for driftcompatible

[striker_eureka]

There is absolutely no worse feeling than knowing that your child died from a direct result of your actions.

Herc had watched Chuck fall to his death screaming, Leatherback's angry roar not enough to drown out the terrified noise that ripped from his son's throat before the ocean swallowed him up and his armor dragged him down. It left Herc shell-shocked, useless even without his broken clavicle, and he was honestly surprised when Stacker left him in charge of the final mission.

He wouldn't have.

But somehow he managed, somehow he was able to stand there in the LOCCENT, was able to direct the last two Jaegers to finish the mission and seal the breach forever. They knew they were going to die. Every pilot does when they strap themselves in. Herc had stepped up to that microphone knowing that he would listen to the death of his best friend and his maybe-girlfriend, and it was only what he deserved for killing his son. He had to listen to Chuck die, too. It seems fitting.

Striker Eureka detonated in a giant nuclear explosion and Herc felt what was left of his heart shatter, leaving him a hollow man-shaped shell.

He was only able to get through the press dockets and the paperwork and ordering the decontamination protocols because he had done all this before and his autopilot instincts were good. But if anyone were to look at the footage, they would see a broken man, haggard and grieving, the light gone out of his eyes, every fiber screaming he'd given up.

Most days now, Herc drinks himself into oblivion with cheap moonshine, hoping to numb the agony he feels with every breath. It never works.

Comments

[driftcompatible]

Stacker had seen in Mako’s mind what she’d built with his best friend. He’d seen, hadn’t exactly approved, and there was a scant few moments where he’d shut off all communications with LOCCENT in order to have the fastest but most emotional heart to heart discussion with his daughter to date.

It had ended with Mako’s escape pod being ejected, her inside of it, though most of the life support systems and homing beacons offline due to numerous blows Striker had taken from battling the kaiju. Stacker knows that you don’t leave your copilot, you stay with them to the bitter end and you go out as a team, together, but he’s a solo drifter and has been for a long time and Mako was so young, so full of life and love and all of the good things that he’d persuaded her to just go.

Persuaded by an affectionate dose of tranquilizers that were part of the medkits in all the Jaegers. Mako wouldn’t have gone any other way. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, send her off like that knowing damn well it wasn’t what she wanted.

* * *

For several terrifying days Mako floats on the Pacific ocean with nothing but cracker rations and canned water, a busted homing beacon, and a broken heart. But all the lessons she’d learned over the years from Stacker, from Herc, from her training pay off and the beacon is fixed and in the dead of night she’s found and brought back alive.

Someone is pounding on Herc’s door, shouting at him that Mako is back, Mako made it, somehow Mako is alive. It doesn’t last because there’s celebrating – one of their pilots had come home and whoever has done the knocking has disappeared into the chaos that is the Shatterdome, leaving Herc to either get up, or stay in his drunken slumber until morning.

[striker_eureka]

Herc had loved Mako. He might not have been in love with her, at least not yet, but he had loved her. She had given him quiet and peace and a mental break from the constant stress and anxiety that the end of the world brought and he had grown incredibly fond of her. Grateful. Whatever you wanted to call it. She was important.

She was a hero, too. And there are no heroes in a world where heroes cannot die, after all, so he can't begrudge her that.

But it leaves him completely, bitterly alone.

Most days Max is off with Tendo or Striker's tech crews; Herc can't look at the dog without wanting to cry. It leaves his rooms incredibly quiet and empty, and the day he found a pair of Mako's panties shoved down at the bottom of his bed, tangled up in his sheets, is the day he started drinking. He hasn't really stopped. It's been a five-day bender with pauses only for the most unrestful sleep of his life, and right now Hercules is slumped over his desk, his head in his arms, bottles strewn haphazardly around him. If he hears the knocking, he doesn't respond, and finally the knocking stops and the shouting — lies, he heard her die, he heard it — finally quiets and he's left alone with his thoughts swirling through his mind.

[driftcompatible]

He doesn’t appear when the rest of the Shatterdome does. Mako looks for him, hunting the shock of ginger hair in a sea of faces; some recognizable, some not. He doesn’t show up when they decide to have a big party in the mess at three in the morning, either, because that’s when she came back – the middle of the night, the witching hour, when nothing seems real and everything is like a dream.

He doesn’t’ appear when drinks are pushed into her hands, when she’s hugged and congratulated and clapped on the back. He doesn’t show up when she asks about him, instead she only gets sympathetic looks that leave her heart somewhere at the bottom of the ocean until someone verifies that no, no – he’s not dead though Mako can tell from the way they look at her he might as well be.

He doesn’t show up at all, and eventually Mako leaves her own party, slipping away and still in her drive suit to find his door, knuckles rapping gently on the cool metal.

“Hercules.” She tries the door. “Let me in.”

[striker_eureka]

He doesn't really know why he gets up to open the door, staggering over and almost tripping on...something on the floor, but he does, fumbling the lock over and hauling at the heavy door until he can see who's there on the other side.

Look, he knows he's drunk and guilty and probably deserves this, but come on.

This is cruel.

"No."

He shuts the door. He can't deal with this right now. He knows he deserves everything he's getting and more, he knows that, but god, why is his brain doing this to him? All he wants is a night of peace and quiet where he doesn't relive watching Chuck fall to his death, where he doesn't listen to Striker detonate and see the blip on the radar that was his old Jaeger disappear, that he doesn't turn over and smell her hair on his pillows or hear her voice in the corridors.

Or hallucinate her standing on his front step.

Is that so much to ask?

[driftcompatible]

She’s still wearing heavy, steel toed boots from the drive soot and the moment that he shuts the door she’s blocking it with her foot, cringing a little at the pressure.

This is so much worse than she ever could have imagined.

“Talk to me,” she says, voice quiet and calm, her weight steadily pushing against the door. She’s not going to force it open – not yet, anyway. She’s too desperate to see him, touch him, convince herself that this is real and she’s really alive to be able to do that.

Yet.

If he doesn’t let her in, then she might just lose control and do it anyway.

[striker_eureka]

"Just leave me alone."

He's too tired and too drunk to care if his voice breaks in the middle, there, too numb-but-not to give a shit anymore. His life has lost all semblance of meaning now. There's no reason why he should care.

He staggers away from the door, crashing into the corner of his desk and sending some of the empties clattering off onto the floor (where they thankfully don't break), and manages to fling himself into a chair. He can't go near the bed right now. It still smells like her. Or at least, he's pretty sure it does. It could just be all in his head.

[driftcompatible]

Mako pushes the door open when he backs away then boots it shut behind her, twisting the lock. Once she's sure that they aren't going to be bothered, then and only then does she approach him.

"Hercules. God, Hercules..."

She doesn't know what to say or do and she sort of just...sinks to her knees in front of him, pushing away empty bottles as she just...rests there on the floor and quietly starts to weep.

[striker_eureka]

His hallucination of Mako is crying, which seems doubly cruel, twisting the knife already plunged into his heart when she died.

He's not sure if she's corporeal enough — or if he's far enough gone — that he can touch her, but when he reaches out with a shaking hand, he manages to feel her hair under his fingers. It's greasy and dirty, but it feels pretty solid, so maybe his brain has been pickled enough that it's just given up the ghost and is doing whatever the fuck it wants now.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," he slurs, swaying a little in his chair. He may be completely fucking out of it, but at least he's still coherent. Barely.

"I'll be seeing you soon. You, and Chuck, and Stacks, too. We'll all be together soon."

[driftcompatible]

She covers his hand with hers, still gloved fingers wrapping over his hand and squeezing tightly. Tears streak her dirty face and she looks up at him with red-rimmed and stinging eyes. He's so, so gone right now that Mako doesn't know what to do other than lean forward to steady him, her free hand reaching to rest on his shoulder as she moves closer, unable to tear her eyes from the shell of a man sitting in front of her.

"Not yet, love," she says, moving to cup his cheek. "Not just yet. I will tell you what happened, in the morning, when I know you will remember. Okay?"

[striker_eureka]

It's hard for him to focus on her, his pupils not really responding properly, especially when she leans in closer.

He can't help himself from leaning in against the hand on his cheek, though, and when he closes his eyes, the tears he's managed to hold back all day finally fall, streaking down his cheeks to get lost in the tangle of facial hair he hasn't bothered to deal with.

"Not gonna see morning," he mumbles, his shoulders shaking. "I'm done."

[driftcompatible]

“Yes, you will see morning,” she tells him firmly, both hands coming to cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking the tears away.

“You are not done. Not yet. Not now. I do not want you to give up.”

Mako isn’t a stupid woman. She is realizing what is happening, what he must think. Judging by the amount of bottles that litter the room, this has been the norm for several days, and he must think her a ghost, a figment of his imagination, some sort of hallucination brought on by too much alcohol.

“I want you to listen very closely, Hercules Hansen,” Mako’s words are slow and firm; she wants him to listen, to understand, “because I am going to tell you what I want from you. Can you do that?”

[striker_eureka]

He opens his eyes to stare at her, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed and so very defeated.

"I can't do this anymore," he chokes out, clumsy hands lifting to settle heavily on her shoulders. She's wearing the drive suit — of course she is, this is what she died in, of course her ghost would be wearing it. It would be too much to ask that he imagine her wearing her own things, or a pretty dress, or hell, his own shirt and nothing else.

"I tried, but I can't. I can't, I'm sorry."

But she seems pretty serious, so he makes yet one more effort to pay attention, to give her what she deserves. He manages to lift his head, looking at her with as attentive an expression as he can mange when his eyes won't focus properly.

"...What is it?

[driftcompatible]

"I want you to stay with me until morning." Her fingers rest under his chin, tipping his face to look at her, dark eyes fixing firmly onto brown. She's not moving until she has his word on any of this.

"Do not give up. Not yet. Promise me, Hercules. I love you, I need you to hear my story. Can you do this for me?"

[striker_eureka]

His shoulders slump even further, defeat etched into every line of his body, the idea of having to carry on even for just one more day seemingly too much for him to bear.

"Mako..."

He doesn't want to. He wants to wait until everyone is finally fucking asleep and just...go. Just get out and fall into the ocean and take a deep breath of cold, salty, kaiju-blue infected waters. Fill his lungs with water and let them drag him down, down, down into the murky depths where he won't be found for weeks.

"Do I have to?"

[driftcompatible]

“Yes.” Mako’s tone is resolute, firm and unmoving. This is one of the hardest things that she has ever had to do, but she faces it now with the same dignity and grace that she faces all adversities. No more tears.

“If you have ever loved me, even just a little bit, then yes. Yes, this is a thing that you must do. Will you wait, and stay with me?”

[striker_eureka]

He sighs heavily, swaying a little in his seat, but finally nods. It's reluctant and slow and looks a little more like an involuntary bob of his head than acknowledgement, but whatever. It counts.

"What's one more day, right?"

One more day of pain and misery on top of all the others. He's already hit rock bottom, he can't get any lower. What's one more day on top of all that?

"Okay, fine. You won't exist in the morning anyway."

[driftcompatible]

She pulls in a ragged breath of relief and leans in to gently kiss him, lips salty with both tears and seawater.

"Thank you. I will help you to bed, then get you water. Okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, she gently peels him out of his jacket, folding it over her arm before kissing his forehead and kneeling between his legs again so that she can untie his boots and remove them one by one.

[striker_eureka]

He has to be asleep. This is a really cruel dream.

"Not the bed."

He's clumsy as he tries to help her undress him, but since this is a dream, it doesn't matter. Finally his jacket is off and he watches with a strange sense of detachment as she takes off his boots.

"Smells too much like you. Can't take it."

[driftcompatible]

She glances around, weighing her options as she sets his boots aside.

"Not the bed, then."

She moves to his closet, drags down the raggedy spare blanket that she knows is up there, and two clean shirts. She doesn't bother with shorts. She doesn't think she can support his dead weight.

"Here." She strips him out of his dirty shirt and tosses it into a corner before unceremoniously jerking one of the clean ones down over his head. She spreads the blanket out on the ground and pats it.

"The floor. Here."

She offers her hands for steadying support, and gently brings him down with her.

Then and only then will she peel herself out of that drive suit and change into his shirt.

[striker_eureka]

He flops around like a dead fish, only able to give her minimal support as she undresses him, and finally collapses onto the floor with a sad little sigh.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles to the blanket, arms and legs akimbo. He can't even care that he's hurting his collarbone. Nothing matters.

"I should've been out there. I should've been piloting with Stacker. Let you live. Let the old dogs pave the way for the new. Let you have a chance at life."

[driftcompatible]

She practically tears herself out of the goddamn drivesuit; it's a botch to get out of alone and she's so fucking glad the bolts are already undone so that all she needs to do is push them out.

It's still hard by yourself when you're tired and aching and your heart is shattered because the man you love is even more broken than you're own heart.

Eventually she's in his shirt alone and armed with a glass of water, but it's mostly ignored as she gets as comfortable as possible sitting and pulling his head into her lap, rolling him on his back.

"Shh. Rest, love."

[striker_eureka]

"I'm sorry," he whispers, letting her roll him over, the tears he can't stop from leaking out of his eyes trailing down to get lost in the graying hair at his temples.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

[driftcompatible]

Mako is going to sit here with him all night and watch him, fingertips gently massaging his temples.

"I know, Hercules."

Her voice is quiet and strained.

"I know. I forgive you." If that is what he needs, then Mako offers it freely, right here on the floor of his room with his head in her lap.

[striker_eureka]

"So...sorry..."

He finally drifts off to sleep, but it's by no means a restful one. He's plagued by nightmares, old familiar dreams of death and pain and so much sorrow that he usually wakes up with tears on his face and a scream caught in his throat.

He's motionless, though, his limbs too heavy and his brain too sozzled to be able to move anymore.

So that's something.

[driftcompatible]

Mako Mori takes after Stacker in so, so many ways. Even before he brought her in under his wing, Mako was a serious child, very studious though inherently curious about the world. Her parents had died when she was very young and Stacker Pentecost was more like a father than her real family, because he was the most prominent and memorable presence in her life growing up.

She does not even remember what her real father sounded like.

Mako inherited Stacker’s ability to be a fixed point – the last ‘man’ standing. Right now, she is Hercules Hansen’s fixed point, his beacon of hope in a sea of sorrow. She stays awake and watches over him, a vigilant guardian, ensuring his safety.

When he wakes up, Mako is sitting there with him, awake and alert though her eyes are tired and there are shadows in her features.

“Hercules.” She’s quiet, her voice soft. “Are you awake?”