2020, March 2 – 00:47 – Anchorage Medical Center, Alaska, United States

Greyson Darcy had requested to meet the Jumphawks at the closest hospital when she heard Raleigh was found on a beach off the coast of Anchorage. A man and his boy had stumbled upon him – or was it the other way around?

According to the report given by the witnesses, Raleigh had gotten out of the opening on Gipsy's head; the same place where Knifehead had brutally ripped Yancy from them. The Ranger was incoherent and bloody, but conscious until the PPDC arrived. Tendo had come along with a handful of other 'Dome staffers to visit, but Greyson stayed. She had been by his side since he arrived.

Raleigh looked so vulnerable in the hospital bed. So broken. The doctors had stitched up a gash on the right side of his face and treated the circuitry burns on his left arm and torso. He'd have to live with that for the rest of his life, a permanent reminder that Yancy was gone.

Oh, God. Yancy was gone.

Greyson was sitting beside his bed in the world's most uncomfortable chair, just watching Raleigh in the stark white room. He was hooked up to a bunch of machines, the kinds of which she only saw on television. She found comfort with holding his right hand between hers; she needed to feel his pulse, to know he was doing okay.

Apparently, news of the fight had gone around quickly. People had been sending well-wishes to Raleigh, mourning the loss of Yancy, and other news outlets were questioning the effectiveness of the Jaeger Program. Greyson had gotten sick of everything on the television – except for the Marvel Movie Marathons. Those never got old. It had been a while since she'd even been able to catch a recent movie—

Greyson was brought back to the present when her phone started receiving notifications. She supposed the signal had just come back in. Some were from social media accounts, but there were handfuls of texts: Jazmine Becket, the youngest of the siblings, said to call her as soon as possible. An Australian number had sent condolences about Yancy; she assumed it was someone from one of the 'Domes.

One name stood out to her, however. Charlie Kenton. He was in their graduating class and once worked with her in J-Tech. Last she heard of him, he had resigned from the Jaeger Program and gone back to the robot boxing life.

The man had left a lengthy message not without some textual errors, saying there was talk in the network about a fried DriveSuit model being transported to China. No one knew where it came from. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he thought it was suspicious.

Greyson was in the middle of a reply when she nearly jumped out of her skin. Raleigh had groaned and reached for her hand. He was finally awake! His blue eyes blinked at the lights, searching around the room.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." The lieutenant got up from the seat, taking his hand. When she looked closer, she noticed fresh tracks of tears falling from his cheeks to his ears. Her heart ached. In a low whisper, she tried to comfort him. "Hey, shh. You're going to be okay, you're safe. It's okay." She squeezed his hand. Greyson knew he was hurting, both physically and mentally.

And despite the years since her last Drift with either of the brothers, she could feel his hurt, too.

"He's gone" were the first words Raleigh had croaked out. A sob escaped his lips. Greyson hopped on the hospital bed, trying not to aggravate his injuries. She pulled Raleigh into her as his sobs worsened, shaking him. The blond Ranger cried into her shoulder as she lightly ran her fingers through his hair.

Raleigh hadn't been this devastated since his mother died and their father walked out on them. Greyson swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn't dare cry. Not now. Not when it was her turn to protect him from the monsters.

2020, March 9 – 05:13 – The Ice Box, Kodiak Island, Alaska, United States

"The Marshal wants to see you in his office." It was Tendo.

Greyson popped out of a Jaeger hull, hair askew and dirt on her chin. "Seriously? Right now?" It was obvious that Greyson didn't want to trudge back to the Marshal's quarters to be briefed — especially not after what happened. She re-tied her hair and tried to clean her face.

"Am I good?"

Tendo just shrugged. Not a chatter box, that man. But of course, Greyson had found that from the four years they'd worked together, despite their hot-and-cold relationship.

He offered his hand to Greyson, helping her out before she headed to Pentecost's main office on the forty-seventh floor. Before she was even able to make contact with the door, the Marshal called for her to enter.

He was turned away from her when she walked in, looking to one of the monitors in his room. A handkerchief was being tucked into his breast pocket when he finally pivoted around to face her.

Greyson blinked a few times before clearing her throat and saying, "Sir, you requested for me?" The Marshal nodded slightly to her inquiry, offering for her to sit in an unoccupied chair. With her jaw taut, Greyson obliged, forcing her feet to move forward.

Entering his quarters for the second time that week, she began to ponder on her life choices, among other things. It was five in the morning; the girl hadn't slept well since before Gipsy Danger's deployment. But she kept telling herself that was fine.

She was not fine. And the Marshal could see it. He sought her attention. "Ms. Darcy?"

Greyson's shoulders straightened. "Sir."

"I have an assignment for you."

Confused, Greyson made a point to look at the Marshal. Her head cocked to the side. "May I ask what this assignment is, sir?"

"We need you to go through an assortment of routine checks with the Shatterdomes along the Pacific Rim," Marshal Pentecost explained. "I fear the United Nations might question the efficiency of mecha protocol." He walked over to his desk, shuffling through a few Manila folders before picking out the right one. "Checklists are in here. A preloaded holoscreen has been updated; please keep it with you at all times."

Greyson accepted the folder and skimmed through its contents, glancing at the technological glass-screen. She asked, "By 'routine checks', sir, you don't mean an audit, do you?"

"An internal audit, of sorts. Evaluate performances of the remaining Strike Groups, on top of J-Tech and K-Science," he said. "This isn't a spur of the moment request, lieutenant."

Greyson cleared her throat, licking her dry lips. "Marshal, that seems… like quite a lot to do in such a short time, considering what had transpired."

"The unfortunate loss of Gipsy Danger is precisely why we need this done." Stacker Pentecost took a few steps in her direction, lips pressed into a thin line. "Now I had the impression you were wanting some time away. This is it."

The woman narrowed her eyes visibly, a corner of her lips quirking inward. "I know you said 'internal audit', and I'm not questioning your judgment at all, sir… But I'm not the right person for this job."

No immediate response was given from the Marshal. It was as if he wanted her to stew. "We wouldn't have chosen you if otherwise."

"Look, Stacker—" He gave Greyson a pointed look, and she immediately cut herself off. "Marshal," she said, correcting herself, "Why was I given this assignment? I'm needed here. Raleigh needs me here."

"I believe Mr. Choi and our 'Dome counselors have got all that covered," the Marshal said in short. After a moment, he said, "I'd like you to answer me one question: why did you sign up to join the Jaeger Program?"

Greyson had to think for a moment. Honestly, she said, "Sir, I signed up because Yancy and Raleigh Becket were trying to win a bet, and I didn't want to be left behind. Things were never great at home."

"Then why did you stay?"

"I'd wanted to be a part of history," Greyson answered, "ever since I watched you move that mech's arm in Pittsburgh." It wasn't the only reason she had stayed all these years, but it was one. "Now, pardon me if this sounds disrespectful on any level, Marshal, but my best friend just died."

Greyson's eyes started to prick with tears, and she could feel every fiber of her tearing apart. It had been a week since the incident happened, and she only just let the gravity of it catch up with her. "Sir, I may not be able to handlethis."

Stacker Pentecost never called her out on succumbing to her emotions. Instead, he stood in front of where she sat, placing an uncharacteristically kind hand on her shoulder. "Ms. Darcy, believe me, I understand the feeling of losing someone to these monsters. But I know I can trust you with this."

The intercom went on in the Marshal's office. "Sir, Jumphawks are ready when you are."

Pentecost straightened up just as Greyson's head turned to see Tendo Choi's feedback sign off. "Wheels up before the end of the day. That's an order," the PPDC Marshal said. "I hope you understand that Mr. Becket is not your only priority."

2020, March 9 – 17:23 – The Ice Box, Kodiak Island, Alaska, United States

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not sure," Greyson sighed. "A few weeks at most." She rolled onto her side, resting her head against her opened palm. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

They were both sprawled on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Raleigh Becket and Greyson Darcy were lying opposite each other, content with the other's presence. He was allowed to return to the Shatterdome after staying a few nights in the hospital for 'evaluations'.

"Yeah," the blond replied lamely.

Another silence blanketed the two.

"Jazmine contacted me before you woke up at the hospital," Greyson said abruptly. "She was wanting to fly over and see you, but—"

There was a knock on the door. "Darcy," a voice called. It was one of Gipsy Danger's techs. "Feet up in ten. Larkin and Benedict are waiting."

Raleigh and Greyson said their probably-took-too-long goodbyes. She pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, promising to call when they landed.

The ride up the elevator was uneventful. One of the Jumphawk guys, Christopher Larkin, walked up and met Greyson on the helipad. He grabbed her bags, nodding a hello, and turned to load the chopper. As Greyson stepped inside, the wind outside picked up, blowing a light drizzle in behind her.

"Hey, Chris?"

"Yes, Greyson?" Chris replied with a quirked lip. He looked at her, eyes urging her to continue.

Greyson asked, "How long's the trip to Vladivostok?"

"Five hours," Rob Benedict — J-8's pilot — cut in. "Give or take, ten minutes." He had adorned his muffs, bull-cap, and sunglasses. Looked stern. But then, a smile lit up his face. "Ms. Darcy," he greeted.

"Mr. Benedict," she replied with a curt nod as she buckled into the seat.

"Get ready, because we'll be spending a lot of time together."

2020, March 10 – 10:12 – Russian Shatterdome, Vladivostok, Russia
"So, you are sure that—? Er…" Greyson hesitated, her mind thinking of the correct words to say, before she finished with, "Vse rabotayet normal'no?" Her voice had cracked. She grinned sheepishly at the bay worker, completely aware that her Russian sucked more than a vacuum.

"Da," the worker, West Collins, told her. "Everything is fine, as they should be." The boy was sporting a head of swift, light brown hair, a jumpsuit, and yellow earmuffs. "The Rangers have been doing well." It was obvious the long-legged man of six-two height was slowing down his pace to make up for the woman's height of five-four.

Greyson nodded at Collins, scribbling down incoherent things onto the holoscreen, most of which were out of order. Eh. I'll sort it all out later, she thought quickly to herself.

The two of them walked for a few more minutes. She asked him more questions, and when he answered them, Greyson made sure to keep record. Eventually, with that done, the Filipina started to head towards the LOCCENT of the 'Dome. On the walk there, Greyson could hear hard rock music blasting out from somewhere in the immediate area. When she turned in search, it was evident that the sound was coming from the direction of the Cherno Alpha team's hangar bay. Aleksis and Sasha Kaidonovsky, the married Rangers of the respective Jaeger, were overseeing the Jaeger tech team as they worked on their baby.

"Ostorozhno!"

Confused and caught off guard, Greyson stopped walking, in search of the voice's whereabouts; wrong move on her part. A cart swerved around her, causing a couple boxes or more from the pile to fall off and tumble on the ground. Her cheeks grew red with embarrassment.

"Man, I'm sorry!" she immediately apologized.

"Told you to watch out," the Russian Shatterdome worker spat at her. The man hopped off the carrier and made to pick up the scattered cargo. After he stacked the boxes back to where they belonged, he drove the cart away again, muttering sweet nothings to himself, scoffing out loudly so she could hear: "Americans are always so troublesome."

Greyson frowned then upon hearing the insult and ended up staring after the guy as he disappeared into a sea of people.

2020, March 16 – 21:58 – Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, Australia

Saying that a little jet lag had already crept up on the PPDC staffers was an understatement. Greyson had stayed up early into the mornings, sorting through notes and papers and folders and all of that compacted on a computer. She had slept hours at a time, shifting in cold sheets. When she and the crew had arrived at Sydney, they were escorted through the hangar bay and to the sleeping quarters of the Australian base.

Greyson was already sluggish as she forced herself to keep walking. Sleep was like a plague, slowly catching up with everyone there. Ahead of her, Greyson watched as Chris Larkin and Rob Benedict made conversation with the technician who had volunteered to escort them.

The four of them were quiet in the lift, most of their energy having been taken during flight. When the doors opened to a floor ten levels below their destination, Greyson was mildly surprised — not of the corridor, but of who stood before it. She could definitely spot that man in a crowd.

"Ah, Greyson Darcy. What a sight for sore eyes." And apparently, the same goes for Hercules Hansen.

The unexpected encounter shocked Greyson enough to straighten up at the voice, weariness forgotten. A polite smile spread on her lips as she held her hand out. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Hansen."

"Likewise, Miss Darcy," Herc replied, grasping her petite hand firmly in his. To his son, he muttered, "Be nice." All Greyson got from the younger Chuck Hansen was a curt nod.

Herc sparked up a discussion with the group about the new blueprints on the Mark V-E. Greyson was nearly as excited for it as the senior Hansen appeared to be; there had been a lot of talk lately about the new mark finally being prototyped.

When the elevator doors opened once again, the tech exited and led the visitors with purpose. Herc began walking with them, not wanting to leave the topic unfinished. Greyson found it a nice change to be seeing a more familiar face again when — "Oi! Dad!" — the group's little endeavor of mecha talk was cut short by the young man still standing in the elevator.

Chuck held the door open with his arm, eyes staring in question at his father. "This isn't our floor," he explained more elaborately when no one replied.

Greyson masked a chuckle as a small cough, hiding her grin as well as she could. Herc nodded at his son, turning to the others apologetically. "I suppose this is where I must leave you all," he said. "G'night." Everyone acknowledged his good-bye, nodding or returning it in kind.

Before Herc fully stepped into the lift, Greyson spoke in the direction of his son. "Good night to you, too, Charlie."

"It's Chuck," the latter replied in monotone. A slightly annoyed expression appeared on the man's face. Whether or not it was at memories of her from their last encounter or the look his father had given him, she didn't know.

The elevator doors closed before either of them could dwell on the thought.