Word Count: 8,267 (Total: 52,820)
Rating: T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)
Date Submitted: 2/9/18
Chapter 6 – The Turns Life Takes
When Herc gets to the police station, he finds Jazmine pacing in a holding cell, expression anxious.
"What's going on?" Herc demands. "What happened?"
She wasn't allowed to call him herself; someone else called instead, which irritates Herc for some reason and irritates Chuck's drift phantom even more. And since he's been at work he was with Raleigh when he got the call, which necessitated informing the younger man, who of course is now distressed. It's just not a very good way for the police to start things off, in Herc's mind. It would have been much better to let Jazmine call, so he could hear for himself that she's unhurt. Especially given how little he was told.
Upon hearing his voice, Jazmine whips around and rushes to the cell wall. With her head raised, it's clear that she's been crying. "They took Jason!"
Herc is instantly alarmed. Chuck's drift phantom is just as instantly incensed. "Took him?"
"The man I killed!" she replies, her voice thick with some non-English accent. Presumably French, if her mother was from France. "When they brought me in they ran my prints and everything, and someone's noticed that I'm illegal! They came to pick me up and took Jason away!"
"Why now?" It's strange that they didn't notice at the time, unless it was just shoddy police work.
She shakes her head.
Herc wishes he could hold her hand or something, but the police seem to prefer to treat her as though she's guilty of a violent crime; neither he nor Raleigh is allowed to get close. What he knows, however, is that Raleigh has no Australian citizenship and therefore won't be able to move about and get the answers Herc can.
He looks at the younger man. "You stay. Calm her down. I'll find Jason and get this cleared up."
Raleigh nods and says something in French to Jazmine. She blurts out a long-winded response that Herc can't begin to separate into words, but Raleigh appears to understand her.
Herc escorts himself from the holding cells to the main desk and leans on it. "I need some information."
The girl behind the desk smiles. "How can I help you, Mister Hansen?"
"The young lady in the back," he says. "Jazmine Lapierre. She has a child who was taken from her. I need to know where he is."
Her smile fades. "I . . . I'm sorry, Mister Hansen, but I can't give you that information."
Herc silently apologizes to Jazmine for blowing her long-held secret, but it's important. Besides, her reason for keeping it a secret is not as valid as it was; Chuck's name can safely be added to Jason's birth records, because even though Chuck is gone Herc has no plans to move out of the duplex. Not without taking Jazmine and Jason with him, at least. If anyone with the BuenaKai were to delude themselves into thinking they'd kill Jason to deal a strike at Chuck, they'd have to get through both Jazmine and Herc first. "Yes, you can, because he's my grandson."
Her eyes go wide. "Oh! Oh, I . . . I didn't realize . . ." She shuffles around the desktop and in two different drawers before finally coming up with a folder. She flicks it open and scans the top paper inside, then frowns. "It doesn't say anything about other family . . ."
"I'm aware of that," he tells her. "It was a precaution that was taken for my grandson's safety. It's going to be dealt with now that all of this foolishness has happened. In the meantime, I want to know where he is."
Her expression is apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mister Hansen, but I can't do that without proof of relation."
Which, of course, Herc doesn't have. It's possible he could use the post-birth video of Jason and scoot by on that, but all the video really says is that Chuck attended the birth of Jazmine's child and all it suggests is that he believed her child was his. It doesn't prove that Jason is Chuck's son too.
Herc taps his middle finger on the cultured marble front counter and stares accusingly at the girl as he tries to figure out the next best step. She watches him warily. Then help arrives.
"Herc!"
He turns and finds a smile, weak and distracted though it is. "Derrek. How are ya?"
Derrek leans on the front counter and offers the girl a quick, reassuring smile before focusing on Herc. "I'm fine, but you clearly aren't. What has your panties in a bunch on this fine day?"
Herc jerks his head toward the holding area. "The girl in the back."
"Illegal alien. We're not being mean to her, hero."
Herc would have begged to differ, but Jazmine is the lesser concern. "I need to know where her son is."
Derrek unwraps a peppermint and pops it into his mouth. He's been trying for years to quit smoking, and peppermints are the way he deflects the absentminded habit of reaching for a cigarette when he doesn't really need one or isn't allowed to have one, such as when he's indoors. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you that."
Obviously. "He's my grandson, Dezza. The one still in her is mine as well."
Derrek stops and blinks, drawing his head back in surprise, then chokes. Herc gives him a quick thump on the back that does the trick. Derrek gets control of himself and stares at Herc. "Since when?"
"Since about two years ago, apparently," Herc explains. "Almost three. From the videos I've seen, Chuck never worked up the guts to tell me."
Derrek gives him a sideways look. "Darryl told me about all the girls who came after you when you got back from Hong Kong."
Herc waves his hand dismissively. "I didn't crack, you clucky bastard. But it is a long story, and I'm sure as shit not telling you in front of the whole fucking planet."
Derrek considers him, then reaches down over the counter and grabs a pen and pad of paper from the desk. He scribbles something as he says, "I'm not only clucky—I'm nosy as fuck." He pushes the pad and pen at Herc. "Sign this."
Herc looks at what his friend wrote on the pad. Derrek is taking full responsibility for the release of the information of Jason's whereabouts, and Herc's signature regards a promise to act as Jazmine's sponsor. He signs as well and slides the pad back.
Derrek rips the sheet off and hands it to the girl. "Put this in the file. Give me the boy's location, and then get started on release papers for the mother. Mister Hansen will sign them when he gets back."
The girl nods and reads him an address.
"Jesus, that's four councils away— Whatever. Thanks, love. C'mon, Herc."
In the privacy of Derrek's patrol car, Herc explains everything. Derrek remains politely skeptical.
"It's just really convenient, that's all," he says. "I mean, it's so crazy that either it's completely true or she went to a lot of effort to make that story watertight."
"You wouldn't question it if you'd seen the videos," Herc counters. "It's Chuck, and Jason's his son."
"You should have a paternity test done."
Herc grunts. "I'll do it if I have to."
"The government will want it done, if you plan to change the kid's records. And other women are going to come round again once this gets out. Doing the test for both kids, regardless of how necessary you feel it is, will set the precedent for the rest so that fewer come, and those who do come go away faster."
"Fine."
"I have a kit in the boot—we'll just have the employees there act as witnesses."
The employees at the state-run childcare facility aren't happy to see them and don't want to cooperate. It's fortunate that Derrek is a state officer, as it gives him some pull that he wouldn't have had as some other forms of authority. Herc gets more and more irritated the longer the delay stretches; sure that it's Chuck's influence, he does everything he can to keep calm and still. It helps that Derrek is also calm and patient.
"The kid is his grandson," Derrek explains. Again. "I understand that you have no proof—neither do I, and neither does he. That's exactly why we're here." He raises the kit into view and wiggles it.
". . . Very well," is the annoyed response from the matronly head of the facility. She turns to a young man beside her. "Quentin, if you would."
"Sure." He checks a binder on the desk, then turns away. "I'll be right back."
About two minutes later, Quentin returns with a boy in his arms.
Derrek and Herc both straighten. Derrek mutters, "What the bloody . . .?" He looks at Herc and demands, "Are you fucking serious?"
It's not Jason. The boy's five or six years old, with much darker hair and obviously brown eyes.
Herc glares. First at Derrek for so easily doubting him, then over at the supervisor, then hardest at Quentin. "That's not my grandson."
Quentin is surprised. "But—"
The supervisor is wise enough to step in promptly. "He's right, Quentin—that's Arthur, not Jason."
"He was the only one in the room," Quentin protests, confused.
"Then Jason is elsewhere. Return Arthur and check the activity room."
"All right."
When Quentin is out of sight, the supervisor says to Herc, "I apologize for the mistake. Arthur and Jason share a room, and this is Quentin's first day. He doesn't know the kids or the grounds well."
When Quentin returns the second time, he does have Jason. The toddler looks a mess—clothes disheveled, hair uncombed and sticking out everywhere, face red, eyes bloodshot. He's pushing away from Quentin as hard as he can, with both arms. Herc is desperately glad to see him.
Jason spots Herc. He reaches out with both arms, leaning dangerously away from Quentin. "Daddy!" When Quentin lifts him upright, Jason takes it as a refusal to let him go and shrieks. "DADDY!"
Herc knows he shouldn't, but he can't really help it. He crosses to Quentin and in one smooth motion lifts Jason from the young man's arms, ignoring the protests from the other three adults present.
Jason immediately clutches his shirt and starts sobbing into his shoulder. "Daddy . . ."
"That's close enough, I guess," Herc murmurs. "You're all right, Jay. You don't have to be afraid. I've got you now."
"Mummy . . ."
Herc shushes him gently. "Mummy can't be here right now. You have to wait." He knows it's a hard thing to ask of a toddler, but there's no other choice.
Jason sticks his thumb in his mouth. Herc wishes for the boy's pacifier, but under the circumstances figures Jason needs the comfort, so he doesn't interfere.
Derrek comes over and peeks at Jason. ". . . He sure as hell looks like Chip, doesn't he?"
Herc simply nods. Jason is calming, and inside Herc Chuck's drift phantom has finally calmed as well.
"Well, whether she's lying to you or not, I can at least understand why you believe her." Derrek sets his kit on the counter. "Shall we begin?"
Herc almost says no. If they break out the kit and get the samples, the supervisor will doubtless want them to leave as soon as they're done. He finds an excuse. "Let's hold off a bit longer. Till he's a little calmer."
Derrek shrugs. The supervisor looks annoyed, but Quentin is visibly relieved and blurts, "That'd be great. He's been crying all day."
Herc snorts. "Of course he has. You lot ripped him away from his mother. He's going to be traumatised."
"We had nothing to do with it," the supervisor sniffs.
"Guilty by association," Herc replies.
"Just give it a rest, Herc," Derrek chides. "It wouldn't have happened like this if Chip's information had been on the birth certificate to start with." Herc frowns, so he adds, "Nobody gives a good Goddamn about her reasons, Herc. Least of all the state. As far as the government is concerned, she's an illegal alien who attempted to justify her presence in Australia by having her baby here. And if the father turns out to be an Australian citizen, then Jason becomes a ward of the state. His mother will have to go."
Herc could not imagine how anyone could separate a child so young from his mother and act as though it was all right, let alone justified. "Go where?" Herc scoffs. "All of her ID melted in blue when her extended family's house was crushed by a dead kaiju." It occurs to him that she actually can go back to America, because Raleigh will be able to vouch for her now, but he isn't going to admit that yet. "I thought I signed to be her sponsor."
"New South Wales police isn't authorised to carry out tasks related to immigration. When I wrote 'sponsor' on that paper, I meant 'bailer.'"
"She's not going anywhere before Jason's in my custody," Herc says.
Derrek chuckles humorlessly. "Good luck with that, mate." He pulls on nitrile gloves and grabs a sealable plastic bag and a swab from the kit. "Now open your mouth."
Letting Quentin take Jason from him is one of the hardest things that Herc has ever had to do. Chuck's drift phantom rages inside him, insisting he do all sorts of violent, lethal things to get the toddler back. Reminders that Jason is perfectly safe at the facility and that Herc can do more faster if he's outside a prison go ignored. It's only when Herc is in Derrek's car and they're on their way back to where Jazmine is being held that the phantom settles down, angry but ultimately impotent. Herc feels like pouting, and hopes he doesn't look as though he is.
"Jesus Christ, Herc," Derrek says, "you're acting like Chip."
Instead of explaining and risking his friend thinking he's crazy, Herc counters with, "Well, where did you think he got it?"
"His mum." Herc shoots a glare at Derrek, who snaps, "Your wife wasn't perfect, Hansen. There's only one perfect woman in this world, and I married her."
The joke forces Herc to see his irrationality. He soothes Chuck's drift phantom the best he can. "Sorry."
"What's gotten into you, anyway?"
Herc decides there are some things he can admit. He looks out the passenger window of the car. "I thought I'd lost my family, Dezza. First my wife, then my son . . . Too slow to save her, too stupid to die with him . . ."
"Herc—"
"Oh, stuff it. I know all that survivor's guilt bullshit. Doesn't stop a man from going through it." He sighs. "I just didn't know what to do with myself after Hong Kong. What I do right now is something anyone could do, and three of them are right to hand. I'm not irreplaceable."
"Yeah, you are," Derrek answers, clearly unhappy. As a cop, he has education the average person would lack, and it's obvious he's picked up the nuance of Herc's carefully sculpted response. "But you're a big boy these days—it's not up to me to make decisions about your life."
Herc makes a disgusted noise. "I shouldn't have said anything—"
"You're a fuckhead, mate," Derrek tells him. He doesn't sound alarmed, so Herc figures it's something he had already considered and possibly even discussed with Darryl. "The world could certainly do with one fewer of those, so I'm not afraid to point that out. Keep talking."
"I'm just tired of losing my family," Herc concludes. "Even you could understand that."
"You've staked a claim on the kid," Derrek reminds him. "He's not going to vanish. He has to stay at that facility until you relinquish that claim. And if there's a mix-up and he's fostered, the facility is required to document his location. It won't be hard to find him, whatever the case. As for his mother, she may or may not be allowed back, even if she has the right papers—the DHA can be strict about that. But if the kid's your grandson you'll at least get him, and then you can take him to his mother if that's what you want."
"He's a baby," Herc argues. "He's bloody two years old. He doesn't understand a damn thing other than what he wants. And he wants his mum. If he can't have his mum, he wants me. And I just let strangers have him."
"He won't remember this when he's older, Herc."
Herc snorts. "Chuck wasn't even weaned to a bottle when I dropped him ten centimetres into his bed. He didn't remember it, but that didn't stop him from pleading with me to not drop him when he was older."
"He was just—"
"He never said it when his mother picked him up."
Derrek sighs. "Fine. If you need to do this to yourself, then . . . fine. Just . . . fine."
Herc rolls his eyes and starts to scrounge around in the car.
"What are you doing?"
"Durries," Herc grunts.
Derrek stops at a light and looks at him. "I'm not allowed to smoke on the clock. Why would I keep them in my patrol car?"
Herc pauses his search and straightens up to look his friend dead in the eyes. "Dezza, how long have we known each other, do you think?"
"'Bout thirty years and change?"
"Exactly." With that, Herc leans down and filches around under the driver's seat.
"People are going to think you're giving me a gobby, Hansen."
Herc is too old and too comfortable with himself to be intimidated by the implication. "I'm a tenured jaeger pilot and Marshal of the PPDC. It could only help your standing in society."
He finds the little box with the lighter held to it by a wide rubber band and sits up again. He gives the box's graphic images a cursory glance to check if he's seen them before—an unfortunate side benefit of witnessing in real life the dismemberment of brothers-in-arms is having little more than a morbid interest in pictures of diseased body parts—then flicks open the thin box and retrieves a cigarette, which he places in his mouth. He cracks the passenger window and lights up.
"Those are expensive," Derrek mutters.
Herc retrieves his wallet, fishes out a five, and throws it into his friend's lap.
Derrek throws it back, into his face. "Chip didn't like it when you smoked."
"If he were dead, his opinion wouldn't matter. Oh, wait . . ."
Derrek sighs. "Mate, I worry about you."
Herc slouches a bit in his seat and doesn't answer either his friend or Chuck's drift phantom, which is none too happy with him either.
Jazmine is devastated when Herc returns but doesn't have Jason with him.
"I did find him," he tells her as she's freed from her cell, hating the knowledge that he put the tears in her eyes. "I even held him. He's a little upset, but he's all right."
"It's possible to expedite the testing," Derrek says as he pulls on another set of nitrile gloves. "It'll cost a little more, but if you want it, we can arrange it." He grabs another bag and swab and turns to face Jazmine. "Open your mouth, love."
Jazmine's head recoils into Raleigh's chest. She gives Derrek a look-over. "The fuck?"
"It's for the paternity test."
"Then what do you need to rub my mouth for?"
"Including the mother in the genetic testing increases the accuracy of the test results," Derrek explains. "By knowing your markers too, the labs can determine which ones in your son came from you and which ones didn't. Under the circumstances, it's necessary for a legal determination of paternity."
Jazmine grimaces, but after a glance at Herc opens her mouth and allows Derrek to swab it.
When he finishes, Derrek drops the swab into a sample bag and seals it. As he pulls his gloves off, he says, "There's an additional fee to test another child, but it's small. If you wait, you'll pay full price."
"What?" Jazmine demands.
"If you want your son back," Derrek explains, "you need to prove he has family here in Australia. If you don't, you'll definitely be deported and he'll become a ward of the state. You'll probably never see him again."
Jazmine stiffens. Raleigh wraps her in a bear hug and murmurs something in French into her hair.
Derrek looks at Herc. "If you want. As a professional, and knowing what I do about you and Chip and all the mad cunts out there, I strongly recommend it. Especially with Chip gone, there's a high probability someone will challenge his paternity for some reason or another. If not in regards to Jason, in regards to the other." He looks again at Jazmine. "You're already going to be hated for being here illegally, no matter your reason. Not doing this would further smear your reputation and risk backlash from the crazies."
Herc looks at Jazmine's abdomen. She's about to pop, and he worries that any further stress could send her into labor. "Can it be done safely?"
"Yeah. I don't have the equipment for it, so we'll have to go to a pathology lab, but I can call the people we send our samples to and they can take some blood from her. I don't know how, but apparently fetal DNA does get into the mother's bloodstream somehow, and the labs can separate them. It won't hurt the baby at all."
Herc nods. "Let's do that, then."
"Thanks for asking," Jazmine snarls.
Herc looks at her. "It's not for me. It's for everyone else."
"Thanks for asking," she hisses again, looking from him to Derrek. "I haven't done a damn thing wrong in all my time here, and the one time I defend myself and my children I get jailed, my son is taken from me as though I'm a hazard to his health, and everything I own is impounded under the pretext of evidence collection, with the intent to sell it off to the highest bidder at the earliest possible opportunity. Fuck all of you."
"You did break the law," Derrek points out.
She glares. "I'm not a fucking felon, asshole. I didn't fight when they came for me, I didn't fight when they abducted my child, I didn't fight when they tore apart my home looking for God knows what, I didn't lie when they interrogated me. I don't deserve to be treated with this level of disrespect just for living quietly in this country and contributing fully to its economy. I own a business and I pay taxes too, Goddamn it, with no hope of return on the investment. How can a fucking piece of paper mean more about my ability to live here responsibly than what I've actually been doing while living here the past three years?"
She turns away, but Raleigh doesn't let her go. He just tightens his arms around her, rests his chin on her head, and gently says something in French.
Herc looks at Derrek. "I want her possessions back. And I'm not paying a quid in release fees."
Derrek sighs. "That's Home Affairs, Herc. Take it up with them."
"Forget it," Jazmine says into Raleigh's shoulder. "Nothing matters. Nothing matters except my children."
There are two vehicles—one a car, the other a box truck—from the Department of Home Affairs outside the duplex when Herc pulls into his drive. He spots Jazmine's computer tower right outside her front door and decides to retrieve it. Once the truck is parked, he hands his keys to Jazmine and tells her to go inside. There's nothing she can do, so there's no reason for her to loiter and agonize about her possessions.
"Don't do anything stupid," she says.
"I'm a grown man," Herc counters, but before he can say more to reassure her, Raleigh adds from the back, "It's what we do. So, you know, watch this."
Jazmine turns in the front seat to glare at her brother. "You may get arrested, for all I care."
It's a brutal, unfeeling statement, but Raleigh only snickers and leans around the seat back to kiss her cheek before opening the rear passenger door and sliding out.
"You get her computer," Herc mutters as they approach Jazmine's half of the duplex. "Stay out of trouble." Herc knows he'll get away with pushing in a way a foreigner wouldn't.
Fortunately, Raleigh doesn't argue. When he gets to the stoop he calmly bends down to pick up the tower, then turns and calmly walks toward Herc's front door. No idiotic and suspicious furtiveness. Herc waits until he's out of sight before quietly walking into Jazmine's half of the duplex and surveying the damage.
They've pretty much gutted the house—or at least the main room. Her furniture is gone, and someone is in the kitchen cleaning out the cupboards, completely oblivious to his presence. Herc strolls to the hall and peeks into the remaining rooms. They're mostly untouched, though all the big items like Jazmine's bed are gone. Herc steps into Jason's room, where a man is digging through the toddler's clothes as though he's expecting to find something, and grabs the diaper bag.
The man jumps and looks at him. "Jesu— What the hell are you doing in here?"
Herc reaches past him, grabs a fistful of Jason's clothes, and shoves them into the diaper bag on top of the supplies already there. He stares the man down while he does it. "My grandson is going to need these."
"Your grandson?"
Herc jams another fistful of clothing into the bag. "This is my daughter-in-law's home." Sort of. Jazmine isn't such legally, but Chuck had proposed to her. Herc knows Chuck wouldn't have made such a decision lightly, and Chuck's drift phantom seems to hold her at a level of regard that's high enough to imply that he saw her as his wife—or at least someone he wanted to stay with for a very, very long time—even before there was a hint about Hong Kong.
Jason's wardrobe isn't that big; Herc manages to cram all of it into the bag. He picks up some of Jason's smaller toys and forces those into the bag as well. Herc finds another bag in a drawer of the changing table, and it's Christmas at that point. He packs it full of clothing too small for Jason's current age—the toddler won't need them, but the baby will—more toys and stuffed animals, and leaves enough room for any bathtub toys. He then crosses the hall into Jazmine's room. All he wants from there is one item, really, but he'll take more if he can.
The man follows him from Jason's room and is joined by a woman—possibly the person who had been in the kitchen. Herc ignores them both as they loudly discuss his presence, as though he's supposed to care when he's already completely disregarded DHA authority by entering the house and collecting items while they watch.
He opens the door to Jazmine's bedroom closet, looks around, and snags from its hook Chuck's old ranger jacket. Once he's sure he won't drop it, he pulls some of her blouses and business suits down. He then moves to a nearby chest of drawers and collects sets of panties, hose, socks, and jeans. Bras. Tee-shirts. He can't help himself and even takes two tee-shirts and two pairs of jeans that are obviously for a man. Chuck's. It's enough of a reason. His left arm is starting to hurt from all the weight on it, so he stops and moves toward the bedroom door.
"You can't take those items," the woman tells him. "They don't belong to you."
"I don't see that fact stopping you," Herc counters. "If you really give a damn about her property, stop me."
They don't. Of course they don't. It's no skin off their noses and isn't worth fighting over, because they're going to deport Jazmine if they can in any way manage it, and then her possessions will be theirs to sell or donate.
On his way out he detours to the bathroom and tucks a few of Jason's items into the second diaper bag. He then walks out the front door, the DHA people following behind and scolding him like magpies that are angry about a human being near their nest. Outside, Herc gets the last—but most discreet—laugh.
"Where's the computer?" the man asks.
Herc pauses and turns, feigning interest. "What computer?"
"There was a CPU here," is the response from the man. Both he and woman look alarmed. "A tower for a desktop computer."
Herc raises one eyebrow. "You're letting her personal property be stolen in the name of Canberra? Good on ya. I'll be sure to let her know." He turns away and heads for his own front door. "Fucking muppets."
Raleigh has obviously been watching for him, because the door opens without him having to reach for it. "Score," the younger man says, in observation of Herc's bounty. "You have gargantuan brass ones, sir."
Herc doesn't respond. He fishes Chuck's jacket out of the pile, drops the rest, and lifts it over the back of the couch to Jazmine. She snatches it away and hugs it tightly, burying her nose in the faux fur collar.
"I've locked the doors," Raleigh reports.
Herc nods and glances at him. "Thanks." He focuses on Jazmine. "Most of what I got is Jason's. I found his baby clothes and packed some of his toys. I got some of your clothes too." He makes a noise of disappointment as he realizes he forgot something. "I didn't grab any shoes for you. Fuck." Jason's had been in one of the drawers in his room, easy to notice and collect.
Jazmine shakes her head and looks up at him. She holds out her hands to indicate Chuck's ranger jacket and says, "This would have been enough. Thank you."
"I want you to sleep in my room for now," he tells her, voice firm. "If they decide to break down my door, I want to be the first person they find."
She nods and hugs Chuck's jacket again.
They do come, several times over the course of the next two weeks, but Herc makes sure he's the only one who answers the door. He tells whoever is on the other side that he hasn't stolen any property, and if they argue he points out that he just collected it for use by the owner, which isn't stealing. Jazmine is still paranoid, however, and squirrels some of the items out of sight. Not everything, as that would be too obvious, but she's clearly hoping that if they do eventually have to give up what he rescued they can give over most of it as a sacrifice and the collectors will be satisfied with that; since there's no indication the contents of her home were itemized, there's a strong chance the gambit will work.
The DHA doesn't pursue the matter for long, and Herc knows that once they give up they'll have given up for good. They don't give a damn, and Herc and Jazmine both know it. Jazmine is just being cautious.
Raleigh returns to Anchorage after a week, and Herc's glad. It's been clear that the younger man has been getting more and more irritated about how his sister is being treated, and having to bail him out, too, wouldn't help Jazmine's cause. Raleigh seems to recognize that fact as well, and retreats to America with promises to get copies of her identification and send them along.
All of Jazmine's liquid assets have been frozen, too, leaving her without a coin to her name. It's a hard blow to her dignity to accept what she calls "charity," but Herc doesn't see that she could have avoided her current circumstances without being able to contact someone who could help her get new identification. Plus, from what she's told him she'd already attempted to do that and been utterly rebuffed by the American consulate in Canberra. Without someone willing to pursue the matter fulltime and a need for money, she really hadn't had much choice but to go on being illegal and hope no one noticed.
In any case, Herc doesn't mind opening a new bank account in his name for her to use.
"But the taxes . . ." she protests.
"We'll work it out when the time comes," he soothes.
With that settled, Jazmine is able to get back to work. Herc insists she save what she can and let him deal with everything else.
"I'd be paying the same amount of money anyway," he points out. "Doesn't matter whether it's just me or both of us. You just use your money to buy your own clothes and anything else you need for you."
Jazmine is the one who has to go grocery shopping, however. Her car—unregistered, of course—has been impounded by the DHA, so even knowing she's unlicensed Herc gives her the keys to his truck, which he'd moved to its usual place in his garage. She sees his motorcycle for the first time and shows a little too much interest in it, and Herc warns her that as long as she's pregnant he's not going to give her permission to borrow it, so if she takes it he'll consider it stolen.
She doesn't argue, only asks, "Later?"
He doesn't like the idea at all. Motorcycles are by their nature more dangerous than cars, the motorcyclist is more exposed, and it risks Jason and the baby losing their mother at young enough ages that they both end up not remembering either of their parents. "You licenced?"
Of course not, in Australia, but . . .
"In America," she answers. "Since I was seventeen or eighteen. I think seventeen for me, and Raleigh was eighteen. We got licensed around the same time. Yancy took care of Raleigh and me after our parents were gone; he wouldn't let either of us get licensed for a motorcycle before we'd driven a car for a few years already." She snorts. "Raleigh wasn't interested until I said I was, and then he didn't want to be the only one of us who wasn't."
Herc nods absently. For the unfortunately short time he knew the kid, Yancy seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. And Jazmine deserved credit, too, for respecting his decision. Chuck wouldn't have. Hadn't, in fact. He'd taken Herc's bike without permission and blasted all around the RAAF base they lived on at the time to celebrate getting back from Kodiak Island; some inconsiderate dick up north had taught him how to ride. In the end, though, Herc is just glad the little idiot hadn't gone onto the main roads at fifteen and killed someone. Or himself. If there'd been any other problem, Herc probably could have smoothed it over the with base security.
"You'll get the baby on solid foods first," he decides. "Then we'll talk about it." With most of her money trapped in limbo there's no way she'll have enough to buy her own bike, which means Herc can set the rules. He has no interest in raising his grandchildren solo, but if the worst should happen then he at least feels confident that he'll be able to handle it if both are eating foods with substance.
He simply can't bring himself to tell her no absolutely. He enjoys riding, his wife enjoyed riding with him, Chuck enjoyed riding, and Chuck's drift phantom lets him know Chuck had known Jazmine could ride and wanted to share that with her.
It makes Herc's heart ache. So much time lost, so many one-day-soons that will never happen . . .
Forget him and Chuck—it should have been him and Stacker. It should have been two middle-aged men who'd already lived as much of their lives as they really needed to. Who'd more or less outlived their usefulness to society and had little more to offer. It should have been Chuck who'd been the impatient know-it-all and gotten his arm and collarbone broken. It should have happened that way. At least that way would have made more sense.
"What did he do it for?" he asks. Maybe himself, maybe Jazmine, maybe just the garage. It's a somewhat rhetorical question, because he knows the answer, but he wonders if it's really so worth it—to sacrifice one's life for that reason, or if it'd be acceptable to potentially sacrifice the world for a little more personal time.
"His reason," Jazmine says as she stares at the motorcycle. Perhaps she's thinking of Chuck, too, if he'd voiced to her his desire for them to ride together. "Whatever that was. He was an adult, and it was his choice. All of it. It was what he thought was right. We don't have to like it, but we have to respect it."
She's right enough. "We'll ride together first. Let you get back into it slowly." He doesn't know exactly how long it's been since she was last on a bike, but from what he knows of her history it's been at least three years. He wants to be sure of her readiness before he lets her on a bike by herself.
She snorts again, but says with good humor, "Okay, Mom." And she lets the matter rest there.
It's not too long after Jazmine leaves that the doorbell rings.
It's Derrek. He's grinning.
"Don't do that," Herc tells him. "You look half mad."
Derrek lifts a manila envelope between them, keeping it just low enough that Herc can see his eyes over it. "The results are in."
Herc doesn't need them. But since it's been done, he wants to see it printed on paper. "Did you look?"
"No."
Herc snatches the envelope and turns away. "You're a shit liar, Dezza."
Derrek laughs and skitters in behind him, leaving the front door open so the air conditioning and midday heat will trade places. "Swear to God! But my blue sense is telling me it's good news—I can't help it!"
Herc unclips the bracket and finds that the flap is indeed sealed still. He glances at Derrek, then peels it up and pulls out the papers inside. He scans the gibberish on each one a few times until he finds the important parts.
His heart lunges into his throat and his eyes sting with tears he won't shed in front of his friend.
Derrek, who's looking over his shoulder like any nosy prick would do, lets out a hoon's whoop and shakes him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Congratulations, you lucky bastard! You're a granddad!"
Twice over.
As Derrek blathers about stealing his thunder and breaking the news to Darryl, Herc's heart settles into its usual place, soothed by the knowledge. He believed before, but now there is no room to argue anymore. No one can convince him that there's any reason to doubt. Because he does know, for certain.
Derrek leans around him and takes the papers from his lax grip. "I've looked at these before, so I think . . . Ah!" He turns the paper toward Herc and says, "See here? This is the Y chromosome . . . code, or whatever. It gets passed unchanged from father to son. So you and your dad had the same Y chromosome, you and your brother had the same Y chromosome, you and Chuck had the same Y chromosome, your brother and Chuck had the same Y chromosome, and Chuck and Jason had the same Y chromosome. Anyone could have taken a sample of your dad's DNA and Jason's to compare, and it'd still be the same Y chromosome. It doesn't change. If this matches, there's no question." He flicks through the other pages, pauses on one, and looks it over. ". . . Ah . . ." He gives Herc another wide, slightly more mischievous, grin. "This one doesn't have a Y chromosome."
It takes a second for his exact meaning to filter into Herc's brain. When he understands, he says, "Thanks for ruining the surprise, you inconsiderate knob."
Derrek thrusts the papers into his hands and skips toward the door as he announces, "I'm calling Darryl!"
"Now wait a second. Don't you want these?"
"The government has its copies!" is the response. "Those are yours! I'm still on the clock, so bye!"
With that, Derrek pulls the front door firmly shut. He must be out to his cruiser by the time he gets a hold of Darryl, but Herc still hears him shout, "They're his, you daft cunt! They're his! He's a granddad!"
Herc makes a mental note to apologize for Darryl's shattered eardrum, because Derrek never will.
Once Derrek's car has roared out of earshot, Herc's knees buckle. He catches himself on the nearer arm of his couch and directs himself to fall into his recliner. He looks at the papers he's still holding. He can't see the print without turning them over, but he doesn't have to. The enduring presence of the papers is proof enough.
A grandson. A granddaughter. Grandchildren.
Chuck's children.
Herc's breath catches and he closes his eyes. A few tears make their escape and fall.
He'd give it up. He'd gladly give up all possible knowledge of his grandchildren and exchange his life for Chuck's so that Chuck could be there instead—see his son again, meet his daughter, be a father to them. Herc could make that sacrifice. Easily. Oh so easily.
He just doesn't understand why he keeps getting saddled with an aspect of parenting he isn't ready for or good at; first it was raising his son alone, a task at which he'd fucked up merrily, and now it's being a father to his grandkids when he couldn't even be a proper father to his son.
Chuck's drift phantom gives him a mental jab to jostle him from his self-pity. Herc jumps to his feet and heads for the garage, only to turn around. He grabs the manila envelope from the coffee table, finds Jason's papers, and slides them into the envelope which he folds a few times, shoves into the rear of the waistband of his jeans, and then tucks his tee-shirt carefully around. The baby's papers he leaves on the table for safekeeping. He completes his trip to the garage, opens the garage door, wheels his motorcycle out, and leaves it idling while he collects his helmet and closes the garage door. He checks the laces of his steel-toed boots for adequate tightness, tucks them into his boots so nothing gets caught on the motorcycle, secures his helmet on his head, swings his leg over the bike's saddle, heels up the kickstand, and sets off.
Herc hasn't been back to the childcare facility since he'd been there with Derrek; he wasn't enthused about the idea of struggling to say goodbye over and over again to a child far too young to understand adult politics, and he also hadn't been stupid enough to think he'd be allowed to see Jason alone. He isn't even sure he'll be allowed to see Jason now, but he has the papers, and the papers have the phone number of the testing place on them. When he gets to the front desk of the facility he invites the supervisor to call the labs and confirm the papers' legitimacy. She does so without hesitation.
"This is highly irregular procedure," she tells him as she sets the phone down, "but Jason isn't doing well. I'll let you see him if you convince him to eat."
"Done."
Jason looks even more disheveled than before, and it's clear that he hasn't done a lot of eating. He screams when he sees Herc, and the supervisor hands him over without making further demands. Jason clings to Herc's shirt and sobs into the fabric. Herc sways them both gently and tries to shush him, but his success is limited. Jason makes it clear that he believes Herc is going to leave again.
"Is there somewhere quiet we can lie down for a bit?" Herc asks the supervisor, figuring that the toddler's as tired as he is hungry.
She shows him to a playroom of some sort. It's currently empty. "We have some mats—"
"For me?" Herc prompts, feeling Jason knead his shirt collar with little hands. "He won't want one."
"Er, no . . ."
She does get him a chair, though. It's uncomfortable, but Herc's able to find a position he can maintain for a while. He crosses his legs at the knee and stacks his arms in his lap against his stomach, effectively bracing Jason's weight. He speaks gently to the toddler, kisses the boy's head, and offers a few comforting hugs. Eventually, Jason drifts into a light sleep. Very light—his hands are still clutching Herc's shirt. But it's something.
Herc leans on what he remembers of Chuck's toddlerhood and makes some small talk with the supervisor. The combination of his heartbeat and voice drags Jason into a deeper, more restful sleep, and the toddler's grip on his shirt weakens. It's enough that when Herc gets uncomfortable, he can reposition without waking his grandson. He continues speaking with the supervisor; with the confirmation of relation, she's open about Jason's struggles.
"He's not well socialised," she observes.
"No, he isn't," Herc concedes. "My daughter-in-law told me as much, but until the state took him away we felt it was more important for him to get used to me. The way that things happened, I was . . . left out . . . until a few months ago. Jason and I had never met. Since my son's gone my daughter-in-law wanted him to be comfortable with me before she let him meet anyone else. He has yet to meet his uncle even."
The supervisor clucks. "Terrible . . ."
Herc refrains from snapping at her. She has no idea. "Keeping Jason out of the public eye was something that my son agreed was necessary for his safety. Chuck and I were both targets of cult extremists, and he didn't want Jason to end up a target as well. I'm sure you, given your job here, can appreciate that."
After two hours of peaceful napping, Jason wakes with a violent start. He looks up sharply at Herc, who smiles at him and says, "Sleep well?" Jason grabs fistfuls of shirt again and presses his face into Herc's chest. He chokes on a little sob. Herc hugs him and soothes, "It's all right. You're all right . . ."
"Mummy . . ."
Herc sighs. "Mummy still can't be here, Jay. I'm sorry. But she wants to see you again, very much."
When Jason calms, the supervisor offers to bring food.
"Can you feed me too?" Herc asks, figuring Jason will be more likely to eat if he does.
The supervisor seems to understand. She nods and excuses herself.
Unfortunately, Herc fares little better getting the toddler to eat. Jason seems convinced for some reason that if he eats too much Herc will leave him behind again.
"I'm going to speak to his caseworker," the supervisor says. "It's not standard procedure to return a child before the courts say so, but I feel that under the circumstances Jason's needs have to be put first and foremost. His caseworker and I can draw up some early-release papers; you'll sign them and then be free to take him home, so long as you return him if you're told to."
"Will do," Herc promises, though he isn't sure he actually would, if it came to it. "When will this be?"
"Tomorrow, at the earliest."
Herc grimaces. It means saying good bye to Jason.
Herc stays as long as he can, but when the supervisor gently tells Herc he has to leave, he understands that it's time to go. Jason, however, definitely won't have it. The toddler shrieks his fury and panic and tries to clutch at Herc, but Herc holds Jason at arm's length and allows the supervisor take him away. Somehow, Jason manages to scream louder still, every centimeter of visible skin bright red.
Herc turns his back without trying to explain. Jason's too young to understand.
Chuck's drift phantom is equally infuriated, though it expresses its frustration through what would have been violent behavior had it not been in Herc's head. Herc tries to soothe it, reminding it that he'll call first thing in the morning to make sure the ball is rolling on the early release.
The drift phantom calms adequately by the time Herc gets back home. He discovers the truck in the garage and finds Jazmine in the kitchen, working on supper. Herc isn't planning to say anything about the paternity test, primarily because he has never been in doubt, but she says, "I see the results are in."
"The government won't have much choice but to accept it," he replies. She pauses and looks back at him for a long moment, and he feels a creeping irritation. "I never doubted you."
Without offering anything that might pass as an apology, she refocuses on the food and says, "Jason will at least have you, then."
"There must be some sort of loophole . . ."
"I've already spoken to Evelyn. I'm not holding my breath."
Herc narrows his eyes at the baby's papers on the coffee table. Jazmine might be resigned to deportation, but he isn't planning to let her go that easily.
To Be Continued in . . . Chapter 7 – The Bumps in the Road
"The man was an Australian national."
"Fuck's sake!" Herc snarls. He's rewarded with a massive dig in his ribs from Darryl's elbow. "I don't care if he was the second coming of Jesus! He trespassed and forced entry into her home!"
"Mister Hansen," the judge says, calm, "you will edit your language and refrain from any further outbursts or you will be held in contempt of court and barred entry here."
Thanks to Chuck's drift phantom giving unnecessary encouragement, Herc almost says, "Whatever." The only thing that stops him is a fear of being separated from Jazmine and Jason. For that reason, he's able to hold his tongue for the rest of the day. But only barely.
Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:
"People are going to think you're giving me a gobby, Hansen."
There really isn't much context for this if you don't already know what it is—a gobby is a blowjob. If you don't know what a blowjob is, I can't help you.
—
He gives the box's graphic images a cursory glance to check if he's seen them before … then flicks open the thin box and retrieves a cigarette,
Effectiveness notwithstanding, Australia has the most fascinatingly grotesque anti-smoking campaign I've ever seen. If you're curious, search for "australia cigarette packaging." But be warned, the images are extremely graphic; my description of the boxes is completely accurate—possibly even understates the level of gruesomeness. If you're easily sickened, then for the love of puppies and kittens, don't look.
—
… the Department of Home Affairs … (or DHA)
I'm going to keep it real: Given that this is a fanfic, while accuracy is important I'm still not going to do massive amounts of research. I think you all will understand what I mean when I say I'll do whatever I feel like doing, which may be more than necessary, exactly what's necessary, or what will at least set up a believable scenario. This is for both my sanity and your engagement. And since Pacific Rim takes place in a future that (so far) hasn't happened yet, I have some leeway.
That said, the DHA is a real part of Australia's government. Part of it was previously known as the Department of Immigration and Border Protection (DIBP), which was literally just folded into the DHA this past December—after I'd finished this fic, so you can imagine how annoyed I was to discover that—after only four years of life (it's changed names several times since the 1940s).
That's pretty much where the accuracy in this fic ends; however, while I've mostly taken liberties with Jazmine's situation, there is a measure of truth in the way it's being handled. Australia, especially in recent years, has an unfortunate reputation for treating illegal immigrants in particular very poorly. Current terraforming technology and expense means that Australia's interior is still largely uninhabitable so resources are limited, which has arguably led to immigration regulations being extremely strict and aggressively enforced (which excuses nothing, but it's not completely without explanation). With that in mind, and taking into account the strain the kaiju would put on any country's resources, I've come up with what might otherwise seem like uncalled-for treatment of Jazmine.
The above shouldn't be taken as any sort of political statement—the U.S. and the UK, for example, also have current examples of absolutely despicable treatment of immigrants and/or refugees, and still other countries are also taking advantage of these vulnerable groups. But as this fic takes place entirely in Australia, Australia's flaws are as important to consider as its perfections.
—
… lets out a hoon's whoop and shakes him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
"Hoon" is a derogatory slang term most readers probably won't recognize; it's used primarily in Australia and New Zealand—though I've seen it in the title of a UK video on YouTube—and its modern definition typically identifies any person who operates any vehicle (on public roadways) at high speeds and/or in an unsafe manner. If your vehicle is unnecessarily loud, you're still likely to be considered a hoon by virtue of the association of loud engines/exhausts with the driving habits of wannabe street racers. It's also a verb, so you can be a hoon who hoons.
A related term that might be more familiar to Americans is "hoonigan"—a portmanteau of "hoon" and "hooligan" that to me seems largely redundant, since if you're one you're probably also the other—which is used by an American rally team and for which I can find no other usage. Contrary to what much of the Internet seems to think, there's no indication that "hoonigan" came first.
—
If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!
~RN (LS)