Chuck marched into the dining hall with his tray of food and Max, his bulldog, sauntering beside him as always. His father was pulled into a meeting with Pentecost and some other suits, so they would not be eating dinner together today. It did not make much of a difference to Chuck since they barely spoke about anything of substance when they did eat meals together anyway. Though he was unsure of how he spotted her in the sea of faces, Chuck noticed the woman from Pentecost's office the morning before. She was sitting at a table alone on the other side of the large room. Pausing in his tracks for a moment, Chuck glanced down at Max. The happy faced dog panted with his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he looked encouragingly back up at him.

"Alright," Chuck sighed, making his way towards her. "Let's go."

She did not seem to notice Chuck as he sat down across from her. In the loud hum of conversation and heavy boots in the room, she was lost in thought. It was one of her favorite places to be in the Hong Kong Shatterdome for that very reason. A small furrow in her brow intrigued Chuck, and he took the opportunity to study her. Her black hair was partially clipped back, so her curls were no longer a large halo around her face like they had been the first time he saw her. He had found himself struck by her large, brown eyes, even as they had argued in Pentecost's office. And just as a quiet thought formed in the back of his mind that he wanted her to look at him again, Max let out one excited, whining bark. Her head snapped up and she dropped the fork that she had been mindlessly moving her food around with onto her plate.

"Sorry about that," Chuck said calmly, handing a piece of meat down to the large, white and brown-spotted bulldog. "He's used to more attention at meal times."
Ibira pressed her lips together in a way that showed she was trying to hide her amusement, and she could not fully stop a smile from pulling at the right corner of her lips as she looked down at Max. His bark had startled her and she wanted to laugh, but not in front of Chuck. No matter how goofy and carefree the dog looked, it did not change who his master was.

"Ibira Valenti, right?" the man sitting across from her asked. Staring at her, Chuck popped a large bite of food in his mouth and waited for her to respond as he chewed. Before saying anything, she straightened her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at him slightly. Looking around the crowded dining hall, she wondered if his father would be joining, though she wasn't sure what she preferred in that moment.
Finally, she returned her gaze to his and said monotonously, "At your service, Mr. Hansen."

After a moment of staring at each other in silence, Chuck furrowed his brow slightly and she returned to eating her meal. He was not sure how to read her calm expression and found it to be an infuriating combination of curiosity, defiance, and perhaps a hint of contempt.

When Chuck had asked Marshal Pentecost who she was, all he had said was that she was someone you want to have fighting on your side. He thought back to how Pentecost had not even blinked at her barging in, how he let her speak, how he listened to her with his full attention and respect, and it pissed him off. Now, looking at her from across the table as she practically ignored him, he could not stop his words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"I read your papers," he told her. She looked up at him, to his satisfaction, and raised her eyebrows.
"And why would you do that?" she asked in a false tone of inquisitiveness, tilting her head to the side slightly. Now, he was certain she was patronizing him. It was not the response he had expected, and a small scowl came to his face.
"I mean," she continued in a friendly tone, "why would you read the papers of a lunatic banshee? I believe those were your words."

Ibira knew she was hardly helping her case and that she shouldn't push his temper, but looking over at the sureness, the unyielding arrogance on his face, she couldn't help herself. Not only that, she also knew that she was right about her serum, and that the pilots of Striker Eureka would realize it, too.
"Look, you said I could ask you questions, didn't you?" Chuck said slowly, obviously trying to keep his voice level. She knew that was as close as he would get to admitting he had been wrong in Pentecost's office, and that would have to be good enough for her.
"Of course," she yielded, a sincerity coming to her face as her expression softened. At this, Chuck felt himself relax slightly.
"How did you end up here?"

Ibira blinked at him in surprise. Scolding herself, she realized she had, again, been too optimistic to expect him to be ready to actually discuss her serum.
"No one in this Shatterdome is here without Pentecost's approval," he added, getting at his real question.
"I have two degrees in organic chemistry, for starters," she answered patiently.
"At your age?" the young man inquired, an incredulous expression on his face. He had snooped and read her file that was stored with all the others on the medical, engineering and research personnel for the base. She was only 23 years old, and reading that had irritated Chuck for some reason. Of course, neither of them could control their ages. But it felt like she had beat him at some non-existent competition by being 2 years older than him.

Lowering her utensils and leveling a condescending look at him, she rebutted pointedly, "Coming from the world's youngest jaeger pilot. Don't try pulling rank on me, Mr. Hansen." He caught the slight mockery in her tone and felt his face get hot.
"Okay, enough with the Mr. Hansen bullshit," he partially commanded and surrendered. Ibira smirked slightly into her bite of food, which only made the blush in his cheeks grow brighter. She was pleased with herself for embarrassing him, as she was sure it didn't happen nearly as much as it should.
"What would you prefer?" she asked softly, a silent truce materializing between them.
"Chuck," he told her. "You can call me Chuck."
"Okay, Chuck. You can call me Ibira."
The sound of her voice saying his name for the first time echoed in his ears like a bell.
"Ibira," he repeated, and this time it felt more natural on his tongue. "How long have you been working on this serum of yours?"
She let out a small huff and with a final jab said, "Since I was your age." Offering an apologetic smile in return to his unamused scowl, she continued, "Here, try this."

Reaching down into her backpack, she pulled out a small aluminum tin and slid it across the table towards him. Frowning down at the container, he slowly opened it to reveal small, round crackers with a pleasant fragrance that he couldn't place. Waving her hand at him in encouragement, she directed her attention back to her food. But as he hesitantly put one of the crackers in his mouth, she inconspicuously peaked up at him just in time to catch the small quirk of a smile on his lips.
"Strawberries?" he asked in confusion, quickly suppressing the smile from his stern face.
"At one point in the process of synthesizing the serum, I discovered that one of the many intermediate compounds smells and tastes exactly like fresh strawberries."

Chuck furrowed his eyebrows at her and asked in a playfully grave tone, "Have you just poisoned me?"
This pulled a full laugh out of Ibira, and as she grinned at him, a small but proud smile grew on his own face.
"It's completely harmless at this stage," she assured him, composing herself once more. Taking a deep breath and fixing her eyes on him with a serious tone now, she continued, "I discovered that about a year ago. Since then, I have very literally reviewed this serum, molecule by molecule, more times than I can count. I meant what I said. I would not propose this to you and your father, let alone Pentecost, if I wasn't sure of it."

Licking his lips in contemplation, Chuck closed the small tin and handed it back to her. Ibira gingerly reached out, her skin just barely brushing against his large fingers as she took it back. His shoulders tensed at their contact, and he straightened his posture as he realized he had slowly started leaning in towards her throughout their discussion. He had first approached her with a very clear idea in his head on how the conversation would go, of the questions he wanted answered and the way she would go along with his interrogation. But somehow, she had completely knocked him off course, and now he had no desire to argue with her. At that point in his life, it was a foreign sensation and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt it.

"Can I see it?" Chuck asked quietly, although his tone was still gruff. For perhaps the first time, Ibira noted, he was humbly asking for permission rather than demanding something of her. Nodding, she looked down to where he was petting Max and saw how the dog watched Chuck with such pure adoration. She felt a twinge of sadness in her chest, witnessing the affection of his that seemed reserved for his pet and no other human, as far as she had heard about how he treated people. So many questions about this man who she had only ever seen from afar began racing in her mind, and Ibira forced herself to refocus on their conversation. He noticed a flash of tenderness in her eyes as she looked back up at him, and he chose to ignore this as he felt anger bubbling up in his chest.
"Are you free now?" she offered.