2025, January 3 – 09:56 – Hong Kong Shatterdome, Hong Kong, China

"I went out of phase first." Raleigh was defensive, voice firm. "It was my mistake," he said about the previous hour's plight.

"No," Marshal Pentecost huffed, back facing both Becket and Mori. "It was my mistake." He turned away from the sunset view from his office window and spoke to the two people in his presence. "I should have never let you two in the same machine."

"So, what?" Raleigh spoke up, challenging the Marshal like he always had. "You're grounding us?"

"Not you."

He could figure out easily what the Marshal had meant. His eyes said it all. Raleigh was slowly coming to his maximum boiling point. What bullshit it all was!

Mako stood straight, at attention. Her eyes held tears that she refused to let go. With all she had left, Mako asked, "Permission to be dismissed, sir?"

There was a certain glimmer in his eyes. A look Raleigh was all too familiar with. After a moment, Pentecost answered, "Permission granted, Ms. Mori."

Mako then gave a hard, respectful bow before beginning her leave, meeting Raleigh's eyes for a mere second when he called her name. He knew that look: It had summed up what they both saw in the Drift.

Raleigh had once been not unlike Mako; wanting to be a pilot, to be a Ranger, because they just knew in their bones that they had to. He was determined, anyone could say, to stand up for Mako. All discretion and filters the man once had been thrown out the window in his growing rage.

"Sir, what are you doing?" His blue eyes locked onto the Marshal's browns. "She is the strongest candidate by far. She has a clear connection to that Jaeger, the strongest Neural Handshake I've ever felt. Even stronger than—" Raleigh caught himself, considering his words. He figured it to be the truth because the next words that passed his lips were: "Even stronger than Yancy or Sonny."

When Pentecost ignored him, Raleigh got to his feet in the heat of the moment. "What other options do we have? Huh? Tell me! You won't even let Sonny—"

"Do not let my calm demeanor fool you, Ranger! Now is not a good moment for your insubordination!" Pentecost, though apparently making the attempt to rein in what was left of his temper, took a few steps in the man's direction. "Mako is too inexperienced to rein in her memories during combat."

Though there was truth in his words, Raleigh knew that Pentecost was only using it for an excuse — a shit excuse, at that. As the Marshal took the moment to leave his office, Raleigh called out after him with a challenge, "That's not why you grounded her."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"I was in her memories. I saw everything."

"I don't care what you think you saw," the Marshal said, walking back to face Raleigh.

"I know what she means to you," Raleigh countered. "I saw it."

The Marshal turned on his heel and left.

"Hey, hey!"

Pentecost called out, "This conversation is over."

"Marshal." Raleigh rushed out after him and hustled to keep up. "Marshal, can we talk about this for one second?" He grabbed Pentecost by the arm and hauled him around. If he wasn't already done for by then, he would soon be. Raleigh Becket had broken every fucking rule in the standard protocol by merely touching the Marshal.

Marshal Pentecost had a look of a raging fire in his eyes. The two of them stared at each other for a moment; Raleigh knew he was in deep waters, speechless, and Stacker was about ready to whoop him upside the head. Instead, he called for the lift.

"You rescued her," Raleigh continued, albeit more cautious. "You raised her. You're not protecting her now. You are holding her back."

The Marshal raised a finger, shoving it into Raleigh's face. In a tight voice, he spoke. "One: Don't you ever touch me again. Two: Don't you ever touch me again."

Raleigh stayed quiet. Because a good little soldier didn't interfere. They stood tall and quiet with their hands behind their back. It was protocol. It was by the book. People followed through and they didn't get grounded or suspended. Unless, of course, you were Raleigh Becket because he sometimes does have a filter and most times not.

Pentecost breathed back a very dark remark, Raleigh could tell. "Now, you have no idea who the hell I am or where I've come from and I'm not about to tell you my whole life story. All I need to be to you and everybody on this 'Dome is a fixed point. The last man standing." His never wavering gaze made Raleigh look aside to avoid it before looking him in the eye. "I do not need your sympathy or your admiration. All I need is your compliance and your fighting skills. And if I can't get that, then you can go back to the wall that I found you crawling on."

The elevator doors opened, and Raleigh sighed under his breath.

"Do I make myself clear?" Pentecost questioned. The tone in his voice was made to egg Raleigh on, to see if he'd go further across the line he had stumbled across.

Raleigh took a second before nodding his reply, but the Marshal wouldn't take that for an answer. Just as Pentecost pointed to his ear: "Yes, sir," he muttered.

"Good," the Marshal huffed before entering the elevator.

2025, January 3 – 10:10 – Hong Kong Shatterdome, Hong Kong, China

Herc knew where Chuck would have run off to. The boy had always felt at home with the mechs wherever he went, even if home was just too far away. He had taken a quarter of an hour to tone down his temper and mull over what he would say to his son. It didn't take Herc too long to find Chuck in Striker Eureka's bay, among the other Chinese techs that were working on her.

"Hydrolics are shot," Chuck said immediately after seeing his father walk over. Over the rock band playing through the radio, he added, "We need to replace 'em."

The father reached an arm over and turned off the radio spouting whatever kind of rock, saying, "He's, uh, he's grounded Mako."

"Good," Chuck huffed, switching back the station volume. "That's half of the right decision but I want Becket off this mission more than I do her." He strutted over to the tool shelf and found an automatic drill.

It was in that moment — something to do with Chuck's boyish demeanor or even the impulse he had for the ever-childish rivalry to get rid of an ally on their team when the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps was already up to their necks with problems… In that moment, his own son had shoved him over an edge he had been approaching for some time.

Herc lowered the volume of the radio this time, deciding not to turn off the so-called 'music'.

"I'm listening to that," Chuck complained, toggling with the switch on the radio.

"Who are you?" Herc asked him in a low tone, forcefully shutting the radio off.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't even recognize you anymore. Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Chuck reiterated, brows knitting together in confusion. He looked annoyed to be asked the question and not know its answer. "What do you mean?"

"Who are you?" he demanded, coming up into his son's personal space.

"I'm the only chance we've got to deliver that bomb, is who I am—" Chuck had started.

Herc said, "Not the point."

"—but I'm stuck with two prison guards, the basketball triplets, Tokyo pop, and a washout."

"Not the point!" Herc said, louder this time.

Chuck felt the need to get louder, too. "Pentecost may be a great man, but he hasn't seen combat in, what? Ten years, maybe? More? The only chance we're got at a future is delivering that bomb, and I am the one doing it—"

"That's not what I'm talking about!"

"That's who I am!"

Herc and he just stared at each other for a long, tense moment before he huffed out, "You're a great Ranger. Is that what you want to hear?" he challenged, eyes locked on his son's. "Everybody knows that."

In a yearning tone, Chuck asked, "What more do you want me to be?"

"A better person!" Herc barked gruffly, anger rising within him.

Chuck's shoulders had slumped, and he showed the expression of someone thoroughly given up at fighting. "A better person?" he echoed in disbelief. He dropped the drill onto the shelving and harshly shoved his father's shoulder as he passed. "You know what? At least you can't blame yourself, because you didn't raise me to be anything," Chuck growled, turning on his heel and talking at Herc's back. "After Mom died, I spent more time with these machines than I ever did with you."

Herc remembered. He remembered that day in Sydney, leaving from the base and being pulled into two, having to choose who to save: his son or his wife. Authorities had given the entire population of downtown Sydney only one hour to evacuate.

One hour for five million people to get to safety, if there ever was.

He remembered distinctly how he felt going into the city while everyone else was trying to get out. There was no way to find anyone, and he was forced to choose. He chose Chuck, and Chuck had never forgiven him for it.

But Herc Hansen had sacrificed everything for his boy, and Chuck would always hate him. Oftentimes the ex-RAF pilot wanted to sit his son down and say, Hey, listen, would you really rather I had let you die so I could save your mother? Is that what you want?

Because I pray to any and all gods that have ever existed that you never have to make that choice.

It was true. Herc never wanted Chuck to go through what he did, having to play God with peoples' lives in his hands and whose lives relied on his decisions; decisions that slowly but surely break you down, tear up everything you're made up of.

Not that he would listen. Chuck never listened to anyone.

However, Chuck wasn't finished with his ungodly rant. "And the only reason you and I even speak anymore, old man, is because we are Drift Compatible. We are good at smashing things up, you and I."

Herc turned to face his son then, still voiceless.

"You know what? We don't even need to speak at all." Chuck's voice was low and tough, and Herc knew he was steeling himself up for it.

The father opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. What do you say to a son who felt as if his father didn't care enough about anything? Why hadn't he raised him to be a better person?

"I'll catch you in the Drift, Dad." And then he was gone, like he always was.

2025, January 3 – 17:49 – Hong Kong Shatterdome, Hong Kong, China

Greyson had only seen Mako since the incident with Gipsy or the squabble in front of Stacker's office. Herc and Stacker had more than likely gone to see Newt in the med bay. Chuck was avoiding everyone. She heard from a few others that Raleigh had holed himself in the combat room all afternoon.

The mess hall was buzzing when Greyson went to get her dinner. Grabbing some coconut juice from one of the fridges, the lieutenant headed for the Striker Eureka crew's regular table.

The Filipina immediately noticed the staffers in the mess hall quiet down. Conversations ceased when they all spotted a head of blond hair. Raleigh. Everyone was staring at him, gawking at him, before throwing noticeable glances in Greyson's direction.

She saw Gipsy Danger's crewmembers make an attempt to avoid eye contact with either of them, almost quietly shunning their pilot. Their eyes seemed to scream, Are you going to sit with the left-over?

Her stride to Raleigh should have answered their silent judgments.

Raleigh and Greyson eventually found a spot along the gantry overlooking their Jaeger's repair area. The Marshal was making sure she was given a good look-over in preparations for the Breach operation.

The two of them had eaten in a serene silence before Greyson finally spoke up. "Rals, Mako feels bad about what happened." It was a moment before she nudged her tray away.

"So do I," the blond replied. Motioning down to the techs, he continued: "They're still trying to figure out what went wrong—"

"Tendo told me that Gipsy was fine," she revealed, looking at him.

Raleigh sighed. "Either way, Mako had the strongest machine-pilot handshakes I've ever seen."

"Yeah, it looked like it with how everyone was running for their lives." Greyson pulled her knees to her chest, watching the sparks that ricocheted off of Gipsy's armor. A subtle smile danced on her lips.

The technicians' voices traveled up to their position on the scaffolding. Greyson could hear her name mentioned. There was something in the air, something coming off of Raleigh, and Greyson wondered if he was just itching to talk.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked quietly, earning a look of shock from her friend.

"What makes you think I won't be?"

"It might surprise you to hear that I remember how Drift-hangovers affect people," Greyson answered, eyes flicking up to meet his, "namely you. I could always tell whenever things are bothering you."

Raleigh ducked his head, staring blankly at the fork he was shifting between his fingers. His brows furrowed. "It all came back. That night, what happened with Yancy — it was like I saw myself through his memories, and…" He looked up with a solemn sorrow in his eyes when Greyson placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He finished, "It was just so quiet for so long."

"What happened that night wasn't your fault," she said in reassurance. "It's about time you finally forgive yourself." Greyson took a long intake of breath, readying herself to tell him about something she's never revealed to anyone else. "Listen, I blamed myself for what happened to you guys for so long. I hated myself. I convinced myself that it was my fault — that if I had paid enough attention... But I didn't have time to dwell on what could have been."

It was Raleigh's turn to comfort her. He took her hand in his. "We lived in each other's heads for so long, the hardest part to deal with was the silence."

"Do you want to know how I felt when you left?" That seemed to trigger something in Greyson. It was like she already heard his rant before — and in truth, she had. "Raleigh, I was alone. Yancy was gone, and then you defected from the Defense Corps without so much as a good-bye—" She took a breath, calming herself "—But when you came back…"

"It was like feeling the sun on your skin for the first time." His confession had silenced them both.

Raleigh's eyes roved over her before turning to watch the crane lift a piece of Gispy Danger's hull up. A bunch of the tech guys climbed in, and, within the next few moments, the inside lit up with the light of blowtorches. There was a question that lingered in the air between them, and they both knew the answer: It had been a long while since Raleigh had last seen their Jaeger's heart.

They sat as the techs lifted her old nuclear vortex from its housing. Those reactors had powered the first three generations of the mechs. Those same had even killed Rangers over time. Greyson felt a sudden amount of pride upon seeing the new shielding that Mako had wanted to be added. It was only one of many modifications she had suggested of incorporating into the old mecha, but they both greed that keeping the Mark III as original as possible was the way to go. Well, that was except for perhaps a few more new gadgets here or there.

"Mako's father was a sword maker, you know," Greyson said out of the blue. She didn't bother to look in his direction. "She told me once that he'd always say, when a warrior names his weapon, they share a bond."

"No wonder Gipsy's your baby."

"What?"

"Greyson Darcy. Gipsy Danger," Raleigh all but spelled out. "I didn't realize 'til just now."

A single chuckle escaped the lieutenant's lips. Then, she fell into a whole giggle fit. "That wasn't — that wasn't the point I was trying to make, but Jesus!"

The two of them shared a laugh. Raleigh calmed down as he asked her, "How's your uncle, by the way?"

Greyson merely shrugged. "Haven't seen him in a while, I miss him." She said, "You know how I favored him over my dad in a lot of ways, given the… circumstances."

Neither of them needed to elaborate on the 'why'. Then, Raleigh huffed out his own quiet chuckle.

"What is it?" Greyson inquired.

"Nothing."

"C'mon, Rals. What is it?"

"Well… When I was Drifting with Mako, I heard a song…" It was as if he didn't know exactly how to continue his question.

Greyson held back a grin, answering with, "Shibuya pop. She's been obsessed with for forever. Mako made me put it on my phone just in case she'd forget hers."

They shared another laugh. Greyson was secretly relieved that things seemed to be going back to how they used to be.

"…do you remember what happened to me and Yance in the second grade?" Raleigh asked Greyson.

"You mean, when Fink Herbert beat the ever-living snot out of you guys?" Greyson chortled. They had another round of roaring laughter. "Yeah, I remember. You and him had fractured your ribs, nasty bruises, cut lips—"

"—and Yancy was the only pirate boy in his fifth-grade class."

Again, they laughed. Soon they sobered up. No one had mentioned Yancy so much in one day without making Greyson cry. Hardly any person had spoken of the late Becket following the incident. When news of Raleigh's arrival erupted in the halls, that was all anyone could hear: "Yancy's brother—", "Raleigh and Yancy and Gipsy Danger—", "Yancy Becket's been dead."

Raleigh's voice had brought her back to reality. "Do you know why Fink beat us out of our socks?"

Greyson turned to him. "No. Why?"

"We were defending your mom. And you."

"Why?" she asked once more, interest now piqued.

"He talked bad about you. It was the week your mom left. You weren't yourself, and the kids noticed. Herbert talked behind your back to anyone who would listen," Raleigh let out. "I told him that 'just because you have a weenie, doesn't mean you gotta act like one!' Yancy actually did call him a dick after saying he 'didn't know anything'. And we got socked in the — well — everything."

"Oh, man," Greyson sighed. "And I was laughing at you two idiots for a month. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry that you were mocked for not having a mom."

"And I'm sorry that yours died, and that your dad left, too."

"I'm sorry that Yancy died."

"I'm sorry about Chuck."

"I'm sorry that I l—" Raleigh didn't finish whatever he began saying. He looked mad for almost saying it. "It's getting late," he said finally.

"Since when have you cared about it being late?" Greyson mocked, raising a brow.

Raleigh only smirked, holding his hand out for his friend.