Four days after losing nearly half their forces, four days training and preparing, repairing the damage and fortifying the Jaegers, it was time.
James hadn't been away from Q in those four days.
They had trained together, had eaten and slept together, and the Ghost-Drifting seemed to intensify instead of abate.
Neither man cared.
It was a reflection of what they felt, how strongly they connected, how stable they were.
They had known each other for such a short time and things had changed so profoundly for Bond, it felt like he and Q had been together all their lives. James wasn't scared by the Ghost-Drifting, by the closeness, by the intense emotions.
It would even out in time.
And they might be dead in a few days or a few weeks.
The Ghosts were welcome, an expression of what was between them, what he wanted with Q, what Q shared with him.
Neither man was big on public displays of affection. That was reserved for the privacy of their rooms. Outside, among others, they were physically close, but they never touched, never kissed, never so much as looked lovingly at each other. It was a professional façade that fooled no one. Everyone at the Shatterdome was used to pilots and how they interacted, publically or privately.
James Bond simply wasn't a public man; he liked to keep his private matters private.
x X XX xx
There were watchers whenever they were in the Kwoon. For many it was a kind of entertainment to watch the pilots train, alone or in teams, and neither man cared. Some of those watching were ranger trainees who didn't have a chance, now and maybe not ever, to pilot a Jaeger.
Sometimes they were invited to try their skills.
Bond enjoyed the combat rounds with Q. He had found out right in their first confrontation that Q was a devious, fast fighter. He was sharp, analytical, and quick on the uptake. James taught him to keep an eye on his weaker side, to anticipate his moves, to expect the unexpected. Q taught him that brute force and strength wasn't everything. Tactics, strategy, adaptive thinking, it all ran together.
Bond had seen the training in the Drift, the times Q had gone into a Kwoon sessions with other Vancouver pilots, with trainers, with whoever wanted to work out.
It had been impressive the first time he had seen it and it was impressive to have as a memory that had never happened to him. Like all Drift memories, it was sometimes easy to forget that this was another's life, not his own.
But it wasn't a hardship to know it, to sometimes pull apart the memories and separate them into his own and Q's, only to let them flow together again.
x X XX xx
Raleigh was there sometimes. He even sparred once or twice with both of them.
Easy workout.
Not trying to match them.
It was clear as daylight that neither of Skyfall's pilots would ever be a possible Drift partner.
Watching him and Mako reminded James just why they had been teamed up. It was easy on the eye, fluid, dynamic, synchronized. Like a dance where both partners knew the steps.
x X XX xx
Chuck was never there. At least where they could see him. He might have watched, but he was mostly prowling through the hangar bays and the Shatterdome's seemingly endless hallways.
The loss had hit him hard.
The loss of two strong Jaegers and their crews.
The loss of his father as his co-pilot.
There was no way Herc would be able to work Striker Eureka with that break.
Chuck might have a big mouth – okay, so he was a big mouthed asshole on legs – but Herc was still his father, the only family he had left. Even if he blamed him for his mother's death, or not that much anymore, or maybe not at all, there was a connection that had been formed throughout the Drifts they had shared.
He knew everything about the older man; there were no secrets. He knew about the guilt and the pain, his mourning, his fears and hopes and dreams, his past, his life. Just like Herc had gotten to know the kind of man Chuck was underneath all that aggressive mouthing off.
And both were emotionally stunted.
Bond had to laugh at that when Q remarked on it. Only the truth.
"You'd think they would finally accept it, both of them, after knowing the other inside out for years."
"Never seen a man this stubborn," James replied.
"Chuck's the most socially inept adult I ever met," Q commented. "You included."
Bond snorted. "Thanks."
"You are welcome, 007."
x X XX xx
Four days of watching the dance between Chuck and Raleigh.
Better than any soap.
Even Mako seemed fascinated by the push-pull aggression-fascination relationship that was developing.
Bond gave her a raised eyebrow that day she was having lunch with them. Raleigh and Chuck were doing their usual dance: Chuck was glaring at the older pilot. Everything he said was loaded with personal insults and implications. Raleigh just gave him those long, hard and somehow disappointed looks, then turned around and left with a prepacked sandwich and a soda. Chuck never looked like a victor. It was more the beaten puppy that quickly disappeared as well.
"No more physical altercations?" James finally asked.
"No. They are behaving."
She sounded like she had given them both a slap on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. It would be just like her. He snorted and Mako looked like she was suppressing a knowing smile.
"In an ideal world they'd fight and make up," Bond said casually.
"In an ideal world," Mako agreed.
"You know he's interested."
She seemed endlessly fascinated by her fried rice. "Raleigh is a very careful man when it comes to personal relationships," Mako finally said.
"Not fond of humanity, I know. And I understand. Been there, hated everyone, got over it."
Bond glanced at where Q was busy reading on his tablet, sometimes quickly typing something or other one-handed while the other hand was holding a fork-full of pasta. There was his reason for letting go of that hatred, for wanting more from life. For accepting life.
"Raleigh isn't the one who needs more time," Mako simply remarked.
"That's not difficult to see either. Problem is, one doesn't move forward, the other always takes two steps back because he has no clue where he wants to go. Herc raised a damn good pilot, but as a human being, Chuck isn't the best example of a psychologically healthy mind."
Mako smiled. "He was raised in a war, thrust into a role at an early age. He saw the Jaegers as heroes, adored their pilots."
"Like you?" he teased.
She blushed a little. "Your world view changes when everything around you dies, when you are rescued by this gigantic robot, when the man you see is the man who saved you. I was a child; so was Chuck. I lost my parents and my relatives didn't want me, blamed me for their death." At Bond's look she added, "I'm a girl, James. A boy is someone to continue the family name, the line. A girl is… not that."
"Ah. I see."
Even in war times traditions and beliefs were hard to get rid off. Who in his right mind would abandon a child from a relative to fend for herself just because that child was a girl? He would never understand it.
"But I grew up with Marshall Pentecost. I was allowed to be a child. I never blamed him for anything. Chuck… has a lot of aggression inside him. This need to prove himself, to be better, stronger."
"Hate and love in the same thought?"
She inclined her head. "Yes. Herc is his only living relative. He is his father. And his father made the choice to save his son, not his wife, the son's mother."
"He had to choose. He made the choice his wife would have made, had the roles been reversed," he agreed.
"Yes. Chuck hates him and he loves him."
"Like he loves and hates Raleigh?" Bond teased.
Mako chuckled softly. "Maybe."
"He was a fan of Gipsy Danger," Q spoke up, raising his eyes from the tablet screen. "Fallen heroes and all. It's hard to discover that in reality your hero is only human, that they can hurt, can be afraid, can fail, can die."
"Or that you can fall for one of them," Bond added with a smirk. "That kid's strategy is to hit where it hurts. Verbally. Tongue like a knife."
"A questionable wooing strategy."
Bond burst out laughing at Mako's straight-forward words. Even Q had to grin. The younger woman's smile grew.
Yes, Chuck Hansen went about social interaction completely the wrong way. Maybe it was Herc's fault, that he had raised Chuck with this incredible sense of guilt on his own mind, which had skewed Chuck's world view. Maybe it was Chuck's stubborn insistence not to be swayed from his point of view when it came to others.
Whatever it was, there was little time left for the learning process to really take root. Well, to actually even start.
x X XX xx
James also got to know the K-scientists a little better.
Mainly because of Q. Well, only because of Q.
His partner wasn't just an engineer with Jaegers on his mind and circuit boards as pin-ups for his room. He was an inquiring mind, as they always said, and he wanted to know. The moment he developed an interest in something, he dove into it.
So he spent time in the K-labs. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb was the engineer present.
And then there was Dr. Newton Geiszler, please call me Newt.
Bond had no description for the man, other than what many called him: the Kaiju Groupie. He lived his work, he loved his work, and he was completely into the monsters from the deep. The tattoos were a first dead giveaway. James found it interesting that Newt had almost every Kaiju inked on his body.
Everywhere.
Not just his arms.
The man had no shame to pull up his shirt and show them the rest.
Gottlieb had looked mortified and ashamed in one, snapping at his colleague to stop stripping for the audience.
Newton had simply smirked. He was proud of those tattoos and he had already allocated space for the latest two Kaijus killed.
Bond wondered why he didn't give the Jaegers equal skin space.
That every word out of his mouth was about Kaiju physiology was probably the explanation.
Yes, he loved his work and he loved Kaijus, in a scientific sense of the word.
What came as more of a shock was Newton's adamant theory that one could Drift with a Kaiju brain.
That one always had Gottlieb blowing up, berating him on his work ethics and disregard for everything science stood for. That he also tore apart most of Newton's theories didn't seem to faze the other man. He seemed to thrive on opposition.
Q simply took the reports, went over the results, studied the theories, and found that, while dangerous, Newton had a solid ground to stand on.
"Theoretically," he told Bond over a late lunch, "you can Drift with any brain. It's a neural bridge, nothing more, nothing less. It was designed for two human brains, but what is a brain, really? An assortment of synapses. There is no minimum requirement for a Drift. You could attach yourself to anyone and anything."
"If you can take it," the Double-Oh replied, spearing a piece of meat of no discernible origin. It was better not to ask.
"Yes, there is that. But the theoretical proof is there."
"And Newt is crazy enough to try it?"
Q smiled slightly. "I wouldn't say crazy. He is… enthusiastically involved in his chosen field of research."
James snorted a laugh. "Right. According to Dr. Gottlieb he's a maniac who shouldn't be allowed lab space, let alone share a lab with Gottlieb himself."
"Dr. Gottlieb seems to be the opposite to his colleague," Q agreed. "He is rather… fastidious. A good trait in a scientist. A clean work space and order prevents accidents."
"Looking at Kaiju entrails all over the place isn't enticing either."
His partner grinned. Newton had rather questionable work methods and while he was a hands-on man, he took the meaning to a whole new level. Bond had never seen anyone up to his armpits in Kaiju guts, grinning madly, looking proudly at some twitching whatever-it-was-when-it-was-part-of-the-whole, and insisting that the music he listened to was classics.
"It's a wonder Gottlieb hasn't killed him yet."
Q emptied his soda. "After almost two days with them, I think he grudgingly respects Newton's advancements in the field, though he distastes the methods and finds the findings questionable at best, unless he has reviewed them himself and approved of the results.
"It doesn't help Newt's case that Pentecost listens to the hard sciences, that Gottlieb was right about the Double Event, and that understanding the Kaijus isn't high on anyone's list."
"Killing is much easier than understanding."
And wasn't that the truth. Not that Bond thought that humanity had any chance of talking to the gigantic creatures, let alone strike up diplomatic talks. He agreed with many that the Kaijus were nothing but soldiers, close to mindless, following orders, and that the masters were pulling the strings from behind the Breach.
All he and the other Jaegers could do was hold their ground, drive back the enemy forces, and hope that they could seal the Breach for good.
Forever.
x X XX xx
Nothing else happened in those four days. Their personal, live-action soap opera didn't give them a new development. Raleigh and Chuck were stuck in an endless circle.
It was a dance and the peanut gallery enjoyed themselves.
James sometimes thought he might need to hit Chuck over the head with a crowbar, but he decided against it. They had to fight this battle on their own. He had fought and won his own.
And he wasn't sure if anything could penetrate that hard head. Chuck wouldn't come to his senses even if Striker fell on him and rattled his brain.
If the possible end of the world didn't get them to move faster, jump over a few shadows and ignore the past, nothing he or anyone said or did would do it.
x X XX xx
Then Pentecost announced they were ready.
x X XX xx
And their lives changed yet again.
x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx
The final briefing was to the point and Bond looked at his co-pilot, reading the pale face correctly. This was a suicide mission for every Jaeger involved. Either they managed to close the Breach forever or the Kaijus would keep coming.
Striker Eureka was who they would have to keep safe. Two older Jaegers protecting the Mark-V, enabling it to drop the payload.
Nothing else mattered.
It was this or die.
It was their last chance.
x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx
That night, the last night, like any of the nights before, James Bond didn't sleep alone. He couldn't be alone. He needed to feel Q with him, touch him, listen to his heartbeat, his every gasp, his words of encouragement. He wanted to hear every dirty little, whispered a moan.
He was inevitably pulled to the other mind. It might just be a reaction to a person so different but still so very much like him. To Q. Feeling the attraction even outside the Headspace. Wanting nothing but touch the warm, naked skin.
He knew Q wouldn't push him away.
They knew everything about the other.
They had Drifted together.
They were good together.
They were amazing together.
Possessive need rushed through him like a fever.
He didn't give a fuck as to what tomorrow brought. This was now; this was them. He wanted to sink into the younger man, make him his, give everything he was, take everything that was Q.
It was the solid form, the muscles under deceptively soft and vulnerable skin that seemed to draw him closer and closer. Naked as Q was, the smooth chest for him to see and touch, Bond could also see the mark he had left on the other man already.
Mine.
Q's fingers wrapped around his arm. The contact was almost electric and the attraction he had felt since the very first time he had laid eyes on the other man was tenfold.
"What are you doing to me?" he breathed.
Q smiled a little. "No more than you do to me."
Back in the beginning of the Drift technology, when the connection of a human brain to a mechanical body was still in its early development, there had been cases of Ghosting that had been outside the norm.
Not that Ghosting had been expected.
Even today it was a phenomenon that couldn't be readily explained.
When two minds had been the solution to piloting the massive Jaegers, the shared neural load taking the strain off one mind, the Ghosts had been a common experience. Dr. Caitlin Lightcap, the creator of the Drift, had written pages and pages about the side effects, about different Drifts, how she had experienced her own, and she had made notes about the occasional odd team.
That very select few Ghost-Drifted even days after the end of a Drift.
That the lifepartners-team of Hydra Corinthian had shown such strong connections even a week later, it was beyond anything anyone had ever reported.
Hydra Corinthian's pilots, Andy and Dario Mendez, had displayed signs of almost telepathic abilities, aware of the other wherever he was, able to tell whether he was hurt or just close, and their Drifts had been close to the strength of the Kaidanovskys.
Hydra had been killed by a cat-3 Kaiju just before the Panama City Shatterdome had been closed down.
Bond claimed Q's mouth, diving into the kiss, wanting more and needing more. He slid his own hard length against Q's, trying to keep them close together. His partner jerked a little, stuttering a breath, whispering his name. He sounded raw, open, but not broken.
"Turn," he commanded, voice gritty, like he was chewing on broken glass.
Q did and the sight had Bond hiss a breath. He slipped two fingers into him, spreading them. Q's hands clenched into fists and his ass lifted.
"In me," he managed. "Now!"
Bond was so close, he didn't really hear the words, only understood the need, and he pushed into the tightness of his partner. Q arched against him with a hiss.
Bond stilled, his brain kicking into gear and realizing that he hadn't used a lot of lube…
"No, please, now, move!" Q begged, sounding too ragged to be thinking clearly any more. "Move!"
Bond pushed deeper, drawing an appreciative moan. Blunt nails dug into the mattress and his hips drove forward once more.
Pleasure sparked through him. Pleasure and almost primal lust. The need to feel it. The hunger for this man. They were Ghosting, feeling fragments of memories, feeling emotions, and neither one cared. Their minds synched without the Pons mechanism and it was the most glorious experience.
Harsh breaths could be heard, soft encouragements, groans of need and hunger and lust. Bond buried himself deep in the willing form, wanting all of Q, needing all of Q.
Mine.
Maybe he said it out loud. Maybe it was just in his head.
And maybe he simply imagined hearing the echoed claim from Q.
James couldn't last long like that, the pace hard and fast and almost punishing. Too brief, too intense, the orgasm ripping through him and his mind sliding away as he felt Q's shudder, heard his groan of completion.
So gorgeous. So wonderful. All his. No one else. He wanted to protect this man, wanted to keep him safe and from harm, but Q wasn't weak. He wasn't a civilian. He was a ranger, a co-pilot, his co-pilot, and their Drift was one of the strongest out there.
Bond was insanely proud and terribly scared in one.
Q turned onto his back when James pulled out, looking breathless and sated. Bond looked at him in the stunned amazement he had come to associate with facing this man. He reached out and splayed his hand over the other's stomach, feeling every breath.
The words between them remained unspoken.
Because they knew them already. The Drift left no secrets between partners.
It was the first time since Vesper that James felt anything, anything at all. It was the first time since that day, when he had lost everything, that he wanted something.
He wanted Q.
He wanted to live.
He wanted a tomorrow.
I love you.
He whispered into the tousled hair, holding on to the slender form.
Or maybe he only thought it.
Or maybe it was only a dream.
Bond didn't know. All he knew was that what he felt was real, what he wanted was real.
x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx x X XX xx
They woke on Bond's bunk, naked, curled up with one another, and no shame between them. Q leaned over and kissed him, Bond's stubble scratching over his own.
Today might be their last day.
Or it might be Day Zero, the day the war finally ended.
It meant the end, one way or the other.
He didn't want to die, now that he had found this man. He didn't want to.
Bond pushed those emotions back again, fighting the need to simply claim his partner again, show him how much he felt, how strongly.
"Don't," Q murmured, teeth catching on Bond's lower lip.
James shivered. The soft bites were intoxicating.
Few words were exchanged as Bond slid into the willing form again, whispered soft words almost reverently.
He wanted to survive. He wanted to live to be with this man, to enjoy more than one night and one morning together.
Right now, nothing else but this mattered.
And maybe, just maybe, they would live to see the end of it all.
x X XX xx
He dozed off for an hour, then he lay awake, watching Q sleep. The wavy hair, flopping over his forehead, tousled and a mess. His fingers carded into the longish strands, combing them gently.
Dark eyes cracked open, still filled with sleep, and James brushed back the wayward hair. He leaned over and kissed the other man.
Mine.
Finally, he belonged.
Finally, he knew.
And finally, the old pain bled away.
tbc...