[After Pitfall's success, Mako finds herself in limbo. There's the flurry of celebration, of course, a few press conferences, things she should be ecstatic about, but all of it feels almost hollow without the Marshall there with her.
If Mako is honest with herself, she's a mess. She's spent her entire life throwing herself into her work, some would say to the point of obsession, but now she's achieved the goals she's been dreaming about since that snowy day in Tokyo. They've saved the world, and she's never thought beyond that mission. It's too early to tell what will happen with the Jaegar program, too early to have even held a wake for Pentecost, and Mako feels all of it like a piece of her is missing. She holds it together well enough, she thinks. Every time her chest tightens or her vision blurs, she pictures Pentecost lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders, and forces herself to do the same.
Raleigh can tell, though. She knows he can. She can feel him sneaking glances at her, though she stubbornly pretends she doesn't notice. Mako trusts him implicitly, but that doesn't make any of it easy to talk about. When they were drifting, it was simple—he knew everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling, no matter how massive or tangled or overwhelming. How can she possibly put any of it into words? It feels utterly daunting in comparison.
That doesn't keep her from being drawn to him near constantly. Whether it's a side effect of the drift or something intrinsic about Raleigh, she still hasn't been able to pinpoint. All she knows is that when she's next to him, even when they're surrounded by the rest of the crews, even when they're utterly silent, she feels centered.
After five days, after rearranging the books on her shelf a million times and trying to talk herself out of it, she eases out of her room and crosses the hall to knock on the door to his quarters.]
[It's been a week since Pitfall, and the PPDC is still a flurry of activity. There's a million debriefs, a million things to sort out, interviews and paperwork and meetings to decide what the hell happens to the program now. Mako argues that they shouldn't shut it down, that they should be prepared in the event the kaiju return, but she suspects that a good number of people she speaks to are convinced she just doesn't want to let the program go.
So, Mako throws herself into her work, trying to stay busy and bury her grief. Too many of them have died for this, and now they're left with four rangers and no jaegers. Chuck is still in medical, still in terrible shape, from what Mako knows of her last check in. She doesn't quite know how to handle it. She feels compelled to visit, even if she's not entirely sure that he'd want her there. It's a way to play support for Herc, if nothing else, so for the third time in the seven days since they found him, Mako finds herself heading back to his room, wondering if he'll ever wake up.]
Chuck's body is completely shut down, unresponsive to any of the commands his brain is sending to his muscles, but damn it, they're not listening. Its as if they're a young Chuck ignoring questions from Herc, doing the complete opposite. His rationale is that he must ne in a coma, whether it's medically induced or not, he isn't quite sure, but based on the bit of required medical training he had been required to have, this sounds like what was described.
The past week had been a whirlwind of confusion, frustration and emotion. It was if Chuck's mind was going through the stages of grief. He spent the first hours between consciousness and not denying that he had been injured that badly, and screaming at himself to open his bloody eyes and wake up form this bloody awful dream. Then he was angry. Angry that the medical team and his father were making decisions about his care as if he wasn't even in the room. He was dammit. He was in the middle of the fucking room hooked up to all these freaking wires with a breathing tube down his throat. If they stopped feeding his body shit to keep him unconscious, he would open his eyes, flip them off and storm back to his quarters.
The bargaining stage was hard, Chuck was never one to beg, but the promises he had made to every higher being he could possibly think of would ensure that Max, his Dad, Mako, and hell, even Raleigh were set for life without anything being due back in return. He just wanted to wake up. Hercules Hansen was the cause for the forth stage, depression. Chuck's mind was active again, and he had to listen to his father sob uncontrollably, apologize to Chuck for everything that he had ever done that made Chuck resent him, taking ownership for the shit Chuck put on him instead of dealing with himself like Chuck should have done. It broke his heart, the one he keeps locked away behind thousands of impenetrable locks and layers, to be the reason to make the strongest man he knew reduce to the wrecked shadow that was clutching his sons hand, begging him to wake up, never hearing Chuck's yells of forgiveness and frustrated cries of him trying to wake up. That stage haunted Chuck for the longest amount of time, until just recently. Chuck had accepted that he wasn't going to wake up, he was going to continue to live this torture, never have the chance to make it right, because one day, probably soon, the Shatterdome will close, and they will take Chuck off life support, if that is what he is one, and he will stay in this darkness until his heart stops and he moves on.
One evening, it must have been evening, as the gentle hum of the equipment was the only sound that filled Chucks ears for a bit, the darkness that he had gotten used to changed to a searing white. The medical center was dark, all the lights had been dimmed for the overnight and to most, was a pleasant brightness, calming and soft, but for Chuck it was horrendous. Hi brain activity on the monitor would show, if anyone had been there, that there was a flurry of activity which was related to Chuck's excitement that his eyelids were functioning again. After a good solid hour, he was able to have them open and look around. He couldn't move his head yet, but his pupils were working and that was enough for the moment to placate the man who had come to terms with his own death, after not dying the first time he had comes to terms with it. How fickle.
His eyes darted to the door the instant it made a sound that it was opening. Mako. Huh. Odd, but he was happy to see her. He had no control of his body, or voice so he hoped she would come over to him and see that he had awoken.
[Training to be a jaeger pilot was more than just the simulators. You needed to know how to fight, sure, but there was a lot more to it than that. You needed the military training, but you also need the conditioning to keep you going in any situation you might end up in, even the nightmare scenarios.
[Considering most of the time you're intercepting kaiju off the coast - getting your jaeger wrecked at sea was a distinct possibility. That meant that every ranger that ever wanted to set foot in a jaeger cockpit had to go through cold water conditioning.
[Or, as every ranger called it: surf torture.
[It involved getting dropped into cold water a quarter-mile off the shore, activating your suit's built-in buoyancy compensator, climbing into a waiting emergency raft, and paddling to shore. Once you were on shore, you had to do a hundred meter dash up the beach with the boat.
[Pretty much everyone was a shivering wreck by the first pass, but after a half-hour to warm up, you get sent back out for another pass. Every muscle in your body is screaming by the end of the second, and by the end of the third go, you're pretty much hoping the hypothetical kaiju in the scenario is gonna just get it over with and step on you already.
[Being 6'2" and north of two hundred pounds, Conner's got a few natural advantages that make this a little easier on him. Operative term being "a little," because he still winced when he hit the water. For all his bravado at the start, by the time he'd finished running his drills - setting that fucking boat down for the last time - he was aching all over, and shaking as much as anyone else.
[It hurt to move, to walk, to blink, and he could barely move his arms and legs. Taking a load off and sitting down on one of the locker room benches helped, but his wetsuit was still soaked and he wasn't going to feel any better until he did something about that. He actually gasped a little bit - drawing in a breath as he started to peel himself out of the thick layers of neoprene and realized just how much easier it was to breathe now that he was out of it. He didn't realize how much water that thing was holding onto until he had it in his hands and heard how loud the slap was when it hit the ground.
[Conner just kinda stood there for a long moment. Every last inch of him hurt like hell, he was still shaking like a leaf, but at least his skin could breath.
[He needs a towel and a hot shower. Like ... now.]
[Mako isn't one to complain about training, or even to think about what parts she dislikes. It feels like an excuse to slack, or an excuse to start considering some parts of the program less important than others, and honestly, she's too focused and obsessive to start thinking about how much she hates some of their exercises.
The cold water conditioning, though. Mako would never admit it, but she loathes it.
Unlike Conner, she sheds her wetsuit immediately, and by the time he catches up, she's sitting on a bench, hunched over, in a hoodie that she's drowning in and her hair still dripping. She's shivering violently, jaw set to keep her teeth from chattering. She's trying to walk herself through the discomfort, telling herself that it will pass, that it doesn't matter, but when she sees Conner she feels cold all over again. She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself.]
Do you need a towel?
[Why else would he not be trying to warm up as quickly as possible?]
[Oh, he was quick enough to get out of the wetsuit, but the towels ... yeah. None in sight. The bin closest to him was empty.]
Y-yeah ...
[He replies through chattering teeth, rubbing at his arms to get his blood flowing again as he scans the room. He throws a bit of a longing glance at the shower. The drill sergeants had pretty thoroughly drummed it into his head that possible hypothermia and hot water is a recipe for arrhythmia, but fuck if the idea of a hot shower didn't seem like the best thing in the goddamn world.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
If Mako is honest with herself, she's a mess. She's spent her entire life throwing herself into her work, some would say to the point of obsession, but now she's achieved the goals she's been dreaming about since that snowy day in Tokyo. They've saved the world, and she's never thought beyond that mission. It's too early to tell what will happen with the Jaegar program, too early to have even held a wake for Pentecost, and Mako feels all of it like a piece of her is missing. She holds it together well enough, she thinks. Every time her chest tightens or her vision blurs, she pictures Pentecost lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders, and forces herself to do the same.
Raleigh can tell, though. She knows he can. She can feel him sneaking glances at her, though she stubbornly pretends she doesn't notice. Mako trusts him implicitly, but that doesn't make any of it easy to talk about. When they were drifting, it was simple—he knew everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling, no matter how massive or tangled or overwhelming. How can she possibly put any of it into words? It feels utterly daunting in comparison.
That doesn't keep her from being drawn to him near constantly. Whether it's a side effect of the drift or something intrinsic about Raleigh, she still hasn't been able to pinpoint. All she knows is that when she's next to him, even when they're surrounded by the rest of the crews, even when they're utterly silent, she feels centered.
After five days, after rearranging the books on her shelf a million times and trying to talk herself out of it, she eases out of her room and crosses the hall to knock on the door to his quarters.]
no subject
So, Mako throws herself into her work, trying to stay busy and bury her grief. Too many of them have died for this, and now they're left with four rangers and no jaegers. Chuck is still in medical, still in terrible shape, from what Mako knows of her last check in. She doesn't quite know how to handle it. She feels compelled to visit, even if she's not entirely sure that he'd want her there. It's a way to play support for Herc, if nothing else, so for the third time in the seven days since they found him, Mako finds herself heading back to his room, wondering if he'll ever wake up.]
no subject
The past week had been a whirlwind of confusion, frustration and emotion. It was if Chuck's mind was going through the stages of grief. He spent the first hours between consciousness and not denying that he had been injured that badly, and screaming at himself to open his bloody eyes and wake up form this bloody awful dream. Then he was angry. Angry that the medical team and his father were making decisions about his care as if he wasn't even in the room. He was dammit. He was in the middle of the fucking room hooked up to all these freaking wires with a breathing tube down his throat. If they stopped feeding his body shit to keep him unconscious, he would open his eyes, flip them off and storm back to his quarters.
The bargaining stage was hard, Chuck was never one to beg, but the promises he had made to every higher being he could possibly think of would ensure that Max, his Dad, Mako, and hell, even Raleigh were set for life without anything being due back in return. He just wanted to wake up. Hercules Hansen was the cause for the forth stage, depression. Chuck's mind was active again, and he had to listen to his father sob uncontrollably, apologize to Chuck for everything that he had ever done that made Chuck resent him, taking ownership for the shit Chuck put on him instead of dealing with himself like Chuck should have done. It broke his heart, the one he keeps locked away behind thousands of impenetrable locks and layers, to be the reason to make the strongest man he knew reduce to the wrecked shadow that was clutching his sons hand, begging him to wake up, never hearing Chuck's yells of forgiveness and frustrated cries of him trying to wake up. That stage haunted Chuck for the longest amount of time, until just recently. Chuck had accepted that he wasn't going to wake up, he was going to continue to live this torture, never have the chance to make it right, because one day, probably soon, the Shatterdome will close, and they will take Chuck off life support, if that is what he is one, and he will stay in this darkness until his heart stops and he moves on.
One evening, it must have been evening, as the gentle hum of the equipment was the only sound that filled Chucks ears for a bit, the darkness that he had gotten used to changed to a searing white. The medical center was dark, all the lights had been dimmed for the overnight and to most, was a pleasant brightness, calming and soft, but for Chuck it was horrendous. Hi brain activity on the monitor would show, if anyone had been there, that there was a flurry of activity which was related to Chuck's excitement that his eyelids were functioning again. After a good solid hour, he was able to have them open and look around. He couldn't move his head yet, but his pupils were working and that was enough for the moment to placate the man who had come to terms with his own death, after not dying the first time he had comes to terms with it. How fickle.
His eyes darted to the door the instant it made a sound that it was opening. Mako. Huh. Odd, but he was happy to see her. He had no control of his body, or voice so he hoped she would come over to him and see that he had awoken.
no subject
[Considering most of the time you're intercepting kaiju off the coast - getting your jaeger wrecked at sea was a distinct possibility. That meant that every ranger that ever wanted to set foot in a jaeger cockpit had to go through cold water conditioning.
[Or, as every ranger called it: surf torture.
[It involved getting dropped into cold water a quarter-mile off the shore, activating your suit's built-in buoyancy compensator, climbing into a waiting emergency raft, and paddling to shore. Once you were on shore, you had to do a hundred meter dash up the beach with the boat.
[Pretty much everyone was a shivering wreck by the first pass, but after a half-hour to warm up, you get sent back out for another pass. Every muscle in your body is screaming by the end of the second, and by the end of the third go, you're pretty much hoping the hypothetical kaiju in the scenario is gonna just get it over with and step on you already.
[Being 6'2" and north of two hundred pounds, Conner's got a few natural advantages that make this a little easier on him. Operative term being "a little," because he still winced when he hit the water. For all his bravado at the start, by the time he'd finished running his drills - setting that fucking boat down for the last time - he was aching all over, and shaking as much as anyone else.
[It hurt to move, to walk, to blink, and he could barely move his arms and legs. Taking a load off and sitting down on one of the locker room benches helped, but his wetsuit was still soaked and he wasn't going to feel any better until he did something about that. He actually gasped a little bit - drawing in a breath as he started to peel himself out of the thick layers of neoprene and realized just how much easier it was to breathe now that he was out of it. He didn't realize how much water that thing was holding onto until he had it in his hands and heard how loud the slap was when it hit the ground.
[Conner just kinda stood there for a long moment. Every last inch of him hurt like hell, he was still shaking like a leaf, but at least his skin could breath.
[He needs a towel and a hot shower. Like ... now.]
no subject
The cold water conditioning, though. Mako would never admit it, but she loathes it.
Unlike Conner, she sheds her wetsuit immediately, and by the time he catches up, she's sitting on a bench, hunched over, in a hoodie that she's drowning in and her hair still dripping. She's shivering violently, jaw set to keep her teeth from chattering. She's trying to walk herself through the discomfort, telling herself that it will pass, that it doesn't matter, but when she sees Conner she feels cold all over again. She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself.]
Do you need a towel?
[Why else would he not be trying to warm up as quickly as possible?]
no subject
Y-yeah ...
[He replies through chattering teeth, rubbing at his arms to get his blood flowing again as he scans the room. He throws a bit of a longing glance at the shower. The drill sergeants had pretty thoroughly drummed it into his head that possible hypothermia and hot water is a recipe for arrhythmia, but fuck if the idea of a hot shower didn't seem like the best thing in the goddamn world.]
D-don't suppose you've got a spare?