03: I lost my direction and I lost my home

Late September, 2014

There's no place to go back home to. The immediate city is in ruins and their house was right on the outskirts of attack. There's no chance for closure, there's nothing left of their life or their son to bury.

They have nothing left but each other.

Stacker offers to take them both in until things are settled. She half expected Herc to take the offer wholeheartedly given their relationship, but he declines on the pretense she's never allowed to hear because he leans in close to relay it to the fellow pilot.

Angela feels out of place on the base. No one is particularly harsh or inconsiderate, but she can't stand the quiet, the pitying looks she gets from others whenever she wanders outside of the temporary housing she and her husband are bunking in. She's a ghost wandering the grounds and there are already stories about her. Herc is preoccupied with business, debriefing, whatever he called it. He makes it a point to be there when he can, but whether she consciously realized it or not, she wanted nothing to do with him.

Her mind is stuck in a loop; she's afraid of sleeping. She's always thinking of Becky, she's always wondering what was going through her son's mind when the Kaiju appeared and they weren't there to protect him. Sometimes she wakes up, there'll be tears on her face, but she never remembers crying.

He'll be there. He's always there, pulling her into his embrace. It's not the same, he feels like a completely different person, but he smells the same; gasoline, sweat and old spice. Herc is a constant; he'll always reassert that he's there for her even when she's fighting to get away from him.

Everything she stuffs down into herself she doesn't consciously throw back at him, but it's getting harder and harder to wake up to smooth walls and clean sheets and realize there won't be a little boy lying next to her or bouncing on the end of the mattress because she's still here. It's getting harder to convince herself that Herc isn't to blame for either situation.

October 14, 2014

She still cries in her sleep and he can't do anything to stop it. She doesn't pretend that it never happens, she just chooses not to discuss it with him. The first few times he heard her, he stumbled out of the bedroom adjacent from hers, crashing into the door he always forgot was shut.

His noisy attempts either woke her up or she remained trapped in whatever nightmare she created in her head. In other cases he was allowed some semblance of physical intimacy: The rhythm of her heart against his chest, her fingernails digging into this back. He took all of her in, greedily savoring every part of her person until he's too afraid to let her go.

Angela would hold onto him until there was nothing left to cry from her body. He counted the seconds down to the moment he felt her body stiffen and pull away from him. She never went far, all she had to do situate herself in the chair facing the window.

He rarely slept, so he worked, he worked on whatever he could get his hands on. He remained in motion, she remained stationary; they days moved just as slowly for both. The sun crawled into the sky, the clouds moved like molasses and the night lasted too long.

He probably wasn't wrong in the assumption that both wanted their world to end every waking hour, but got the sense that if she could, Angela would probably throw herself off the nearest building if she had half the chance.

And that scared him.

The next time he hears her crying the door isn't open for him. He pushes against the lock, jiggling the door handle almost to the point of panic. Her crying persisted, he pressed himself against the door and just listened.

The following morning he found himself lying on the floor and staring up at the door frame. Angela was kneeling and helping him sit upright before he can think to move on his own. "Are you hungry?" She asked in a completely normal voice. Herc doesn't know how to respond to the question, he stares down at how her fingers are poised on his skin and tries to get a look at her. Angela stands up, he catches himself before he falls and watches her move toward the kitchen. "I'll make us breakfast."

"No, wait-"

"It's fine, I need something to do," Angela interjects, disappearing behind the fridge door as it opens. Herc situated himself at the counter and watched her go through the motions of preparing eggs. Her hands are shaking, but she doesn't make a mess. Herc swallowed against the knot in his throat as he says, "Can we talk about last night?"

"You sure you don't want apple juice?" Her hair falls over her shoulders, masking her expression as she turns away to grab something off the shelf. Herc felt his brow wrinkle and his mind trip over the response given. "Angela, I never said anything about apple juice," He said.

"I'm pretty sure you did," Angela responded distractedly. "I'm sure there's some in the fridge. Could you check please?"

"Angela-"

She drops the pan on the stove, her expression becomes hard at the same time a bitter smile graces her lips. "Nevermind, I'll check."

Herc is left flabbergasted by the reaction.

"She won't talk to me, Stacker. She's shut me out."

"What do you expect me to do about it? I'm not your marriage counselor, Herc."

"She sits there in that room, staring out the window all day," Herc continued. "And then she makes breakfast, lunch or dinner, whichever she can get up to make herself and goes back into that room."

"Herc, I didn't tell you to tell your wife about your son the moment she woke up."

"What was I supposed to do? She asked. I couldn't lie to her. Did they lie to you about your sister when she died?"

"No, they never got the chance. Tam told me over the phone," Stacker answered, taking a swig of his drink. "I had a good cry and then I had to keep goin' because I was needed. Angela, she doesn't have the problem of being needed."

Herc bit the edge of his tongue. "I need her, Stacker. I am supposed let her rot in that room?"

"No. What I meant was, she isn't responsible for anything on a global scale. She's a civilian," Stacker amended. "I can recognize what you're both going through, Herc, but it's not my place tell you what to do. You sort it out with her and you do it quick if it's going to affect how you're able to work."

Herc entered the house to the sound of drawers slamming shut. The living room was a complete mess; dossiers were thrown about, boxes of things they had yet to unpack were torn open. Thinking the worse he ran through the living room and made a b-line for Angela's bedroom. Instead of a burglar he found himself staring at his wife, pacing around the room, hands tangled in her hair as she tried to control her tears. "Angie, what happened?" He asked, stepping across the threshold.

"I can't find it," She breathed.

"Can't find what?" Herc inquired, unsure if she was even talking sense.

"The picture of us and-," She stops with a shake of her head. "Before I left the office, I took a picture from off my desk. It was his eighth birthday, remember?" Herc remembered. Chuck was still getting over a gnarly cold when they took the picture. At that point they were both exhibiting the same sniffly symptoms as their son, but Chuck couldn't have been happier sandwiched between his parents with the biggest piece of cake and a bowl ice cream ever. In the midst of his own personal breakdown, he only vaguely remembered the doctors asking if he wanted to keep any of her personal affects.

They included her wedding ring and the picture they found stuck in her bra. Herc took them without so much as thinking, stuffing them into his pockets. He hadn't thought of them until now. He reached into his back pocket, pulling his wallet out he looked inside.

The picture was still there, pressed against his personal ID next to the wedding band. He took both from his wallet and extended his hand to her. It was the first time in weeks since she looked at him with something other than resignation, actually looked him in the eye. She took it from his hand and stared down at the wrinkled photograph.

For a moment it looks as though she's going to cry and he's prepared to take her into his arms. Instead her face straightens and runs one hand across her face to rid it of tears. Angela becomes a different person in a matter seconds; the steely gaze from before returns, she takes her wedding ring without question and slips it back onto her finger. "I thought I lost it," She said. "It's- the only thing I have of him and it's not even recent." Herc's fingers found his way around hers, he felt a tremor run down her arm.

November 7, 2014

It wasn't a game of checks and balances, nor was there a decision of pros and cons. He reacted, plain and simple. Ran out into the open as the sirens roared and they were ordered to their stations. He jumped onto the first helicopter out into the city. There were traffic jams for miles, people hoofing it out of the city, swarming over the sidewalks. That thing was a fair distance from where they were, but from the air the miles of city between it, Angela's office building and Chuck's school hardly seemed like a deterrent.

He thought he would have more time. He didn't count on reaching the top floor and finding her cubical empty, he didn't count fighting against a stampeding crowd just to get to the lower level.

By the time he found her, he couldn't think of anything except getting her out of the building. So an innocent girl died because there was no time, and in a way, his wife never got out of the building intact.

Light, lovely and affirmative; the sparks and the bite of a firecracker in the dark. That was Angela. Every cliché in the book could be used to describe how happy they made each other, all in spite of the imperfections of their life. The sight of her covered with blood, it didn't mesh with what he associated her with, but it embodied everything she'd become. Now, she was hollowed out. There was a dead girl hanging on her conscience, and she never said it, but undoubtedly blamed him for not being able to save their son.

He had hit a wall and he couldn't get past it, not even when they were so close that their bodies seemed to meld into one. His lips pressed against the base of her throat, her legs around his waist. Sex is desperate, passionless. A series of practiced movements that don't mean anything at all when there's nothing to give back. And at the end of it all she cries because the last time he was this close to her, they had a son.

Her name is mantra tied to the anchor of requests. Angela, wait, Angela, please, Angela, don't. Angela, Angela, Angela.

December 7, 2014

He found her sitting on the bed, book turned on its face and a knee cradled against her chest. She stared out into space, contemplating her own fate most likely. Herc knocked lightly on the doorframe. She jumped, immediately putting on a smile when she realizes it's him. "Hercules," She greeted, tucking her hair behind ears.

"Can I come in?" He asked out of cursory respect. Angela nodded. He stepped over the threshold and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Their bodies adjust according to their proximity, Angela pulls her other leg up against her chest, Herc rests the back of his foot on the frame of the box spring, forcing him to push himself further back on the bed. She watched his expression switch, his fingers tapping nervously against his kneecap. "Angela, we need to talk."

"What about? The military kicking us out already?"

"Uh, no, it's not about the housing, its-" Herc sighed, biting the inside of his mouth. "There really isn't any easy way of saying this, so I'll just say it."

"Say what?"

"It's been three months. I wanna talk about him-"

She shook her head. "No."

"-I want us to talk about Chuck."

Angela's body fell perfectly still, her pupils dilated as she started to stare blankly ahead. "I said no."

"Angela, please."

"What is there talk about, Hercules?" She snapped, eyes narrowed. "What is it that you want to hear?"

"You can tell me anything, I don't care. Anything except silence, you crying yourself to sleep," He responded. "You don't to talk to me anymore and I can't stand it."

Her expression became suspicious. "You don't want hear just anything," Angela remarked, climbing off the bed.

"I do."

"No, no, you don't. You want me to tell you it's not your fault our son died. You want me to forgive you, but I can't," Angela said. Herc followed her over to the window, not giving her the chance put any real distance between them. Angela situated herself on the other side of the chair in front of the window, Herc stood across from her, hand gripping the top of the chair.

"Why can't you forgive me?"

He's waiting for her to say the words, but she merely opts to say, "I can't."

"Bull. You said it yourself, you can't forgive me," Herc repeated. "Why can't you?"

She didn't respond.

"You don't think I regret the fact that I couldn't save him? You're not the only person in this that lost a son," Herc snapped. "I love- loved Chuck-"

"Stop saying his name."

The chair was on the floor before he realized what happened. "I'm his father! I have every right," Herc shouted.

Angela stepped over the chair and shoved him. Herc stumbled back into the dresser behind him, his footing lost he braced himself against frame. "If you were any kind of father you would've saved him instead of me," She roared, slapping him on the arm. "He was just a child, he didn't deserve that!"

Herc's emotions spiraled out of control. Every muscle in his body wanted to react, retaliate, but he ordered himself to remain still. He watched as Angela began to pace, fingers pressed into her palms. "It was the Kaiju, there was nothing I could-"

"It might as well have been both of you!" She cried. "I shouldn't be here, he should be here!"

"Do you think he'd be any happier than you are right now if I'd saved him instead of you?"

"Are you really talking hypotheticals right now? My son is dead and you could've done something to stop it. I could've saved that girl, and you stopped me."

"There wasn't time. We would've died in that building if we tried to get her out of there with us."

"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? I left her behind and Ch- he-"

"Chuck," Herc interjected, pushing away from the dresser. "His name was Charles. You gave him your middle name-"

"I don't care why I named him. He still died," Angela gasped, holding a hand to her chest. "Are you happy now? Are glad all of this is out in the open?"

"No."

"I didn't think so," She wandered back over to the bed and sat on the edge. Herc moved away from the dresser, he kneeled in front of his wife. Angela kept her head down, her chest heaved in sequence with her hiccups. She flinched when his hand grasped hers. "I hate you," Angela whispered. "I hate you."

"You don't mean that, Angie," He replied. "You're hurting, we both are."

"I hate you," She repeated, this time more forcefully.

"No, you don't." Their eyes meet, Herc wasn't so remiss to admit that she was telling him the truth, but he needed to think otherwise. For his sake.

January 1st, 2015

"Where'd she go?"

The house was empty when he comes back from Brisbane. There wasn't much to pack and he doubted anyone of significance actually tried to stop her.

"Who?"

"My wife, you idiot; Angela Hansen."

Stacker was off in Kodiak, doing God-knows-what with the United Nations, he just left from visiting his brother after she asked for space.

"That skinny little bird? She's left 'bout half hour ago, packed her bags and everything."

"What?"

No one seemed to know where she went, and he didn't think to check the answering machine until he's spent ten minutes searching in circles.

"Listen, I know this is sudden, but I needed to get away. I can't stay in that room anymore and as much as you tell me otherwise, I don't think I'm wanted on base. I'm a distraction, at least as far as your job is concerned. Look, don't worry about me. My sister and I decided stay at with our uncle in Melbourne. We're taking Marge's car. We'll be fine. Take care of yourself, do your job, don't let anyone else down. …I've gotta go, bye."

Breaking the speed limit wasn't a conscious choice in the matter. If she intended on leaving by car, he had at least the advantage of checkpoints to slow her down. He couldn't hear anything except his own breath as he made his way through traffic.

Margret Hansberry was never one judging a book by its cover. When her sister called, in tears, she didn't think to ask why. It was all over the news, but she didn't expect find her standing at her door with a bag, no son and no husband.

The whole sorted story made her ill and with only one perspective to work off of, it was hard not to assume the worse of Herc Hansen despite knowing better. He loved Chuck, they both did; there wasn't anything that they wouldn't do for him come hell or high water. Yet the decision he made, the "what ifs" that would drive her sister crazy, it created a space large enough for doubt to live in. It was their parent's belief that children were a labor of love and as such, they placed above the spouse and anything that threatened their livelihood.

Herc's choice, however it was made, it defied everything either of them were raised to believe. Compounded with the terrible reality of survivor's guilt and creatures far too impossible to comprehend, Angela was lost in a crisis.

And things were made worse when Herc managed to find them an hour before leaving her house. The almost guilty look her sister's face let her know the how, she just didn't get the why. He jumped out of his car and moved with a purpose and ferocity that put her on edge. Despite her status as the younger of the two, Margret found herself pushing her sister behind her and pulling out her can of pepper spray.

"Angela-"

"Stop," Margret raised her arm so that it acted as a barrier between Herc and her sister. "I'll use it and scream bloody murder in the process."

"You wouldn't," Herc said, unconvinced.

"Try me, soldier boy, I mean it," Margret said, shaking the bottle.

"I'm not going to hurt her, Margret," Herc shot back, choosing to regard his wife. "Angela, tell her I'm not gonna hurt you."

"He's not gonna hurt me, Marge," She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder, her left hand tight around her bag strap. He walked forward, Margret stood her ground.

"Why are you doing this? You don't have to leave," He told her. "I know- I know things have been shit, but-"

"Hercules, I just need some time to myself, I need to get away," Angela responded.

"From me?"

"…Yes," Angela responded with a nod. "Just please let me go. I don't want to be here anymore."

"We can go someplace else," Herc offered.

"She'll be fine with us, Herc," Margret interjected. "Let us get in the car and you go do your job. Go help people." Herc kept his gaze focused on Angela; she never stepped out from behind her sister and she never returned his gaze.

Margret kept her pepper spray out as she urged her sister toward the car, occasionally throwing a glance over her shoulder. She had no stake in the blame game, but her responsibility lay with her sister and Angela was a mess.

January 3D, 2015

He saved her just so he could lose her. Inside a house without many personal affects, he can't even call the space she lived in hers, yet he finds himself lying in empty bed, face against the mattress.

He can't reasonably hit anyone so he takes it out on the furniture until his commanding officer threatens to court marital him for abusing property he didn't pay for. Scott seems to appear out of the ether, willed to the base by his distress.

In reality, he was looking for someplace lie low until a pair fellas got bored of looking for him. It was the worst plan, considering he could be arrested if anyone found about what he was doing, but Herc humored him. If someone came around looking to harm his brother, they would be leaving with more broken limbs than their hospital bills could handle.

Scott and Angela never got along. He spent the better part of his marriage playing mediator, defending his brother against Angela's apprehensive accusations until Scott's behavior could no longer be dismissed as harmless. It couldn't, not when there was Chuck to think about.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles, things he fought to keep shoved in the back of his mind came spilling from his mouth. He'd give anything to fall to pieces, crawl into a hole and never come out. But everything in his body fought against that impulse. Reinforced by his military training, it was almost impossible to let himself go completely. Herc was still needed, he needed to be "strong" because if he fell apart, what did that mean for the rest of the world?

"Look on the bright side," Scott slurred to him.

"There's a bright side to my wife leaving me?" Herc half hiccuped, half sobbed.

"You've still got me."

Herc stared at his brother in disbelief, sure that he was joking. Scott was never serious, but the look on his rosy complexion and glassy eye might've been telling him the not-so-subtle truth. Even if his Angela was gone, he still had a family. Herc ruffled his little brother's hair and knocked his head against the wall.

February 5TH, 2015

The first anniversary of second Kaiju attack; Margret makes it a point to keep her sister entertained and away from the televisions, but the world around them is changing rapidly. Graffiti and worshipers of the Kaiju are emerging quicker than either sister would like to think possible. The world barely had a sense of defending itself and already you had people who praised these creatures and wished for humanity's speedy end. As far as these people were concerned, mankind was getting its just deserts for the abuses to their fellow man and the environment.

Was it just deserts that Chuck died because of a few bad apples? Was he just a causality in some twisted God's vengeance against his or her creations? The thought made her ill, and just like the last time she found herself lying in a bed and trying to hide her head under the covers. "Sweetie, you can't keep doin' this," Margret told her, rubbing circles around her back. "We left that stud you call a husband because of this."

"I know, I know I did," She breathed. "I just don't know what to do. Everything reminds me Chas. It was worse with Herc, but it's no better here."

"One day at time, sweetheart, we'll get there," Margret reassured. "Just don't drive yourself crazy."

"Please don't patronize me, Marge," Angela said. "Nothing will ever be okay."

February 18TH, 2015

Her birthday almost went by without incident or celebration. She moved through day without spending over an hour inside her bedroom. She ate more than apple, Margret that was adamant that she watch her eat her waffles even at the risk of running late for the relief work she was assisting. Angela practiced smiling in the mirror until it hurt her face, and when no one was watching, she turned the television on.

Sydney was still a disaster zone, causality numbers were rising, but they never said a thing about Herc. Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, Angela expected to go to bed without incident. Instead she found an bulldog curled up on the end of her bed, a bow wrapped around his collar.

For a moment she thought she'd walked into the wrong room, but her shoes were lying next to the desk across from the bed. The dog sat up, finally taking notice of her. His mouth fell open in sloppy appreciation, drool leaking from the edge of his mouth. He reminded her of Cousin Max; smelly and looking to be adored by all. He dropped down on the floor and trotted over to her, she keeled in front of him and he studied her, almost as if asking if she was his friend (or owner). "Hi, Max," She greeted him, scratching behind his ears.

April 23TH, 2015

"Karloff" fell and the whole world watched. Margret affixed herself next to her sister, Max sat between them. They watched as the hulking machine landed a punch that seemed to knock the creature's head from its shoulders and topple it.

They'd beaten a Kaiju. It was dead. Angela felt her heart skip and eyes widen when one of the pilots removed their helmet and revealed a mousy haired woman wearing glasses. She stood next a significantly taller man, but he didn't matter. She felt Margret's arm tighten around hers and head rest against her shoulder. "What are you thinking, Angie?" The concern in her voice is evident. "Angela?"

Angela keeps her eyes on the woman, the wheels in her mind clicking like lighter attempting to spark a fire.

Stacker was the first to approach him about joining the Jaeger Program. He hadn't seen the man in ages, but he looked no worse for wear. Scott was strangely on his best behavior when Pentecost entered the house, preoccupied with dumping the empty bottles of beer they never bothered to discard.

There was a trace of concern in Stacker's face when he regards him, Herc can only hope he doesn't look completely shitfaced. Scott situates himself at the dinner table as Stacker sets a thick manila folder on the table. Both Hansens have seen the news footage from Vancouver and neither of them is quite over the absurdity that became a walking reality that killed a Kaiju with minimal damage to the city or populace.

The first thing Herc thinks is where were these things when my son needed them? One look at that oddly shaped humanoid machine and he already knew Chuck would love it. It's bitter and unreasonable, but he doesn't much care that's he's looking at their situation retrospectively. "We're looking for anyone willing to try. The choice is yours gentlemen," Stacker's voice shakes him free from his internal crisis. "Read the documents, read them carefully. I'll be in Kodiak."

Scott snatches the folder off the table opens it. Neither brother is quite prepared for the amount of information that bombards them all at once.

May 4TH, 2015

Margret chooses not to go with her. Not because she doesn't believe in the program, but because she doesn't believe she has it in her to fight like they need her to. Angela doesn't think it hurts to try, but her sister's mind is made up. Neither of them are soldiers. By all rights Angela shouldn't even attempt to become a "Ranger" or whatever they were calling the prospective pilots for the Jaeger. "No one is born a soldier, Marge," She told her sister. "Everyone starts somewhere, and this is just one part of it."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well for your husband," It was a low blow, but Angela let it slide, knowing full well what her sister meant. If Angela put herself in position where she was beholden and responsible for the lives of others, then she would be equally as guilty for the deaths of those she couldn't prevent. Just like Herc. Angela saw her point, but the damage was done with Becky Rinehart.

Margret saw her off at the airport, she kept her hands in her jacket pockets, afraid of what she would do if her sister gave her the chance to hug her. "Call me, don't be a stranger," Margret calls as Angela passes through the checkpoint. Preoccupied with boarding the plane, Angela can only nod her head as she disappears.

"…If it seems like we're trying to break you, it's because we are."

The program is brutal and by herself, Angela finds herself thinking the bruises and the ice baths aren't worth the sleepless nights that continue to plague her. She attempts memorize every aspect of the Kwoon's training schedule, everything someone might need to know about a Jaeger, but she still feels largely inadequate, almost afraid. The Jaegers sit one flow below them, being constructed as she thought.

Could she really pilot one of those things?

She bounces from one partner to another in her class. Angela's not the only person who enlisted without a sibling, lover or best friend, but it makes her difficult to reign into one place because she's not compatible with every person she trains with. That's fine, but it frustrates her teachers.

Max is her only real solid company before she meets Kaori Jessop. The bulldog is content to follow her any and everywhere, must to the displeasure of some of her mates, who don't appreciate a male dog in the ladies laboratory. Kaori, however, is too enamored with Max's roly-poly softness to be offended by the idea of a male dog in the bathroom. Angela is hesitant to say anything, unsure if Kaori speaks any English.

"Where did you find him?" She asks.

"He was a gift for my birthday," Angela answered. "His name is Max."

Kaori smiled. "I had a Labrador when I was child," She recounted distractedly, appraising the gold band hanging next to Max's name tag. Rising from the floor she extends her hand to Angela. "Kaori Jessop."

Angela shook her hand. "Angela Han- Hansen…" If Kaori noticed her hesitation she chose not to acknowledge it. "Nice to meet you, Angela. Do you have a partner?"

"No, not at the moment, unfortunately," Angela responded. "Do you?"

"Yeah," Kaori flashed her something of a dreamy smile. "My husband, Duc."

Angela reframed from saying anything, the irony of her situation biting just a little too close to home.

May 11TH, 2015 -

"You didn't tell me the missus was here too, mate," At this point, Herc should've known better than to listen to his brother's mouth when they're training. Anything that's not his sound of his heart, his feet sliding across the mat or the swing of his stick, it was going to slip him up. Scott was an expert in fouling him up.

He practically existed to ensure his efforts in perfection were foiled. Against his better judgment, Herc turned toward the space Scott was pointing toward and felt his heart stop. Angela was situated at the end of the Kwoon, legs crossed and shoulder to shoulder with another woman of a similar build. It'd been ages since he'd seen any part of her body uncovered. She looked great-

He earned a tap on the head with the hanbō. Herc shot his brother a glare, Scott backed away with the staff behind him. "Go talk to her, I'll wait."

"She doesn't want to talk to me," Herc reminded him.

"You never know, maybe she's over it," The older Hansen thought Scott and all his infinite lack of sensitivity needed a good slap. "I'm not over it," He snapped. "What makes you think she is?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders, not really caring. "Either way, I need a break from kicking your ass and you look like you could rattle her cage," Scott gave his brother a two finger salute and headed over to the bench. Scott, you arsehole. Herc stood in the middle of the floor, hanbō staff in hand. Angela didn't seem to notice he was in the room. Her attention was completely on her teammate.

"Just go over there and talk to her, no problem," He uttered to himself placing one foot in front of the other. He crossed the mat without trouble, most groups weren't paying attention to him. Angela glanced away from her friend. Her bright expression fell immediately, replaced with complete surprise. It would seem neither of them were expecting to see each other in the same place any time soon. Both women sat upright, their posture revealing their muscles. "Hercules Hansen," Angela smiled thinly. "Of all the people to run into on an island, I wasn't expecting you."

"Is he your ex?" Herc flinched at the terminology, his eyes switch to Angela. His wife shook her head. "No, he's still my husband," She reaffirmed, looking away from him. "Hercules, this is Kaori Jessop. She's a friend." Herc extended his hand to Kaori, the young woman smiled, accepting his hand with a firm shake.

"Nice to meet you, Kaori, I've heard absolutely nothing about you," He joked.

"Likewise, Hercules," Kaori responded.

"Just call me Herc, all my friends do."

Kaori nodded her head to friend. "She doesn't." Her words spoke volumes, Herc kept his eyes steady on Angela, but she wouldn't look back. Allowing Kaori's hand to fall from his he cleared his throat. "Uh, Kaori, do you mind if I steal your partner for a second? It's important," He said.

Kaori stood up without question, Angela reacted, her eyes widened and she reached out to stop her. Kaori raised her hands in mock-surrender. "I know a lover's spat when I see one. Let me know when you're done, okay? I think I hear Duc calling me," Kaori bounced off before Angela could protest any further without words.

Kaori exited the Kwoon quicker than she'd seen her move in weeks. Herc remained stationary in front of her, staff hanging idle at his side. He watched her rise from the ground, the muscles in her jaw shift as she tries to maintain control of her expression. "Well, what is it, Hercules?"

"I don't see you for five months and you show up here," Herc stated. "A little warning would've been nice."

"Last I check, you aren't my father, Hercules."

"Why didn't tell me you joined the program?"

"I'm surprised, Stacker didn't tell you?" She mocked. "He probably tells you everything-"

"Which is the opposite of what you're doing now," Herc grabbed her by the arm, instinctively using his size to try and intimidate her. He felt the air on her arm stand upright. "You don't belong here," He said as Angela pulled her arm out of his grip

"You don't get to tell me where I belong, Hercules Hansen," She practically snarled, chest heaving. "You don't get to touch me, either."

"Do you even know what it is you signed up for? Eh?" He asked. "This isn't a game, and it's not someplace you can carry around a vendetta."

"I know exactly what I'm doing and all that it entails," Angela replied. "If I didn't I wouldn't be here getting lectured by you, you bastard."

She moved to leave, Herc stepped into her path. "Angela, you don't have to do this. You're not a soldier, you don't have to fight."

"Neither is your sodding brother, or half the people in this room, but I don't see you lecturing them on the matter," Angela grabbed her bag off the floor. "I'm not some waify flowerchild with a golden halo on my head, I am a person. So you'll forgive me if I'm not sorry for shattering any preconceived notions of my innocence." She pushed past him, shouldering her bag with more force than she needed to. "And that line you fed me, about this not being a game? It works both ways, Hercules. You sure you're not here because of some vendetta?"

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," She called over her shoulder. From behind Herc could hear his brother chuckling.

"She's got a point," Scott sauntered over to his brother, stick dragging across the floor. "Why are you here?"

"I reckon I could ask you the same question," Herc deflected. Scott shrugged his shoulders. "Answering a question with a question, just like you. I'm here because you're here. I figure between the three of us, there's just enough motivation from a single kid we all gave a damn about to power a small army. She just might have more motivation to jump into the nuclear powered machine than most of us, though."

"She shouldn't have to," Herc argued.

"Yeah, but that's the thing," Scott tapped Herc's staff with his own. "That's not your choice, it's hers."

June 5, 2015

The first time Herc meets Max, the dog is scampering out of his room, making off with one of his boots. His steel toed boot.

For all of Scott's talk about being sharp of the eye, he was asleep when it mattered the most.

Herc disregarded all thoughts of looking like a fool and chased the slovenly beast down the halls. For something so heavy in appearance, it could move as fast a dog with a fit physique. Max led him all the way into the mess hall, exactly where he didn't want to be.

The dog trotted casually over to the bench on the far left end of the dining table and shimmies under the bench with the boot. Herc's gait is awkward as he approaches the culprit's master, his height complicating the added inches by the other boot.

"Hey, ya mug, what've you got there?" She leaned forward, sticking her hand under the table to wrestle the object from Max's hungry maw.

"He's got my boot, and if the mutt knows what's good for him, he'll give it back," Herc asserted

Angela turned as she pulled the boot from Max's mouth. "Here, don't lose your mind," She remarked, seemingly not surprised to see him. And why would she be? They've been avoiding each other like the plague with disturbing ease. Herc stared down at her fingers. They were resting directly on the slobbery parts of his boot. Her left hand was bare. Herc removed the boot from her grasp, he dropped it on the floor and attempted to slip his foot into the spineless opening. "What happened to your ring?"

Angela's brow wrinkled, perplexed. Herc tapped his right hand where his wedding ring rested. "Oh, I lost it… in customs. I put it in my bag and airport lost it," She answered, I'm still waiting to hear back from 'em."

"When were you gonna tell me about it?" Herc asked, unable to hide the suspicion in his tone.

"Naturally, when I found it," Angela answered shortly, placing her hand atop Max's head when he jumped onto the bench next to her. "So we could avoid this conversation and the part where you accuse me of being unfaithful or something ludicrous like that."

Would it be so ludicrous at this point? He wondered. In the time they've spent apart, neither bothered to contact each other. His eyes never wandered and he assumed hers never did, but she was adamant that he keep his distance. For all intents and purposes, they might as well have been separated, legally and emotionally. Herc finally found his footing inside the boot, he felt his throat tighten as she turned her back to him again. "Look, I'll make sure Max stays out of your room, okay?" She said. "He likes boots, he steals from everybody."

"When did you get a dog, anyways?" Herc moved to lean against the table on her left side. Max looked up over her arm and eyed him suspiciously with those seemingly vacant marbles, flashing his teeth until Angela patted him on the head.

"Behave, Max," She chided. "I got him for my birthday, Marge gave him to me."

"Nice of her."

"I thought so. By the way, thanks for not sending a card."

The man on his left shifted uncomfortably, Herc rolled his tongue in his mouth as she looked at him, waiting for a response. Was she trying to goad him into a fight? "You didn't want to be bothered, so I didn't bother you," Herc scoffed at her offense.

"Fine," She resumed patting Max on the head. "Keep up the good work."

"Sure thing," Herc pushed away from the table and walked out of the mess hall.

She had some nerve.

Notes:

*Angela's middle name is "Chas"; the story is that her father wanted boys, but got two girls instead. Her mother named her Chas just to bug her husband. Angela referred to Chuck/Charles as Chas because she thinks her middle name should be put to use outside of antagonizing her father and its a default nickname.
*Max is wearing Angela's wedding ring on his collar; she doesn't want to get wear it, but she doesn't want to lose it.
*It's neigh impossible to insult someone who's name is "Hercules Hansen" (seriously), so she just calls him "Hercules" instead of "Herc" because it sounds awkward coming from her and Herc knows it.
*Herc's behavior may have been inadvertently influenced by Mack Gerhardt from The Unit. I don't like this character, but then I don't like half of Max Martini's characters in procedural/whatever dramas because he's always playing a creep (albeit a convincing creep) who needs to be shot (with the exception of maybe Lie to Me).

Author's Note: This was a rather difficult chapter to write, mostly because it was hard trying to maintain grief in a headspace that automatically shuts itself down at the mere thought of loss. Thank God for Buffy and JMSN ("Priscilla"). The final chapter is focused primarily on events in the film… amended to deal with the idea of re-learning to trust someone you blame for the death of your child as a co-pilot. I think Angela could be cross with Raleigh's hiatus, but I don't believe she'd pick a fist fight with him and stoop as so low as to call him or Mako "bitches", considering her gender.