. "How'd you like the ride? Smooth, right?"
Ryou passes along the memory of nearly splicing Marik in half with how hard Ryou had gripped his waist on their ride into the city, face pressed against Marik's shoulder to avoid watching Marik take turns nearly parallel to the road, wind shrieking around them.
Malik, because he's an asshole with literally zero social skills just like his brother, starts laughing so hard Ryou can feel tears prick in his own eyes. He huffs. "Well, not all of us can be a Hell's Angel."
Malik's face is sweetly blank when he asks, "The who?" and Ryou doesn't curb the wave of loathing that curls between the two of them. This, of course, makes Malik laugh even harder.
"Something you want to share with the class?"
Ryou and Malik look up as their comm system buzzes back online, Bakura's sniping piped straight into their helmets. Malik grins, winks at Ryou. "Sharing twin horror stories, you know how it is."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Isht—" something that sounds a lot like Seto Kaiba clearing his throat echoes over Bakura's snarl, and when he speaks again, Bakura is surly but resigned. "Right, whatever. While you two've been gabbing, we mocked up the compatibility test schedule—Marik and I go next, Malik and I later tonight, and Ryou, you and Marik are slotted for tomorrow morning, yeah?"
Malik whistles. "No rest for the wicked?"
"The sooner we can confirm your compatibility," Marshal has the mic now, "the sooner we can begin to apply your results to the rest of T-BOM."
And fuck, if that doesn't just take the wind out of Ryou's sails. "Right. Of course." How could he forget?
There's a brief wash of irritation that skirts Ryou along their Drift, but he realizes it's not aimed at him when Malik asks, "Well, if that's all, then?" and then switches off the comm system without waiting for a reply. He turns to Ryou and grins again, cheeky. "So, I take it this Kroger guy isn't a cartoon?"
Ryou has the sudden and intense suspicion that he is being fucked with.
/
Ryou fucking takes off the second he's clear of his gear and brushes past Bakura with a really lovely frown on his face. Bakura briefly considers making a comment about his twin's distinct lack of love for him but decides he'd really rather keep living with all of his limbs intact for a while longer. "Where the hell are you going?"
His brother runs a hand through his bangs, still scowling at the wall. "I need to look something up."
Okay, so Bakura can't resist getting just the one dig in. "You're bailing on my first time with another man for a book?"
But Ryou doesn't rise to the bait and it's Bakura's turn to scowl. Something wasn't right. Ryou looks up at him, finally, then over his shoulder to where Malik is helping Marik into his gear for the next drop. "You have a Drift scheduled with Malik after this one with Marik, right?"
"Yeah," Bakura says slowly, "nine-o-clock tonight to test the new night-time vision filter Seto designed. Same deal as you, just a walk around the bay." He glances over his shoulder at Marik and Malik, suddenly suspicious. "Why?"
"It's just—" Ryou shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair again. "It's nothing. Have fun."
"Ryou, you can't just say shit like that and take off—" Except apparently he can, because Ryou's turning the corner and down the hall out of LOCCENT before Bakura's even done talking. With a huff, he storms over to where the techs have wheeled out his armor and lets himself be shoe-horned into the equipment.
"You ready?"
"Oh yeah," Bakura drawls, cramming on his helmet so he doesn't have to look at Marik's sly face, "I'm thrilled to get all up close and personal with the inner workings of Marik Ishtar."
It isn't until they're completely strapped into the Jaeger and the AI has already announced "neural handshake, initiated" that Bakura remembers that getting up close and personal with Marik meant that Marik would be, any moment, trawling through Bakura's brain and kicking up all the silt and looking under every rock at all the things the Pan Pacific Defense Corps would be better off not knowing about him.
Bakura manages to grit out, "Oh shit," and then the uplink is complete.
And then Bakura realizes just how poorly this could go, realizes he's not exactly the most kosher Ranger on the books, that his compatibility with Marik is only theoretical—they've never sparred or run a simulation together—realizes exactly how much is riding on the hope that he doesn't fuck this up, like he's fucked up everything else—
The Drift is built in a feedback loop to double back on and amplify each pilot until they were literally bowled over by each other, until the Venn diagram of their minds had been crammed into just one circle, so Bakura sees Marik see Bakura covered in blood too many times to call it self-defense, too many times to call it anything but a fucking hobby, honestly, years and years of going a bit too far and getting a bit too angry, sees Ryou's face after yet another bar fight, another stroll through a bad part of town, another scramble for supplies that doesn't end peacefully, sees Jaeger Academy instructors mark down enthusiastic on his sparring dossiers with frowns and the battery of psychological testing that always followed. He sees Marik just brush it off and move on and Bakura can't understand why and then—
And then the memories aren't his at all, and he is ten years old and sinking a knife into his father's throat while his sister and brothers look on and—
Oh.
Bakura grins, memory-deep in blood and screams and that rush he knows so well and it's not even his this time.
He and Marik are going to Drift just fine.
As if he knows what Bakura is thinking—and he does, now, now that they're nothing but an interwoven mesh of muscle and bone and nerve—Marik shoots him a toothy grin as the AI reports, "Neural handshake, holding."
Bakura sinks back out of Marik's memories and relaxes back into the metal nest of his cradle as their Jaeger is rolled out into the ocean. He turns to see Marik looking at him and chuckles, "Daddy Issues is one hell of a joke, Marik."
Marik snorts and runs through the vision filters on the Jaeger's visor, their scenic ocean view shuttering and resetting with each setting. "Shut up, you pilot a tin-can called Tomb Raider like an old-timey, analog—"
"Old-timey—?"
"Alright boys, bonding moment over," pipes Jounouchi from LOCCENT as the Conn Pod lights up around them. "You're clear to head out."
They stomp out into the sea and Bakura starts pinwheeling their arms for lack of a better thing to do, feeling the differences between this Jaeger and his own like he's been slid into a new skin. Next to him, Marik is still fiddling with something on the HUD displays that hover in front of them, calibrating the radar or something equally tech-savvy in his shiny new Mark-V, and Bakura wonders if they really need to talk at all or if they can just run the test in silence and call it a day.
Eventually, he runs out of ridiculous arm motions to try out as they submerge that wouldn't ends up on the news as the Jaeger Program condoning assault and battery on the local marine life, and he watches dolphins skirt their knee, chattering to one another. He and Marik are in each other's heads so he doesn't need to speak. He does it anyway. "This is," Bakura pauses, "nice."
Marik hums in agreement, but doesn't say anything more.
Which is fine by Bakura, honestly. Marik's mind is like playing with sand, nothing stays in one shape for very long, staying still long enough for him to get a glimpse of a hand, or a knife, or the sound of a call reaching voicemail again, and Bakura wonders what his own mind looks like, can't believe he'd never asked Ryou about it before—
"It's like an oil slick."
Bakura looks up, jarred out of his thoughts and absently waggling his fingers at a particular curious school of tuna. "What?"
Marik is still looking ahead, eyes fixed on another diagnostic display. "Your mind. It's like an oil slick—looks simple enough until you walk up to it, and then it's seven hundred things and once and it doesn't mix well with others." He gestures absently and the Jaeger's hand sends the school of tuna scattering. "Since you asked."
"I didn't." Looks simple?
"You were thinking it." Marik smothers a laugh, shakes his head. "Sorry. I'm used to there only being one bad twin per giant robot."
Bakura arches an eyebrow. "Bad twin?"
"The dark and twisty ones," Marik elaborates with no small amount of derision, "not like them, not the ones with the good intentions. They're the ones who decide to enlist as Jaeger techs so they can at least help somehow before they age into the Program, or walk into a summit meeting and launch an entire new subdivision of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps." Marik glances at Bakura. "We're the ones who're just along for the ride, figure having them in your head will help you with that fucking temper everyone tells you you've got, but it's just another way to survive, right?"
Bakura thinks that Ryou may have been trying to warn him about the wrong Ishtar brother. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
And suddenly the Conn Pod gives way to a memory—Bakura's not chasing the RABIT, not quite, but he watches himself, eleven or twelve, kicking the shit out of a guy twice his size and even from this angle, watching his own recollection from the side, he can see the grin on his own face. He lets the memory go the way it came, and pointedly doesn't look at Marik when he surfaces back to the present. He knows they both saw it, isn't entirely sure Marik didn't pluck it out of his head himself.
Bakura doesn't look, but he can hear the smirk in Marik's voice. "I'm sure you don't."
/
"If I hadn't seen it for myself, Ryou, I wouldn't have thought such a pretty face could be so cold."
He is never going to finish this book, Ryou concludes, and he tries very hard not to heave a melodramatic sigh for all the good he knows it won't do him. "Pardon?"
"You." Marik is leaning against his bunk when Ryou looks up, perfectly at home like he fucking belongs there, and this is what Ryou deserves for leaving the door to his room open. "I spent the afternoon bouncing around in your brother's head."
Ryou grits his teeth. Well, shit.
Marik smiles, still very placid and only the tiniest bit amused. "Tell me, did you realize how fucked up he is before or after you two Drifted the first time?" Ryou doesn't say a word, eyes steely. Marik shrugs. "It makes sense, I mean. War's on, people tend to look the other way when the blood is Kaiju blue— 'Overkill in Oahu', I should've guessed—"
"And I'm sure if the apocalypse was postponed, you'd be a model citizen?" Ryou tries to school his face into a scowl and is only partly successful as he watches Marik's expression slide from stunned to sly to—to coy?
Marik pushes away from where he leans against the bed frame and the motion (somehow) leans him close enough to make eye contact and smile, sweet and slow. "Oh darling, I'm not saying any such thing." He leans closer still. "But would you?"
Marik is long gone, door shut behind him when Ryou scowls into his paperback. "Darling?"
And then, because Ryou has a long-standing suspicion that Kaiju personally conspire to make his days worse, the alarm begins to wail.
