Warnings: Mild Language

By the time they docked again, Jack's legs were nearly ready to collapse from exhaustion but that didn't keep him from clapping Carter on the shoulder as soon as they disengaged from their harnesses, barely able to contain his glee.

"That was amazing! The way you spotted the fish- and that shot! We nailed it square in the chest. In mid-air! Unbelievable! How did you know to do that with the core? I've never seen a Jaeger move like that before!" His muscles quivered with leftover adrenaline, leaving him breathless and rambling. Carter played a stolid counterpoint, seasoned enough to be still but not to keep a broad megawatt smile off her face.

"Just an idea I had," she said, unlocking her boots from the drive interface. When she stepped onto solid footing, the transition was smooth, whereas Jack had stumbled like a green sailor back on dry land. "That was a smart call with the plating, working it back and forth like that. Great job."

Jack flushed at the praise, but didn't lose his smile. He hadn't been completely sure the idea had been his alone. During the walk back to the Shatterdome, he'd tried to recall who had sparked the thought first, but every reach only delved deeper into that pool where their minds combined. In there he couldn't tell who was who- nothing he'd experienced with Jonas had come close to preparing him for that. Carter apparently felt far more comfortable with drift compatibility than Jack. If she said the credit was his, he wasn't about to argue. He assumed that in time he would grow more familiar with the experience as well, but part of him hoped that he never lost this feeling, the elation...

They'd been one person in that fight. Together, they'd been Banshee. Some pilots gloated that they knew everything the other was thinking, even when not connected by the neural bridge. He hadn't had that with Carter, but it seemed they didn't need it. They'd been on the same page without it. He'd never seen instincts like hers, and suddenly he could see how shocking it must have been for someone so gifted, such a valuable resource, had frozen on May Day.

They both looked up at the bulkhead when they felt the helm connect with the dock. Jack's grin widened. "Home Sweet Home," he chirped. He turned to Carter. "What do you say we go be heroes?" He nudged her on the way to the hatch, only to pause when she called his name.

"O'Neill…" Carter's grin faded. As Jack watched, her joy visibly dwindled to the tense apprehension that he now realized rarely left her. "I don't know what it'll be like out there."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "We kicked ass!"

"Yes, we did. And they've all seen it." Carter looked at her boots, but just as quickly forced her gaze back up to meet his. "If you were piloting with anyone else they'd be ready for the ticker tape parade, but you're stuck with me, and I don't know how they'll react to the fact that I can still pilot like that."

Jack understood now. For two years the entire Shatterdome believed Samantha Carter had choked. No matter the reason, May Day served as ignominious proof that she'd burned out, and they'd blamed her for the deaths and destruction of Hiroshi's Sabre and Whiskey Blue, and the decline of the Shatterdome in the years since. Today they'd been proven very, very wrong.

"You think they'll be angry," he filled in, putting the pieces together. She shrugged. "They'll think you've been holding out on them?"

It sounded absurd when he said it aloud, but Carter's flush confirmed he wasn't far off the mark. He wished he could assure her that they wouldn't react badly to the development, but he couldn't. Not after the brawl the night before, and the multitudes of people who'd been all too willing to pile in on top of her.

"I don't know," Carter replied. "At the very least they'll have questions." It was clear to Jack that if they did, she had no intention of answering them. "My point is, if you don't get the hero's welcome you're expecting… it's not because of you."

"Hey," Jack said, edging closer. "If they have a problem with you, they have a problem with me too. I don't care what happened on May Day. What we did out there today was the most incredible thing I've ever seen. We saved lives today. That's what matters. If they don't agree, then they can eat kaiju shit, for all I care."

Ultimately, Carter nodded. Together, they exited Bella. The exit corridor was empty, and as the quiet continued to the lift that would carry them down to the main bay, Jack worried that Carter would be proven right after all. But when the gates rolled open onto the bright space, the bay erupted into cheers. Hordes people pressed close to congratulate them as they stepped from the cage. Jack beamed, and though Carter let a smile brighten her own features, he could feel the tension vibrating through every inch of her as hands reached to shake theirs, and clap them on the shoulder, any piece of them they could reach. Jack thought he spied Hanson glaring at them through the crowd, but couldn't get a good look before the crowd parted to reveal Manhattan's pilots waiting for them.

Carter stopped short. Jack halted at her side. His own contact with Kowalsky was colored through the lens that was Hanson's stain, and Ferretti had barely spared him two words since his arrival- but he'd struck Jack as a man of few words in the first place. Neither of them had spoken up for Carter when Hanson spewed his poison for two years. Now though, they regarded Carter with something far different than disdain.

Kowalsky was the first to breach the distance between them, with Ferretti only a step behind. Once in reach, Kowalsky stuck out his hand. "Thank you."

Carter took his hand, while Jack shook Ferretti's. Kowalsky's gaze spread to Jack as he spoke his gratitude, but his eyes quickly returned to Carter. "Carter…" He didn't seem to know where to start.

"Kowalsky," Carter returned dryly, giving him no hints as to how to get out of his predicament. Kowalsky's cheeks flushed.

"Sam…" he tried again, lowering his voice to something far more personal. "After what I saw out there, it is now very clear, to both of us," he motioned to include Ferretti, who nodded, "that there is a lot about the past two years that we don't understand." His apparent chagrin softened Jack's suspicion.

"I don't know if we ever will understand," Kowalsky continued, "but for what it's worth... we're sorry. There's a lot for us to make up for."

"That was some piloting out there, Sam," Ferretti spoke up. "We've missed having you in the field."

"I could tell," Carter replied. A smirk graced her lips but didn't reach her eyes, which betrayed her distrust. Manhattan's pilots didn't seem to notice. They laughed and clapped Carter on the shoulder, and then Jack.

The cheers resumed, until Marshal Pentecost appeared. The crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. All four pilots straightened to exhausted attention. "At ease," he said swiftly, declining to stand on ceremony. "Banshee…"

"Yes, sir," Carter and Jack responded crisply.

Pentecost glared at them. "I have never seen so seamless a fight on a first drift. Well done." His praise sparked a full smile from Carter, whose eyes shone when she shot Jack a look. "To Manhattan as well. Good job, all of you."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Medical is waiting for all of you. Get checked out, then get some rest. You've earned it."