Between drinking her beer and talking, Ibira ate the food off the dinner tray that Chuck had brought down. The two of them sat at a small dining table on the side of the cavernous room that she had converted into her personal apartment. He listened patiently, sitting more quietly than she had known he was capable of, as she told him of how she grew up in a small, remote fishing town on the Pacific coast of South America.

Trespasser had been the first kaiju to pass through the breach when Ibira was 12 years old. She completed her first degree in organic chemistry through an accelerated university program for gifted students, and at 18 she traveled to the Panama City Shatterdome to join the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. Her mother had traveled with her for moral support during the enrollment process, and they had both been surprised to learn they were drift compatible. It turned out they had a very strong drift, and they quickly became the top trainees in Central America. Shortly before their first scheduled deployment as rangers, it became apparent that Ibira's mother was suffering from a degenerative neurological condition that was likely the result of the mental stress of jaeger training compounded with years of gradual kaiju blue exposure that had polluted the region of the coastline where they had lived. As soon as it became clear that they were no longer viable candidates, the Shatterdome moved on to the next best pair of pilots.

"That last simulator run we did…" Ibira continued quietly after a long break. "As soon as we drifted, I could tell something was off. Everything felt wrong. Her mind-"
She stopped talking, unable to speak about what it had been like to witness the beginning of her mother's mind slipping away.
"I guess I was lucky," she continued, clearing her throat. "Maybe because I was so young, my body handled all the toxicity better. Or maybe she somehow…took the brunt of it. Either way, a couple months later she was dead."

They both sat very still for a moment. As Ibira glanced down at the table, she flexed the fingers on her right hand before curling them into a fist, feeling the fatigue of her day settling into her joints. Chuck subtly raised his hand towards her, hesitating briefly before reaching out and gently touching the tips of his fingers to the back of her closed fist. Her breath felt heavy in her chest, but the room around them remained quiet as she exhaled slowly. It was easier to continue staring at their hands than meet his gaze, so she did just that as she slowly unwound her fist. Their hands gingerly flattened out against each other, as if they were both unsure of how to execute the movement, until his was resting fully on top of hers. Her thoughts felt scattered now, thinking back to that darkest time of her life, and she focused on the warmth of his skin to anchor herself to the present.

Chuck let out an inconspicuous breath of relief, realizing he had been holding his breath. He didn't dare move or say anything, acutely worried that the wrong choice would abruptly end their time together. Instead, he watched her placid face as her eyes stayed on their hands. When she spoke, however, he noted the tightness in her jaw and the stony sound of her voice.
"It didn't look good for Panama City," she said darkly. "One of their top trainees dying of potential radiation poisoning and kaiju blue exposure. So they brushed it all off…brushed us off."
With a deep shrug, Ibira pulled her hand away, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair.

"I don't remember much about that year afterwards," she said casually, absentmindedly tapping the mouth of her empty beer bottle as she spoke. With a sad chuckle, she carefully added, "But I know I wasn't…much fun to be around. I didn't…I wasn't myself anymore. I was always angry, and picking fights."
One corner of her mouth quirked up almost sheepishly as her words hung in the air, a silent recognition in her expression as she finally met his eyes. Her gaze briefly slid over the cut on his cheekbone before she looked away. When she spoke again her demeanor had calmed, as if she was giving a report on administrative paperwork.

"I figured research could keep me busy, so I dove into my graduate studies. I hopped from one Shatterdome to the next as a lab assistant and worked on my research on the side. I had surprisingly free range as long as I kept a low profile. It was easier than I expected, but I guess that was just my ego getting checked. It's not like anyone's gonna recognize an almost ranger anyway. Then about a year ago, Pentecost paid me a visit at the Lima Shatterdome."

Tilting her head to the side slightly, Ibira recalled that first meeting between her and Pentecost.
"Becket and I are closer in age than most of the candidates," she began listing. "We both trained on Mark 3's. And we both left the Corps in 2020. It seemed like a good fit to him. I refused but pitched my research to him. I guess he found that amusing enough to let me tag along to the Sydney Shatterdome, so I could study Striker up close. And here we are."
Holding her hands out with her palms facing up, a faint smile with no warmth ghosted across Ibira's face. Chuck could not help but feel like her expression was a challenge, as if she was calling his bluff.

Leaning forward onto her elbows, she asked innocuously, "So, how do you drift with someone you hate?"
"Jesus," Chuck groaned, draining the rest of the beer from his bottle and feeling as if he was crossing a troll bridge. She looked up at him, waiting for a response.
"I don't hate him," was all he said flatly, conceding to her pressing gaze. She nodded slightly, apparently satisfied with his answer. The glint of curiosity returning to her eyes let him know that her question had been more for payback than anything else. He was thoroughly reminded that she would always manage to have the upper hand.

"I first got the idea for my serum when I read about Striker Eureka's brass knuckles," Ibira pivoted as a peace offering, shifting back into the tone she reserved for her research. "How they minimize the spread of kaiju blue by cauterizing the wounds."
"Oh, I knew it," Chuck replied, leaning toward her with an almost devilish smirk. "You're a total Striker fangirl."
As Ibira shot him a stern look, he raised his hands in surrender and added, "There's no shame in it! She's the best of the best. You can't deny it though, I saw the way you looked at her."
"I'm a simple woman," she resigned. "I see a 30-story tall, shiny robot and get hearts in my eyes."
An almost proud grin came to Ibira's down turned face as she seemed to get lost in thought.
"What was your jaeger's name?" Chuck inquired gently.
"Mantis Campeón," she told him before she could stop herself. Biting her lip, she realized she hadn't spoken that name in nearly five years.

Taking a deep breath, Ibira said with sincerity in her voice, "Thank you for the food."
The finality in her tone made it clear to Chuck that the evening was coming to a close.
"Thank you for the beer," he responded, bowing his head slightly in a way that reminded Ibira of cowboys tipping their hats. She smiled sleepily when he stood from the table.
As he walked past her towards the entrance of the lab, he added, "Goodnight, Ibira."
"Goodnight, Chuck," she said quietly, barely glancing over her shoulder as he left. He looked one moment longer at her sitting alone at the table before letting the door close behind him.