The world outside was still dark, cold, the wind whipping harshly around the kneeling Jaeger. Water churned below them and in the distance, the clouds looked even darker.
"Storms coming," Bond murmured. "Fast."
Which meant they had to work fast, too. A Jaeger could easily withstand a storm. They could walk right into a hurricane and feel nothing but a few rumbles. But they weren't inside and the pod wasn't either.
The pod had suffered immensely from the explosion, even shielded by Skyfall's physical presence. The Jaeger had taken the brunt force of the blast, her back a mass of blackened, blistered and cracked metal. Still, the escape capsule had taken damage, too. There were massive dents and the transparent screen had web-like cracks. Part of it looked almost melted, but it had held; it had taken no water.
Q stayed on Skyfall's shoulder armor as Bond quickly climbed and slid down the massive arm to where the hand held the pod against the equally blackened and blistered chest armor. He was carrying a bag of tools with him. A harness lay snugly around the Drivesuit, keeping him moderately safe. Should he slip he wouldn't fall into the ocean below.
The two men were tiny, tiny ants compared to the exoskeleton they piloted. Bond could fall into a crack of the armor and disappear, or end up wedged between the joints. But despite the general tiredness, he was moving surely, calmly, with grace and efficiency.
Getting the lid off was difficult. The release was stuck and brute force only yielded a few inches of room. Bond worked with brute force and the time pressure of the storm behind him.
The ejected pilot was Chuck Hansen. Under all the blood covering his face, it was rather hard to determine, actually. But there was no doubt. He was unconscious, had hopefully no internal injuries, but he was alive.
It took nearly thirty minutes to get the lid off. It tumbled into the waves two hundred feet below. James checked life signs and gave Q a thumbs up, then started to manhandle Chuck out of the pod and onto the cold, wet metal.
The man didn't so much as twitch.
They managed to get Hansen into the Conn-Pod, even if it wasn't exactly an approved method of transporting a probably seriously injured person. Bond couldn't care less. They needed to get Chuck inside and Q had only one good arm.
He was simply glad Hansen was unconscious throughout the whole ordeal.
And it had started to rain.
The moment they were back inside the Conn-Pod, dripping water, looking cold and tired, they laid their patient onto an emergency blanket.
Removing the Drivesuit was another task, but they soon had their patient out of it, the parts flung into a corner. Bond immobilized the broken looking leg, wrapped numerous bleeding cuts, removed shrapnel from the sliced skin as he found it, and attached a collar to the pilot's neck. A concussion was likely. They had nothing to clean the blood from the face and the bandage around his head was already soaking through again.
Chuck was breathing on his own. He seemed stable. Not all internal systems had blacked out, though most of them were beyond hope. What little had remained of the HUD's systems told them that it didn't look too bad.
Outside the storm was beating against Skyfall, but she was holding steady.
x X XX xx X
Chuck woke only once, groaning softly, blue eyes clouded with pain. There was confusion and fear, but also recognition.
"You're aboard Skyfall Prime," Bond said as he leaned over him. "We're currently dead in the water, near the coastline, but I can't tell you what country. Or continent."
"Figures," Chuck wheezed, fighting to stay conscious. "Kaiju?"
"You took them out," Q answered, smiling slightly. "Two more kills for Striker Eureka."
Hansen laughed breathlessly, looking pale and sick and in pain. He grimaced at the pain intensified. They had morphine in the emergency pack, but neither Bond nor Q was sure if that was the way to go. If Chuck had a concussion, dosing him up was the wrong move.
"Breach?"
"We don't know. Skyfall's systems are nearly shot. Long range is a no go. I'm just glad the internal sensor can tell us that you're still breathing okay."
"Yeah."
Chuck closed his eyes, tired, exhausted. He lost consciousness soon after.
But he was breathing. His heart was beating. That was good. Very good.
Both pilots exchanged a look, then Bond nodded and rose, rooting through the emergency packages to get out the flare guns.
"I'll check outside," he murmured.
And then he was gone.
x X XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX xx X
The storm had passed over them with no ill effects to speak of. Skyfall was already a heap of dead metal and nothing else could be torn from her that the Kaijus hadn't already.
After making sure the internal systems were running stable, or as stable as he could get them, Q climbed outside to join his partner.
The air smelled cold and fresh and slightly of salt.
He had managed to link an internal alarm to his suit's systems, alerting him should Chuck wake or if his condition declined. Right now the surviving pilot of Striker Eureka was blissfully unaware, asleep or unconscious, and he would give him a little time.
They would have to wake him again because of the possible concussion in an hour.
Q moved the fingers of his injured hand cautiously and from the look he received, James had caught the fringe sensation of pain, of bruises and burns.
But no broken bones.
I'm fine.
Fact is, you aren't.
Shaky. Vision blurring. Hurt. Still hurt so much.
The connection refused to transmit lies and Q was too tired and hurting to give a bloody shit. Everything still ran between them. Maybe it was the only reason they were still on their feet, that they hadn't collapsed in a heap of exhaustion and pain. Q drew strength from the solid presence of James within him, and Bond was aware of his role.
They needed each other.
And their combined strength.
It wasn't over yet.
It ran through Q's head, that mantra to hold on, not to surrender to the pain, that they were still needed.
x X XX xx X
Bond's eyes were on the dark ocean, the distant battle ground. Or at least where it would be. The Breach wasn't visible from here. The first light of a new day was on the horizon. The rain hadn't managed to wash the soot and grime and black burns off Skyfall's armor. She still looked a miserable wreck.
The fragments from Q's condition washed over him. He could feel Q, knew what he felt, knew he wasn't okay, but right now there was nothing he could do.
It wasn't over yet and they couldn't let their guard down, couldn't curl up and nurse their wounds.
"You think they're looking for us? Know we're here?" his partner asked.
His breath was clouding in front of his face. The dark hair was wind-whipped, the pale face lightly flushed from the frozen air.
James felt a million emotions unravel, wings unfurling like little birds, and he gave in to the need, the hunger, the sheer joy of still standing here, with Kian.
The kiss wasn't really unexpected. It was sloppy, filled with pain and hope and desperation.
Q circled his good arm around his waist, held him, gentled the kiss, let it turn into something explorative, loving, warm.
"Don't care right now," Bond breathed when he finally drew back to rest his head against Q's shoulder armor.
He felt shaky, knew there were fine tremors racing through his system, that Q felt them, but he didn't care.
Not anymore. He didn't care, didn't want to care, wanted to be just James Bond. He was scared shitless, his adrenaline level so high he jumped at a whisper, and all he wanted was to curl up and hold on to his partner.
He wanted it to be over.
Desperately.
But both of them were almost literally in the dark. They had no radios, no working beacons. They had nothing but what they could see for themselves, and an injured ranger in the Conn-Pod.
"Chuck might care," Q murmured into the grimy hair. "And his father," he reminded his co-pilot gently.
It got him a rough laugh. "Yeah."
Q brushed careful fingers along the sweat-slick, bloodied face.
"Pentecost launched Chuck's pod," he said. "He saved his life."
"He's one of two pilots who are able to pilot a Jaeger alone," James reminded him, still holding the younger man, head still on his shoulder. "It was his last fight."
Q was silent.
"He had cancer," Bond explained.
"Oh."
Fate of many Mark-I pilots. Not that Bond had heard or seen anything of the like from the Kaidonovskys. Apparently the Russians had taken better care. Herc had been in a Mark-I, too. The man had piloted all models at least once. He hadn't mentioned any health issues. Chuck would have known through the Drift.
"He was the perfect candidate," Q said, sounding almost thoughtful. "Like Raleigh."
They had no idea what had happened to Gipsy Danger.
"I should go back down," Q finally said apologetically. "I don't want to leave him alone."
Bond nodded, kissing him gently. "You do that."
Q smiled, aware of so much between them, the Ghosts strong, connecting the two pilots in a way scientists had yet to find an explanation for. No one knew why Ghost-Drifting occurred outside the neural bridge.
James remained on top of the shoulder armor of Skyfall, watching the waves, the coast line, enjoying the salty, fresh air. Q climbed back inside to keep an eye on their rescued pilot.
x X XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX xx X
Bond came back inside as the sun rose over the horizon. He found Q hunched over what looked like the insides of Skyfall's Conn-Pod, all spread out on the floor.
"Keeping busy?" he teased as he surveyed the mess.
Even with only one fully functional arm, his left on top of that, Q had quickly pulled apart whatever he had gotten his fingers on. He was carefully using his right hand, the movements stiff, interrupted by winces. But James knew better than to say anything. Q was one determined engineer right now and he wasn't above verbally slaying his co-pilot should he feel babied.
And he had never babied him. Q was one of the strongest men he had ever met, in a deceivingly breakable package, with a mind that was razor sharp and incredible to drift with.
"This is the beacon from one of the escape pods. The beacon won't get activated unless we launch the pod from the main unit, which we can't."
"No power." Bond nodded. At Q's raised eyebrows he added, "I'm not just a stupid jockey, Q. I listen sometimes."
"Sometimes," the quartermaster said dubiously.
"So how do you want to activate it?"
"There's a long and technical version, and there is the Bond version."
"Cheeky little bastard."
"Insufferable menace."
"Well?"
"I'm rebuilding it."
Bond waited. Nothing came.
"You are rebuilding it," he finally echoed.
"Yes."
"I think I'd understand it better with the long and technical version."
"Go and check on Hansen. I have work to do."
He mock saluted and did as Q had asked. Hansen was still unconscious, still breathing well, still had a strong pulse. The bleeding had stopped a while ago, though the bandage around his head looked like it needed changing.
So James set to that task, efficient and quick, checking the cut again.
When he returned to where Q was kneeling in the middle of a lot of pod parts, there was something that looked puzzled together out of those parts in front of him.
"You building a toaster?"
The exasperation was there, clear as daylight, but there was a fondness to it that had Bond feel a warmth he had come to associate with the younger man.
"Yes, a toaster that will hopefully get us an airlift out of here. The pod's battery is in rather good shape. We have the second pod's as back-up. I'll see if it works."
With that he was climbing into the access hatch to the pod, dragging cables out of it and jury-rigging whatever he had to. Bond kept his mouth shut. He didn't offer help, to pull the cables, to rummage around the pod's insides, or wherever else Q wanted something from. He simply watched, eyes on every move, feeling the echoes. He only lent a hand where needed and wanted.
Finally the contraption beeped once.
Q watched it like a hawk, then plugged what looked like a small control panel in it. He started to type and finally sat back.
… feeling a wave of exhaustion, followed by a sense of nausea.
James tried to ignore the echoed sensation, but it was hard not to react.
"Seems like it's working. Not sure how strong it is, though."
James pulled him up, kissing the dry, chapped lips. "They'll find us. If not, you might have to look into using the emergency batteries from the escape pods to power Skyfall long enough for us to move her closer to home."
Q stared at him as if he had lost the last of his marbles. He swallowed the argument with a kiss, silencing Q's protests, and finally the quartermaster sighed softly, looking at him with that familiar fond annoyance.
"They'll find us," James repeated, running his gloved thumb over the blood-and-sweat-streaked cheek.
The other man nodded once.
"Now let me look at that arm of yours."
"I'm fine, 007."
"You're not. I've been good. Now I get to take a look at how much damage you did to it."
"It wasn't me!" came the indignant reply.
"The first hit was a Kaiju, but the rest you did yourself. Now shut up and let me look."
Q relented. James removed the Drivesuit's exterior. The suit was a complicated construction, consisting of multiple layers. Every pilot wore what looked like a fancy wetsuit underneath their individual armor. The engineers called it the circuitry suit since it consisted of a mesh of synaptic processors. The pattern of that mesh looked like circuitry on the outside of the undergarment, gleaming gold against the black polymer. The artificial synapses connected the pilot's brain to the Jaeger, his exoskeleton, and commands were relayed without a noticeable lag time.
As was pain.
It had been an early understanding in the new technology that the pain enabled pilots to react faster, to react in real time and like in real life, because it wasn't just something happening on a screen. It was happening to them.
They felt a Kaiju's bite, a blow, a break. It wasn't just a movie anymore.
The second layer of the Drivesuit was individually modeled to each pilot team, to each Jaeger. Pilots chose them. It was them. The outer layer was a sealed polycarbonate shell with full life support and the magnetic interfaces at the feet, spine and all major limb points. The outer shell locked the pilot into the Conn-Pod.
Bond peeled off what he could of the circuitry suit, using a knife to help. It was an intricate, complicated system and it was the cause of pilot injuries.
A known and accepted risk.
Raleigh had electrical burn scars on his skin from what had gone through the Drivesuit when Gipsy Danger had nearly been torn to pieces by Knifehead. His body showed just where Gipsy had been damaged the worst.
Now Q might end up with scars to compare, Bond thought wryly as he used the emergency kit to carefully but effectively clean the burns and wrap them in gauze.
Q didn't make a sound, but he was tense, face ghostly white, lips bloodless. His eyes appeared huge.
There could be nerve damage, Bond thought. Scars were one thing. But nerve damage…
"James."
He looked up, caught. Q appeared terribly young, terribly vulnerable, and still there was this core of steel, that strength that matched his own. Q's left hand wrapped around his own, gently freeing the bandaged arm.
"It'll be okay," the quartermaster said softly.
Yes. It would be okay.
They were alive. It would be okay.
tbc...