Warnings: Mild Language
Oh, no.
Oh, hell no.
Jack's protests railed in his own ears as he mechanically, finally, accepted his copilot's handshake. There had to be some mistake. Jonas slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him away from Banshee. Jack's brain remained gridlocked as Hanson led him around the base. Pentecost told him at the Academy there was a good chance he'd be compatible with his copilot. As Hanson's voice droned on and on, Jack grew more convinced the Marshal had made a mistake. Resentment coiled tighter in Jack's gut, crawling over his skin. Jack repeatedly shrugged away Jonas' unwelcome arm, but it returned just a few minutes later.
Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, Jack considered. Jonas had made it clear to Jack that he had some kind of history with Dr. Carter. Maybe he was just territorial around her. Jack grimaced. That option wasn't any better. And besides, a grudge against Dr. Carter didn't explain his dig at engineering. The PPDC had no shortage of pilots who shared that holier-than-thou mentality. That sense of elitism made it easier for some pilots to step up against the Kaiju, and believe they would make it home again. Most pilots saved it for the locker room. In reality, a pilot could only be successful if everyone else had done their jobs. Pilots came on the scene at the very end of the process, after the other disciplines had already built, programmed, tested, corrected, repaired and prepared the Jaeger for battle, and even Jack knew you really really didn't want to piss off engineering. Or the cook staff.
"So, the yellow line is the commissary, red is medical, and blue will take you to K-Science- don't waste your time there either," Jonas explained the color-coded lines striping the deck under their feet. So far, all of them matched the system at the Academy. There were only a couple he didn't recognize. "Those Kaiju lovers will talk your ear off if you give them even a second. Alternating colors are the Jaeger bays. Banshee is purple and black, red and gold is Manhattan Bombshell." Suddenly, Jonas clapped him roughly on the shoulder, nearly dislodging Jack's pack and making him stumble.
"Manhattan! Just wait until I introduce you to the guys! Rumor has it you're fresh out of the Academy. Those old geezers they have as instructors mean well, but they haven't experienced the real thing in a long time. Just wait til you start rubbing elbows with the real pilots."
Jack's teeth ground tightly. For all his extra time at the Academy, he never lost an ounce of his respect for the men and women who had been on the front lines and not only survived, but come back to teach the next generation. He barely withheld his contempt verbally, but settled for peeling the arm off his shoulders.
"That sounds great," he lied, "but I'm pretty beat. I'd really like to just go get some sleep. And I still need to go over Banshee's manual." He kept the memory card safe in his pocket, certain that Hanson would pluck it from his fingers if given the chance. Even with that temptation denied him, Jonas' gaze darkened with suspicion.
"The manual?" Hanson said, disbelieving.
"It has nothing to do with Dr. Carter."
"It better not." Hanson stepped in close, and place a conspiratorial hand on Jack's shoulder. "I'm telling you, she's bad news."
"Yeah, you said that already."
Hanson's hand tightened on his shoulder, sending a sliver of pain across Jack's collar bone. "And you're not listening. Give her even half a chance, and she will tank your career so fast you won't know what hit you. Okay? Just trust me on this. The only reason she's even on this base is because Pentecost is in her pocket."
Jack raised an eyebrow. The familiarity he'd witnessed on the roof still befuddled him, but even then Pentecost had remained firmly in charge of the exchange. "Is that right?"
Jonas blinked, then withdrew slightly in surprise before breaking into a loud laugh. "You don't know who she is, do you?" He laughed again, this time low in his throat. "I'm gonna do you another solid. Pentecost piloted Coyote Tango back in the day."
It had come up in his notes on the flight, and his affinity for Jaeger trivia reminded him that Coyote Tango was one of the earliest Mark 1's to roll off the line. It hadn't been in service long, barely five years, but in that time it racked up an impressive number of kills- 12 kaiju dead, all told. At the time Coyote had been stationed out of the Lima Shatterdome in Peru. Pentecost's experience as a pilot likely contributed to his success as a Marshal, but Jack failed to see what bearing it had on Carter or Hanson's distaste for her.
"And your point is...?" Jack prompted.
Hanson smirked, and Jack's resentment ratcheted up another notch, knowing he'd given the guy the chance to get one over on him. "He piloted Coyote Tango with Jacob Carter."
Even Jack's father in Minnesota knew who Jacob Carter was. Jacob Carter piloted a record number of three different Jaegers, and had held the record for highest kill rate for individual pilot for almost 6 years- until the Mark 2's were developed and implemented. Coyote Tango wasn't his most well-known Jaeger, but it was his last Jaeger- if Jack remembered correctly, he died in the pilot's chair. The trading cards tended to not focus on those kinds of details. Jacob Carter was a legend- did Hanson mean to imply that Doctor Samantha Carter was his daughter? And that Jack had been talking to the daughter of Jacob Carter without realizing it?
"Holy shit."
Hanson misinterpreted Jack's awe for agreement and clapped him on the shoulder. "Tell me about it," he commiserated. "The Marshal treats her like family. Between that and the fact she's Jaeger royalty, they keep her around when anyone else would have been tossed out on their ass."
Wait, what? Before Jack could puzzle out what Hanson meant by that, Jonas' eyes caught on something over Jack's shoulder.
"Yo, Kowalsky!" Hanson called. He briefly turned his attention back to Jack. "I know she's tempting, okay, but she's just not worth it. Stick with us, and you'll go places, kid. We'll lead you straight." If he was looking for Jack's agreement, he didn't wait for it. "Now, come on. I want you to meet Manhattan."
He spun Jack around to face who he assumed was Kowalsky, a broad-shouldered man with a high-and-tight and clean shaven jaw. A skinnier man trailed a few steps behind, looking utterly disinterested. Kowalsky tapped fists with Hanson in greeting. "Hey man." He looked Jack up and down. "This your new guy? Not bad." He extended an open palm towards Jack. "Chuck Kowalsky, Manhattan Bombshell."
"Jack O'Neill." His knowledge of Manhattan Bombshell was limited at best, aware of only the fact that it was built like a tank and tough as hell. "Belladonna Banshee. Maybe," he amended.
"Are you kidding?" Hanson crowed. "You're gonna get it, no question. I can already tell you're a fast learner. O'Neill here is fresh out of the Academy."
Kowalsky's brow hitched upwards in speculation. "Really? I thought everyone phased out already. Making room for the Wall they're going to build, or so I heard." The skinny guy at his shoulder snorted. It was a sentiment that seemed to be shared by the other guys as well. Jack felt it too. The Wall might be a good secondary defense, but it couldn't do what a Jaeger did. Sacrificing the Jaeger Program for the Wall was a disaster waiting to happen.
"Not everyone," Jack replied.
"Apparently not. This is Lou Ferretti, my copilot."
"No, you're my copilot," Ferretti drawled. He nodded in Jack's direction. "Nice to meet you. Hungry?"
Before Jack could beg off and try to steal some quiet time, his stomach rumbled ominously. His shoulders slumped when the others laughed and Jonas slugged him none too gently on the bicep. "C'mon, champ. We'll show you where the commissary is."
"Yellow stripe, right?" he drawled. It earned him chuckles from Team Manhattan and a harder, more painful punch from Hanson, but if it meant he got under Hanson's skin even a little bit, it was worth it. Jack sighed, dread settling in yet again as he followed his teammate towards the commissary. He wanted to pilot. He needed to pilot. He would just have to make this work- somehow.