Author's Note: After a massive, months-long writer's block that drove me up the walls I finally managed to jump-start the Muse again. This is what happened.
No apologies.
Not even about the length.
It's also a 'nearly-everyone-survives' kinda AU.
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The Kaijus came into a world where humanity existed in two shapes: Shifters and Non. The Shifters made up about thirty percent of the population. They were everywhere, in every society, in every country, on every continent.
Shifters were no different from the Nons. They had one genetic deviation, but generally speaking they were just as human.
But Shifters, aside from being born with an alternate form they changed into at will, had one thing that set them apart from the Nons: they could form life-bonds. It was a connection between two individuals, either completely platonic or with a sexual element, and it gave both of them a connection into the others mind that was unrivalled.
It only happened between Shifters, never between Nons, or Shifters and Nons.
Some cultures called those with a connection bonded. Others soulmates. A few said they were counterparts or companions. Nons liked to put a sweet, romantic aspect to it. Shifters didn't really think it had anything to do with romance.
In some Shifters it caused an empathic connection; in some a close-to telepathic one, allowing mind-to-mind communication. Mostly with pack-oriented ones.
The connections varied in strength. Science called them alpha or prime connections. Empathic ones were usually classified as beta or secondary.
Whatever science called it, it was natural.
It simply happened.
Not regularly. Not everyone had a destined mate. That was nothing but myth and legend and romantic tales of fiction. Some found a mate easier than others. Like wolves or whoever else formed packs. Science tried to explain it in the mentality of the thing, but was proven wrong too many times.
Sometimes packs only shared the pack bond and none of the members had a mate.
There was never a guarantee.
Not everyone had a mate.
Not everyone sought one, for one reason or another.
And like everything that could be connected, it could also be broken.
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The Kaijus weren't like anything the world had ever seen. They were huge. They were alien. They were the enemy.
They killed.
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Humanity responded with force.
Deadly force.
They killed their own to survive an alien attack.
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When Chuck was born it was clear he was different. He was one of the pack, he was a strong beta, but he was… different.
Herc had known soon enough.
It wasn't some arcane knowledge or something in the way his son smelled to the powerful alpha wolf. It was the simple fact that little Charles Hansen shifted into a fluffy wolf pup one moment, then seamlessly into another form.
A wombat of all things.
Herc still remembered his own shock, his wife's exclamation of surprise, and her laughter when their son had gone back to wolf and finally human toddler.
So his son was a triple changer, a Shifter with more than one form. He was a wolf, like his father, and he was something else. He circled through forms native to his Australian home, all of them really canine, though he lingered briefly with the dingo shape, then his young brain latched onto something new.
It became a guessing game as to what he would try next.
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When his mother died, he chose his third form.
Chuck was twelve years old.
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It was Caitlin Lightcap, a renowned researcher into the soul-bond between two matching Shifters, who created the concept of the Pons. A neural bridge between a machine and a human pilot.
Almost like a bond.
It was also she who saw the problem with one mind bearing such an incredible neural load. Bonded Shifters shared between their souls. Lightcap came up with a new concept where the Jaeger would be driven by two pilots connected in a neural handshake, synchronizing them.
Making them one.
Just like bonded Shifters.
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It took one of the first test pilots, Sergio D'Onofrio, having a seizure as he attempted to control Yukon Brawler that the Drift came into play. Caitlin connected herself to the other mind, taking the weight of the neural load.
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In 2015, Yukon Brawler moved against Karloff and won.
Caitlin and Sergio executed the Drift flawlessly.
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Pilots were now selected according to compatibility.
It soon became clear that siblings, spouses and mated pairs would be the best.
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The Jaegers proved to be an effective weapon against the Kaiju threat. They were the only weapon, aside from more atomic bombs, and it soon showed that the Shifters were the perfect pilots.
Where one of them would be overwhelmed by the neural load, two of them easily shouldered the weight of such computing power.
Family was a strong bond. In humans, as well as in Shifters, but some Shifters were tighter than that. Some were of a pack mentality.
Like the wolves.
Herc and Scott Hansen. Timberwolves. Brothers. Pack. Perfectly in tune with each other.
Sasha and Alexis Kaidanovsky. Siberian wolves. Soulmates. Pack.
Trevor and Bruce Gage. Lions. Twins. Pride.
Cheung, Hu, Jin. The Wei Triplets. Brothers. Temple dogs. Pack.
Yancy and Raleigh Becket. Arctic wolves. Brothers. Family pack.
Pack was the key to the Drift. Humans could Drift with compatible humans, mostly family and/or very close ties, too. Those few who could Drift without either were far and few.
Stacker Pentecost was one of them. He and Tamsin Sevier were a perfect match.
He never brought anything into the Drift.
He was simply… there.
Like most humans he fell to the radiation poisoning his body, losing his co-pilot, losing his health.
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The loss of Scott, not through a Kaiju or an injury, hurt the Hansen pack. Herc became more protective of his only child. He grew more intense.
He never told anyone what he had seen in the Drift with his brother that had made him reject the beta as his co-pilot; that had an alpha kick his beta out of the pack.
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Chuck grew up to be the best damned Jaeger pilot to exist, eyes firmly on one goal: Drift with his alpha.
At sixteen he had achieved what no one had thought possible.
Maybe it showed the desperation of the PPDC. Maybe it showed the end of the war coming soon. Maybe it was just a sign for something else.
At twenty-one he and his alpha had more kills under their belts than any other team.
Chuck was proud. Arrogant, egotistical, egocentric, and proud.
He had every right to be and he wouldn't bow demurely to anyone. He knew what they were capable of. He was a Jaeger pilot. He fought for this planet, risked his life, and they had the highest kill rate.
All of them, all pilots, were the last line of defense. If they fell, if their Jaeger fell, more people would die.
He knew who he was, what he could do.
He was Striker Eureka's pilot. The fastest Jaeger they had left, the only one of its line.
It was all he had ever known and all he would ever want to be: a Ranger.
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He was also the only one who knew what his father did about Scott Hansen.
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Raleigh Becket was born into a large family. His parents – bonded -, an older brother, an older sister. Aunts and uncles and cousins all over Alaska, most of them dropping by Anchorage one holiday or another. He had a lot of friends. He knew about family and partner bonds.
Then his mother died.
The bond broke.
His father started drinking, feeling the loss of his life-partner, feeling the darkness claim him.
Finally he disappeared.
Raleigh was sixteen at the time.
Two years later he joined the Jaeger Academy, ready to fight Kaijus.
Apparently he and Yancy had something that was known as Drift compatibility to the general public. They were good in a Conn-Pod; they worked. They were completely in sync and kicked major ass in their battle simulations.
Gipsy Danger was assigned to them the moment they finished training.
It was a dream come true.
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Then Knifehead happened.
And Yancy was torn out of Raleigh's head mid-Drift.
It was like raw glass, biting into his soul, trying to tear him apart with the pain.
It left a gaping, black hole where his brother had been.
It left electrical burn scars on his skin.
The Ghost Drifts were painful. The nightmares even worse.
Raleigh had lost someone who had been so close in that very moment, almost like a soul bond between them, and the mess that was left couldn't heal.
The doctors didn't say it when he was released. The neurologist carefully tried to word it in a way that it wouldn't shatter him. The psychologist they had come visit him throughout his hospital stay was gentle and understanding.
Raleigh hated them all.
They didn't understand the loss, the pain, the death he had felt and which repeated itself over and over.
"You might never be able to bond," the psychologist had said in their last session before Raleigh had packed his bags, turned his back and disappeared. "The neurological overload left you with small scars that might make it impossible for the bond to become even a secondary connection."
So what? he thought. He didn't need a bond. He didn't need anything anymore.
His mother was dead. His father might be dead or alive. His sister had last talked to him before they had graduated. And now Yancy…
It hurt.
So very, very much.
It was a cold, lonely place that echoed with his teasing banter, the jibes, the warmth of his mind, the familiarity of it all. It was filled with the last thoughts, the cry for help, the short, harsh, serrated edge of death.
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Raleigh tried to forget who and what he had been. He worked at the Walls wherever he was told to go.
Work distracted him.
And at night, when he came to rest, Yancy's Ghost was back.
He missed the Drift. He missed his brother. He missed part of himself.
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He might never be able to bond.
He didn't care.
He didn't want a soulmate. He could never be that person for someone else. He was broken.
He was damaged goods.
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When Newton Geiszler was old enough to understand the concept of Shifters – at the early age of four - all he wanted to be was one of them.
Sure, his parents weren't Shifters; they were Nons. As were his grandparents. And probably also most of his ancestry. Newton still hoped for a fluke of genetic nature, that he would have a trigger inside him that gave him that special ability.
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Not everyone who had the ability came out bragging. Not everyone shifted on a daily basis. Some went through their whole lives with only immediate family and select few friends knowing about them.
Newton wanted to be one so badly it hurt sometimes. He had no preferences as to what he might become. He simply hoped to have the ability.
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When he turned five in January 1995 he hoped for a trigger to his genes, that he would spontaneously shift.
Nothing happened.
Newton kept on hoping.
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He read up on whatever he could his hands on. By the age of six he was a walking, talking expert on Shifters.
He hadn't shifted himself.
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Sometimes it took a while for a trigger.
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When he was twelve he still hadn't shown a single sign of being a Shifter.
And he hoped.
He never stopped.
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Not even when he was fifteen and older than many who might trigger.
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Not when he was admitted to MIT as one of the youngest students ever.
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He had to accept the facts someday, though. Newton had no idea when that happened to him, but it was sometime during the time he acquired six doctorates like it was nothing at all.
One of those doctorates was in genetics; for obvious reasons.
Another was in biology.
Researching Shifters had become his life.
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But then the Kaijus appeared.
The Breach was discovered.
Life changed.
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And Newton Geiszler met Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.
Hermann, a man who was so completely different from him, they shouldn't have been able to work together. And have ingenious results.
Hermann was a stickler for the rules.
Hermann had a stick up his ass the size of a Kaiju.
Hermann was a nitpicker.
And he thought math was the only real science.
They fought more often than not and still… something was there. It worked. They worked. They discovered more about Kaijus and the Breach than all the other scientists combined.
The Hong Kong Shatterdome might be quaking in its foundations whenever they had a row, but all that counted were results.
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They had results.
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He discovered that his colleague was what he had always wanted to be by accident.
After they had become more than just lab partners and research colleagues.
Newton was blown away by the slender form, the grace and wildness, the light in the canine eyes.
Dr. Hermann Gottlieb was a Shifter.
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Raleigh's arrival at the Hong Kong Shatterdome was accompanied by gray skies, endless rain, and stormy seas. He was almost immediately wet, water clinging to his hair and streaking down his face. Pentecost moved him through the meet and greet, then ushered him into the Shatterdome.
It was like stepping over a threshold.
Something flittered through him, faint, like a sizzling spark of electricity, only to disappear again as quickly as it had come.
Huh.
Strange.
But then Pentecost introduced him to Hercules Hansen. He knew the older man, knew the alpha wolf, and it was truly an honor. He wasn't lying when he said that. Raleigh found himself reacting to the powerful presence like he hadn't in a long time.
It was curious.
He didn't really think about it all too much.
He also wasn't lying when he told Pentecost that they had tried to close the Breach before and had failed.
His words were met with a cryptic remark.
It was when he looked over to where Chuck Hansen was petting the dog, Max, and their eyes met that the tingling feeling turned into a constant whisper and Raleigh felt a bit nauseous.
Maybe he should take a rest after the long flight. He hadn't had much sleep lately.
Hansen didn't look ecstatic when he stared at him.
Actually, he looked almost hostile.
It didn't help that the man was also attractive, a small part of Raleigh's brain murmured. Interesting, too. Despite not knowing him from more than a look, he was interesting.
Resolutely he pushed the nausea away and followed Mako.
The feeling of something he had missed, something that had gone past him, stayed there. Like a memory he couldn't grasp.
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He was scarred and damaged and broken in places. There were shields around his soul, keeping him safe, isolated, away from the pain.
Raleigh wasn't aware how automatic they had become, how much he protected himself against everything and everyone.
How his life had gone on hold after Yancy's death.
He didn't know.
He couldn't bond anyway.
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Chuck had to admit that Becket was good. For someone who hadn't stepped inside a Conn-Pod for a very long time he was in really good shape, not an ounce of fat, all muscles, and he was fast.
Standing with the crowd of spectators, watching him spar with potential candidates, something stirred inside him. His eyes followed the quick moves, the dance moves, the controlled strength. He felt a pull. It was too intense to be casual and he bit back a snarl.
It had been there since he had first laid eyes on the new-arrival, Pentecost's answer to the question who would pilot the resurrected antiquity that was Gipsy.
Raleigh Becket.
Tall, blond, handsome. Well, as far as one had been able to tell underneath the grime and the tousled hair and baggy clothes. The man had looked more like a street bum than a Ranger.
Raleigh Becket. The dead weight. The construction worker. The guy who was supposed to have Striker's back.
The man he found attractive. The man he wouldn't mind having…
He was twenty-one. Sue him.
His eyes found the lean lines of muscle, the scars hidden partially underneath the shirt, and he knew where they came from. Chuck knew everything about Gipsy Danger and her pilots. He had grown up with those heroes and he had felt anger and pain and such strong disappointment when Raleigh had quit, it had taken a long time for him to get over it.
Rangers didn't quit in his eyes. Rangers were heroes.
He had been sixteen then.
He had just become a Ranger himself.
It didn't help now that Becket was easy on the eyes, competent, matching and mirroring with Mako, making it clear that she was his co-pilot. Against Pentecost's wishes.
This was his defense. The guy who hadn't been inside a Conn-Pod for five years and a rookie. Fantastic.
And still, looking at the muscular form, the level of fitness in the older pilot, he felt it all rise like a tidal wave, ready to flood him.
Raleigh was strong, capable, just a little bit cocky, and rather competent.
Chuck's wolf side growled.
He liked that. A lot.
Bloody hell!
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It was the beginning of a downhill slide.
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Chuck screwed his eyes shut at a sharp pain running through him. He steadied himself against the wall, feeling like the whole world was tilting sideways.
It wasn't a reaction to the adrenaline high, almost getting obliterated because the first Drift between Becket and Mori had gone so catastrophically wrong.
It was something that had been building in the back of his mind as he tried to disconnect Gipsy Danger, stop those two morons from blowing them all sky-high. Becket had given him a headache before they had ever talked with each other.
"Fuck."
The single word seemed to lance through him, cutting his mind apart. With an extreme effort he managed not to just curl up and crawl into a corner.
He channeled the pain into anger, heading for the debrief.
The very floor seemed to grow all wavy and twist around him. His mind buzzed with something akin to whispers and a voice cut through. He didn't understand the voice, but it was louder than everything else.
No way!
No fucking way!
His Shifter hindbrain suddenly realized what had happened and he almost froze in horror.
No, no, no! Not Becket! Not anyone! He didn't need this on top of everything else!
Sure, he wouldn't say no to some stress relief. He wouldn't push the man away at all. Chuck had grown up in a war as a pilot and while his experiences weren't manifold, he wasn't a virgin either.
But Becket… he was more than an entertaining thought.
He was...
No! he thought furiously. No, no, no!
Chuck scrubbed an angry hand over his face. This wasn't about simple attraction or carnal pleasure. This was about survival and when it came down to that, Becket wasn't his best bet.
His brain was still busy with other images, though.
The attraction, coupled with what Shifter nature had suddenly thrown at him, was just another wrench in his life.
He was fucked. Utterly fucked.
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And his Dad knew.
He bloody hell knew and gave him the tray of food intended for Chuck.
His expression was tell-tale.
Chuck glared, resorting to verbal taunts, much to the disapproving scowl of his alpha, and then he left.
In all his short life he had hoped he would never have to deal with this. He didn't need someone as his counterpart. He had a co-pilot, he had his pack, his alpha. He didn't need Raleigh Becket!
Now, as the end of the world was about to start, the most dangerous mission just on the horizon, it had happened.
Becket.
Fuck the hell him!
He didn't need a bonded mate. He didn't need someone who was Drift compatible without ever entering a kwoon with him.
He didn't need Raleigh Becket, the has-been, the unknown factor in Pentecost's Operation Pitfall.
Chuck bared his teeth, feeling them grow sharper, a little more pointy. A growl rose from his throat.
No, he wouldn't acknowledge what was slowly rising inside him.
He would squash it, terminate it.
He needed no one!
tbc...