The bar was small and a good distance away from the Wall, and Raleigh had been hoping he wouldn't see anyone from work—the evening was never as enjoyable with ignorant assholes walking around calling him flyboy and talking shit about the PPDC. He hadn't been so lucky that night, but at least the familiar crowd was thinner at the bar he'd chosen and he could try and avoid them. All he was interested in was getting drunk enough that he might actually manage to get some sleep.

Raleigh hunkered down at the bar, old and wooden and rough, and sipped at beer after beer—all he could get with his ration cards—until his head got fuzzy and his vision blurred around the edges. The TV above the bar hummed loudly and suddenly as the bartender turned up the volume. The retired jaeger pilot winced. There was only one reason to turn the TV up in a bar these days: something to do with the kaiju war. Conversations died off, the clink of pool balls fell silent, and all eyes turned to the old set. This included Raleigh, as much as he wished he could look away. That part of his life was over, but he couldn't turn a blind eye. Someone he knew might be involved. Usually that wasn't the case, but unfortunately there was a first time for everything.

And that time, it turned out, was this time.

"After taking down the kaiju known as 'Hellhound' outside Vancouver two days ago, Canada's second jaeger, Stalker Chaos, succumbed to the damage it sustained and exploded on the way to the pick-up zone."

Raleigh set down his beer, forcing himself to take deep and measured breaths despite the tightness in his chest.

"One of the pilots is confirmed dead and the other has been in intensive care since the explosion and there is no word yet on whether or not the pilot will pull through. The PPDC is expected—Excuse me, but it seems we have just received a statement from the PPDC."

Raleigh watched the reporter's eyes skim the piece of paper she'd been passed and he held his breath, waiting to hear. It seemed to take forever. Chatter was picking up in the bar again, people losing interest. The report wasn't about a battle so no one cared. The pilots were disposable to them, no longer heroes to be worshipped. All they saw was meat to be fed to the kaiju to keep them occupied so the rest of the world could go on living.

All Raleigh could see was blood and bone and circuitry burns and all he could hear was Yancy screaming. He didn't believe in God, but he asked whoever, whatever was listening to make sure Elissa was all right and hoped he wasn't talking to himself. It felt wrong to hope Jared was the one who was dead, but Elissa couldn't be gone.

"The pilot, Elissa Jayden, is expected to make a full recovery."

Anything the reporter said afterwards Raleigh didn't hear. He was overwhelmed with relief, its magnitude unexpected and welcome. However, it was dimmed by the words of the man sitting next to him at the bar.

"That's what they get for letting a little cunt like that drive a jaeger!" he yelled, laughter rising at his response.

Raleigh spared a glance for the TV, where the news report was now showing a picture of Elissa and Jared from before their first deployment, dressed in their drivesuits, and Elissa only coming up to Jared's shoulder. They were probably talking about the service record of Stalker Chaos—that was what they did when a jaeger went down.

The laughter in the bar rose again, spawning from another lewd comment the man had made, and Raleigh's vision turned red. He drained his beer and got to his feet, the stool clattering against the floor, the noise dulled only slightly by the carpet of peanut shells.

"I bet she only got in by fucking her way into the ranks!"

"Elissa Jayden is a hero," Raleigh said loud enough to be heard over the laughing and drawing the man's attention around. The laughter died away, probably because of the look on Raleigh's face, but the man was still smirking, not getting the hint. Raleigh knew his face—some guy from the wall. Spent a lot of time talking shit. "And she risks her life to save assholes like you every day."

"Oh, looks like flyboy's got himself a girlfriend—"

He never finished the sentence.

Raleigh's fist connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards a few steps. Blood covered the lower half of the man's face. He bared his teeth in a savage grin and he launched himself at Raleigh, who met the charge and wrapped his arms around the drunk, throwing him hard to the ground. One of the man's buddies jumped in, attacking Raleigh from behind, but even with a few beers in him, Raleigh's reflexes were top-notch, military trained and the guy didn't stand a chance. Raleigh rounded on him and landed a solid hit to the guy's gut, the air whooshing from his lungs.

The first man struggled to his feet and landed a hit on Raleigh's ribs. "Why don't you go back to the Rangers flyboy? Looks like they could use all the help they can get."

Raleigh's next punch broke the man's nose and the one after that snapped a rib. Hard hits, quick succession. He went down, his friend got up. Someone else jumped in. Raleigh lost track, concentrated on landing hits, on keeping the alcohol from completely taking over his system. The world was blurring worse and he could taste blood in his mouth, but it felt good.

The fight didn't go that long before it was broken up. The bartender pulled Raleigh out of the fray and started yelling. Raleigh didn't hear. He yanked himself out of the bigger man's hold and marched to the door, grabbing his coat and bag as he passed.

Outside, a snowstorm was picking up, but Raleigh didn't notice. He stayed on the side of the road and headed for worker housing, fighting to keep upright, fighting to keep Elissa out of his mind. He'd left her behind. He'd left all that behind when Yancy died. But it didn't matter how hard he pushed, the war kept pushing back into his life.

And now he was going to have find another new bar.