Helicopters churned through the cold, bleary morning. They were following the emergency beacons of two escape pods deployed from Gipsy Danger, as well as looking for Skyfall Prime.
While it wasn't really hard to miss a two-hundred-eighty foot Jaeger, Skyfall hadn't actually ended up where they had predicted she might be. The beacon Q had cobbled together was weak and the Shatterdome's arrays picked it up on and off.
A search pattern had been agreed upon.
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Raleigh and Mako were found alive and well. Both escape pods had protected them.
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It took the search and rescue team almost eight hours to get to them. Another half hour was needed to airlift Chuck back to the Shatterdome; he was a priority because of his injuries.
Q and Bond were next, looking a lot worse for wear, but their cuts and bruises were minor.
It could have been so much worse.
It was the time they found out that they had won.
The Breach was closed.
Gipsy Danger was a loss as she had been dumped into the Breach, her nuclear core exploding and taking out not only the Breach but probably a whole world on the other side.
Bond felt no remorse.
It had been a kill or be killed war.
They had been lucky.
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Herc was there when they were brought in, the helicopter landing in a storm of water and debris. Medical personnel was swarming the area. They were all over them even though Bond tried to fend them off.
"I'm fine!" he snapped at one of the nurses.
The man wasn't deterred, his hands firm, his expression stern and unwavering. A doctor was suddenly right in his face and Bond fought not to be too far from where Q was already on a gurney.
The Marshall's eyes found his and he gave the Double-Oh a nod, relief etched into his tired face. Herc looked ready to drop any moment, staying on his feet by sheer determination.
Like Bond.
Who didn't want a gurney or a wheelchair.
"Kian," he snarled. "Let me see my partner!"
They hadn't had time to get out of the Drift, to push the Ghosts into the drawers to deal with later. The stress and the adrenaline and the pain bouncing between them had James on edge, fighting tooth and nail, and he couldn't stand being separated.
Then the emergency crew blocked his field of vision again.
Q was wheeled away, his arm secured, his face as pale as the sheets he was on, and Bond felt a wave of exhaustion he didn't know where exactly it came from. His and Q's thoughts were blurring again. It was all instinct, to fight the helping hands, to want to be close to his partner.
"Let him be!" Herc's voice suddenly barked. "Damnit! Let him go the fuck to his partner! Who taught you how to handle injured Jaeger pilots?!"
Another flurry of movement and he was allowed to walk with the stretcher, his fingers brushing over the Drivesuit on Q's good arm.
I'll be fine.
Yes, you will be.
Let them help you.
James drew a shuddering breath. He was fine. Better than Q anyway. He was just bruised and tired, running on adrenaline alone.
Things were blurring again.
Hands gripped his face and held it tight.
"Bond? Fuck!"
Herc. It was Herc.
Q in his mind, they were sharing each other, he could feel him, felt that Kian knew what was happening to him, but he couldn't calm down; the fear was too great. He struggled even harder. The hands still held his head in a vice-like grip and finally words filtered through.
"He's safe, Bond! James, do you understand? Stop the Drift, damnit."
Let them help.
Let them help us.
His body went limp and he tried to force his eyes open. It was an effort. The blurry image that greeted him turned into a face.
"Relax," Herc said, still holding him, those blue-gray eyes intense, commanding, accepting no bullshit. "It'll be okay."
It was like someone had injected him with morphine.
And then the world gave out around him.
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They spent the rest of the day in Medical. There was no arguing with the doctor in charge. She was a formidable woman who wouldn't take crap from anyone.
Least of all Jaeger pilots who thought they could diagnose themselves.
Especially Jaeger pilots who had collapsed in a heap and had been close to unconscious for almost thirty minutes.
Q joined his co-pilot after his last exam was done, smiling at Bond's sour expression. They were both out of their Drivesuits and dressed in dark blue sweats. Q's right arm was wrapped in gauze, his burns treated, and the arm was in a sling. His fingers were equally wrapped up, the sides of a thicker padding visible between the individual digits, and only his pads peeked out.
The arm was strapped to his body to keep it immobile while it healed. The pain medication helped keep the pain away, but it wouldn't last forever. And with the bruises, he looked definitely like a bad case of roadkill.
They needed rest; sleep. They needed to unwind.
Doctor Weng Lee had been adamant about it, threatening them with a sedative, but Bond had simply ignored the man.
All he wanted was to be close to Kian, to feel him physically, not just through the gentle, psychic link they shared. The Ghosts were welcome, but the real touch was preferred.
"Could be worse," Q only said. "We could be dead."
Yes, they could be. As it was, a few burns and bruises were nothing. The doctors were positive that Q had suffered no nerve damage, that he would regain use of all his fingers, that his range of motion hadn't suffered.
James interlaced their fingers, not caring who might stumble in on them. They had a shared room, just two beds, and it gave them a little privacy. It was standard for teams to be in the same room after they were injured throughout a Drift. It was hard for them to be apart from each other, so the medical personnel had adjusted procedure accordingly throughout the early years.
They should have thought of that when the two pilots had come in, Bond mused darkly.
Q squeezed his hand, so very much aware of his thoughts. He let their minds touch, a soft brush over his senses, like a kiss, a gentle caress over his face, and James almost leaned into the non-existent touch.
Radiation had been a big concern. The Mark-III were the last to be nuclear powered, replaced by the more advanced Mark-IVs in 2018. Cancer had been a great concern for the pilots back then. With the damage to Skyfall Prime, doctors had been all over them.
Neither man had suffered radiation burns or contamination. Their levels were normal. The Drivesuits had protected them and the core's shields had held.
Around the Shatterdome, celebrations were ongoing. People mourned the dead and celebrated the end of the war in one.
The War Clock had been reset to zero. This time there would be no new countdown until the next Kaiju attack. This time it had finally been stopped.
Day Zero. Or maybe Day One. Of a new life, a new chance, of rebuilding the world.
Of getting bloody arse drunk, of passing out from too much partying and too much alcohol.
It was a good way to celebrate.
It was the best.
Chuck was still in treatment. Bond hadn't caught the complete list of injuries, but the broken leg was a concern, might warrant surgery, and he had cracked some ribs. No one wanted to speculate whether or not he would ever be able to pilot a Jaeger again. Right now that didn't matter.
Raleigh and Mako had been equally confined, examined for radiation exposure, and ordered to stay the night. Raleigh had suffered mild electrical burns, too. It wasn't a great concern since some burn salve was already alleviating the pain. There might not even be a scar.
Q's eyes kept sliding shut. He looked too pale again for James' liking, too exhausted, and the cut on his face, running across his temple and almost down the left cheek, the bruises on his neck, the way his usually tousled hair hung limply into his forehead, it all only enhanced how young the quartermaster looked. Younger than his actual years.
I'm so robbing the cradle, Bond thought, his brain giddy on too much adrenaline that was just now abating.
They would crash spectacularly soon, the two of them. Right now the high was still holding on, but the moment their brains and bodies caught up to what had happened, all bets were off.
He kept running his thumb over the soft skin of Q's hand, then he leaned over and brushed a soft kiss against the uninjured temple.
Q's eyes sharpened, were filled with more understanding than Bond would have thought possible. He met Bond's lips, the kiss soft, reassuring, with nothing but gentleness. No need, no hunger, no sexual content.
They had made it.
The door to their room opened and Herc Hansen stepped in. His arm was still in a sling and his clothes looked rumpled, worn, like he had slept in them for a week when only a day had passed. He seemed as exhausted as anyone, but there was a smile on his face, his eyes filled with such relief and happiness, they shone with it. It smoothed out the deep lines. Gone was the raw anguish of the hours before, the soul-deep pain of knowing he had lost his only child. Pentecost had given him the greatest gift possible: his son. Alive and mostly in one piece. Everything else, the rehab time, the necessary therapy, the long treatments ahead, were secondary.
"You look like shit, guys."
"Marshall," Bond greeted him.
Herc shook his head, grinning. "Oh please! It's still Herc. I'm probably only a temp until the PPDC finds someone crazy enough to run a Shatterdome."
"They'd be crazy not to take you. You fit the job description," Bond teased.
Herc chuckled. So much more relaxed, so much more at ease. The war was over, the Breach closed, and his son was alive. The latter was the most important.
Chuck was alive.
"Maybe. You okay?" he asked, looking at Bond.
"Yes. Thanks for back there."
"Assholes out there. All of them. Not an ounce of common sense, trying to separate two injured co-pilots." Herc shook his head, looking disgusted. "Like they haven't had that before! Sorry lot they are."
Yes, they could have handled that better, but it was water under the bridge. There had been many past incidents of the like, in every Shatterdome, when one pilot was injured and the other was still too close, too much into the neural connection, and with the force of Bond and Q's Ghost-Drifting, it should have been expected.
"How's Chuck?" Q asked, looking a little more alert, but he would crash soon.
"Still in surgery, but it's looking good. Even the leg is just a clean break." The relief was now audible as well. "Thank you for bringing him back."
"It wasn't us."
The expression grew more somber, mournful, mixed with thankfulness. "Stacker. I know. The son-of-a-gun knew what he was doing. He had probably planned it. I knew he was sick, dying. I knew he wanted to bust some Kaiju ass, go out fighting. When he said he would co-pilot Striker…"
Herc stopped, the pain rising again, those memories of knowing his son was on a suicide mission still too fresh.
"He was the only one who could pull this off."
It got Bond a snort. "Yeah. Asshole didn't even say a thing."
Because it might not have worked. They might have been stopped and destroyed before the end of the mission.
"I'm just glad he's okay," Q said calmly.
Herc nodded jerkily, visibly pulling himself out of the dark moments just before the launch of the mission.
"Heard you two got some bruises to show." He gave Q a pointed look.
"Matching slings," the younger man teased tiredly.
"Yeah, well, you had to go a little overboard. Mine was a clean break," was the gruff reply, tinged with amusement. "Medical's keeping you here for observation."
Bond's expression grew a little sour. "We're fine. It's unnecessary."
"It's procedure. You're not missing much. Celebrations will be ongoing for a while. Get some rest. You'll need it. And your bodies know they'll need it. Adrenaline's fun and games, all right, but the crash and burn's a given." Herc's eyes were a little more serious. "You are one heck of a team. I'm glad we had you there. Might not have ended like this if you hadn't been."
To save his son, hung unspoken between them. To save the only family he had left. To save someone he had just started to really connect to, who had finally shown emotions when it came to his father.
Herc gave them a nod and left the room.
Bond had to hide a fond smile as Q started to list a little, and he elbowed him gently.
"Bed. Sleep."
He got a sigh and a mumble, then Q climbed into the bed. Bond watched him, noticed the grimace as he jostled the arm, and headed for his own bed.
"Where do you think you're going?" Q asked.
James was about to open his mouth when his co-pilot added,
"My arm's my arm. It'll ache whether you're there or not. Now get over here, 007."
Oh, grumpy when exhausted, in pain and running out of steam, he mused, but he followed the order.
He curled close to the younger man, both of them finding a good sleeping position that would Q take some weight off the arm and Bond wouldn't accidentally bump into it. With his back against the wall, James insured that that wouldn't happen.
Q was out like a light not much later and Bond suspected it was a mixture of pain medication and the exhaustion. He let his own mind slide along the Ghosts, let it drift in a way, and let go.
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They were told they could go the next day, after another array of tests that all came back negative. Except for the bumps and bruises and lacerations, James was fine. Q's bandages were changed and would need daily changes since the burns needed regular treatment.
Bond had a nurse explain to him what to do. The doctor would check him whenever Q had to come in.
It was good to be free, even if they were assaulted right away by people congratulating them, thanking them, inviting them to parties and quickly erected bars all around the hangar bay.
People wanted to shake their hands, wanted to clap them on their shoulders – though in Q's case it was an aborted move, preceded by a dark glare from Bond - wanted to take pictures. Some even asked for an autograph on their jackets, their caps or even fragments of Skyfall's armor.
It was surreal.
When Q was jostled one more time, Bond snapped and moved between his partner, glaring more, moving them along briskly.
"I'm okay, James," Q said, brows drawing down a little. "And I'm very well able to handle myself."
"Of course you are."
Q looked at him, face almost neutral, and then he smiled a little. Bond felt the echoes between them, his partner's presence around him, inside him, touching him with his good hand, pulling him close.
"I am," Q murmured and kissed him. "But I appreciate the bodyguard moment."
James was breathing more easily when the door to their quarters was finally securely shut. Q laughed a little. He had been calm and polite to everyone, had smiled into the cameras.
"We're heroes," he said at Bond's exasperated look.
"All of them are. We couldn't have done this on our own. Every damn man, woman and child on this planet is a hero!"
"Fate of a Jaeger pilot."
Bond growled something, then stripped off his clothes. "I need a shower."
Q watched his appreciatively and James raised his eyebrows as he removed the last piece, his underwear. Then he turned and slowly walked into the bathroom, very much aware of the eyes on him.
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A shower helped to feel clean again, to wash away the smell of antiseptics and whatever else they had been covered and treated with. Q wouldn't be able to enjoy such pleasure, would have to wash down with a cloth. He had stripped off his clothes with Bond's help and James had helped him clean. There had been nothing erotic about it, just the practical movements of needing to get rid of the smell.
Q was typing one-handed on his tablet when Bond emerged from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips, and he smiled when the blond pilot joined him.
"Hacking Medical, I see," Bond remarked.
Q shrugged, regretting it immediately. Those bruises hurt and movement of his left shoulder echoed in his injured arm.
"Simply acquiring information."
James leaned closer and his eyes scanned over the report.
Broken left leg. Two sprained fingers: ring and little finger. Sprained left wrist. Concussion. Bruises. Lacerations. Bruised ribs.
The list was long. It was filled with the appropriate medical terms and how each injury had been treated, what the prognosis was. The medical personnel had taken great care of documenting each and every step.
"Chuck's doing fine. The concussion is probably the worst right now. He had surgery on his leg and they had to pin the bone back together with plates and screws, but he will hopefully regain full use. Luckily his knee was only bruised and the joint is fine. With therapy. I think we should drop by."
Bond nodded. He studied the still too pale features of his partner, the angry red cut peeking out from under the butterfly bandages, and something inside him clenched again.
So close.
Q's fingers of his good hand stroked over the day-old stubble, a smile gracing his lips, and he brushed their lips together.
"I know. But it didn't."
"Mind-reader," he teased.
"Ghosting, James."
He felt the Drift memories, felt the ceaseless waves between them, the sensation of Q still in his head.
Pushing the tablet out of the way, exerting gentle pressure, he had Q flat on his back, on his bed, with no resistance at all. Bond took great care to keep the right arm as motionless as possible, then curled up close to his partner. He felt slender but strong fingers card through his damp hair, their rhythm soothing.
So close.
But they were alive.
He planned to enjoy his second chance, his life.
tbc...