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]

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?”

[striker_eureka]

He finally blinks open bleary eyes and looks up at the vision staring down at him. There's no reaction on his face, not disbelief, not fear, not shock, nothing.

"I don't think so," he mumbles finally. "You're still here."

[driftcompatible]

Cool but solid fingers press against his cheeks, smoothing at his skin.

"Yes. I watched over you. Are you thirsty?"

The water is still sitting where she had put it, within her reach.

[striker_eureka]

He mutely shakes his head, afraid if they move at all she'll disappear and he'll wake up for real and he'll be alone again.

Even a dream Mako is better than being alone.

[driftcompatible]

She decides then that he still must be drunk. She sighs and withholds her tears, shifting him a little and forcing him to sit up and lean his back against her chest, arms and legs locking around him as she rests against a wall for support.

"Mmm. You will later, when the headache comes."

[striker_eureka]

This is a very strange dream. Still, he's never been able to deny her anything, even in the short amount of time they got to be together, so he doesn't fight her when she tries to get him to move and sit up against her.

He leans back against her chest and rests his head on her shoulder, tilting his head a little until his forehead rests against her jaw.

"I don't know what to do," he breathes, confused by how solid she seems behind him. How real. "I'm so alone now that you're gone."

[driftcompatible]

Her palms smooth over his chest, feeling the planes of a still well muscled body beneath her hands.

“You are a strong man, Hercules Hansen,” Mako murmurs in his ear, breath ghosting over his skin. “We will figure out a way, together.”

She inhales slowly, holds it, then lets it out.

"If I tell you my story, I need two things from you. I need you to remember it later, and for you to believe me. Be honest, Hercules. Are you still drunk?"

[striker_eureka]

She feels so good pressed up behind him. He wants so badly to believe that she's real, but...she's not. She's dead. He knows she is, he watched her life signs blink out on the screen.

"I...think so," he admits finally. "Been drinking pretty steadily since—since you died."

[driftcompatible]

She's silent for a moment, clearly debating her next move. She's stiff, sore and aching, and she desperately needs to go to the bathroom and she would very much like a shower.

She does none of these things, instead she simply presses her face into his shoulder and drags in a breath. He smells of alcohol and sweat, but still like him, too.

"What would you say if I told you that I am not dead?" She finally asks, cheek resting against his shirt.