Warnings: None

Marshal Stacker Pentecost sighed, dropping his pen in resignation. The defeat of Zhen and Baubas had generated far more paperwork than a victory had any right to. On top of that, the city sought compensation for the substantial damage cause by Banshee's free fall from the upper atmosphere. Governments called him day and night in concern over Baubas' targeting of the civilian shelters. Less than twenty of the 275 people in that shelter had survived the attack, and many now rightfully wondered whether any place was still safe from the kaiju. The short answer, Pentecost knew, was no. It was was simply a matter of relativity, and soon even that distinction would be a thing of the past. Eventually even the inland areas would be victim to kaiju attacks.

One good thing had come of Banshee's spectacular win in L.A. The military leaders of the constituent nations of the PPDC had been reminded of the importance of the Jaeger program, and Pentecost's sources indicated that funds would soon be funneling cash into the developmental program to get the other Jaegers up to Banshee's speed. If there were still any holdouts- and Pentecost assumed there was- then the interview requests covering his desk would soon sway them.

Every major news source on the planet wanted to speak to San Diego's brightest new stars. If Stacker played his cards right, he could cash in the international adoration for research dollars. However, if he was too heavy-handed, he could sour the board even more, in which case no amount of popular support could make a damned bit of difference. Sam's injuries had given him some time to strategize, but now that she was on the mend, he would need to act soon.

As though summoned by his thoughts, a knock sounded at his door. He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes and folded his hands atop his desk, not bothering to feign busy work. He could recognize that knock in his sleep.

"Enter," he called. On cue, the hatch opened to admit a familiar face.

"Is this a bad time, sir?" Ranger Samantha Carter asked. She held herself stiffly in the doorway, one hand remaining on the door jamb to brace herself.

"Not at all, Ranger," he assured her. He beckoned her in and waved her towards one of the two chairs facing his desk. "It's good to see you back on your feet."

Sam closed the door behind her, and limped to the seat he offered. "Thank you, sir, but I think my feet disagree with you."

When she sat, she listed to the right, taking her weight off her left hip. Under her shirt, Pentecost could see the bulk of several bandages along her side. The investigation of her circuitry suit had revealed a flaw in the manufacture of the suit, an error that their safety inspections had not known to look for. Though relieved there was no dark motive at play, it was sheer luck that she'd escaped with little more than some heat burns and a pinched sciatic nerve.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you, Marshal," she continued softly. "I know you're busy."

"There's always time for you, Sam."

It had been a long time since he had eschewed their usual formality. In truth, her withdrawal after the May Day massacre had been a leading factor in his decision to err on the side of military formality. With the base turning sour against her- fueled largely by the whispering of her former copilot- any perceived indiscretion between them would only erode her standing further. When Sam didn't reach out, it seemed she had come to the same conclusion and sought to protect herself as best she could. He realized the truth too late; her isolation had little to do with whispers, and all to do with the trauma she'd suffered. By the time Pentecost could try to rectify his mistake, Sam's walls were complete and impenetrable. Only in the past few months had she deviated even slightly from military decorum, and this was her first time seeking him out.

"I wish I had been able to spend more time with you in the infirmary," he continued. "However it looked like you were well taken care of." Ranger O'Neill had steadfastly declined to leave Carter's infirmary bed. Watching Banshee's plunge to Earth had nearly stopped his heart. He didn't know whether her pilots had heard his reminder of Whiskey Blue's gambit; he didn't put it past Carter to have made the connection herself. The comms had fizzled out as the bright streak of flame plummeted towards the Earth while watched, helpless. That they both survived seemed too good to be true- O'Neill's frantic call to LOCCENT had only served to confirm what Pentecost already suspected.

"How are things between you and Ranger O'Neill?" he asked.

Every time he'd tried to sit alone with Sam, even in the small hours of the morning, the young pilot had been there. Sometimes dozing, oftentimes simply watching Sam sleep. It was the devotion Pentecost expected to see in a Ranger, a true copilot. Those nights Pentecost never interacted with the younger man, and yet had learned all he needed to know. He liked O'Neill, for all his naivety. Evidently Sam liked him as well, as a soft smile curled the corners of her mouth up.

"Good, sir." She nodded, as though confirming it to herself than him. "He's a good pilot, and- I trust him." Her smile faltered, as her eyes fell to study her hands. "I didn't think I'd find that again."

"Anything is possible in a Jaeger." Sam blinked, giving him a startled glance. Pentecost grinned. "You didn't think I missed your father's words coming over the comms, did you?"

On cue, Sam's smile warmed again. "No, sir."

"What can I do for you, Sam?" he asked, getting back to business. "Unless you really did stop by to shoot the wind with an old man."

Suddenly, Sam looked uncomfortable. All trace of mirth evaporated, and her gaze fell to her hands. Silence stretched awkwardly between them, just long enough for Pentecost to regret changing the subject so soon. It had almost felt normal, just for a moment. "Sam…"

"I'm pressing charges," she blurted, cheeks reddening. Trembling fingers tightened on the tops of her thighs. "Against Jonas."

Pentecost didn't need the clarification. His blood ran cold with a familiar rage, one he was well versed in controlling. When a cold and hollow Samantha Carter confessed to him two years ago what had happened the night of April 30th, he wanted nothing more than to serve as judge, jury, and executioner for Hanson's crimes. Only Sam's dedication to the Shatterdome, and her correct assertion that the PPDC needed Banshee in action, had stayed his hand at the time. But each time he sent Banshee out with Manhattan Bombshell (Hanson was never compatible enough for Banshee to drop solo), that dark, thwarted voice of vengeance hoped Hanson wouldn't return.

Now Pentecost stood, and came around his desk to sit in the second visitor chair, swiveling it to face Sam directly. Her gaze remained glued to her lap, until he reached out to cover her hands with one of his. The timid eyes that blinked at him were almost unrecognizable. He had yet to see the Sam he'd lost 2 years ago, but she was no longer the shell who haunted the halls of engineering.

"It won't be easy," he warned. He didn't want to discourage her- Hanson deserved prosecution and so much more- but she had to know; whoever investigated would not be kind to her, not three years after the fact. "They're going to ask questions- difficult, uncomfortable questions."

She nodded. "I know."

"And I will be with you every step of the way," he assured her. "You know that too." She nodded again, this time furtive, ducking her chin to hide the emotion brimming in her eyes.

"That's why I wanted to tell you first," she said, her voice thick and gravelly. "I'm not going to tell them that you knew."

Pentecost pulled back in surprise at the unexpected declaration. He shook his head no. "Any shred, any hint of a lie would jeopardize the entirety of your testimony. I won't let you do that, and there's no need. We didn't do anything wrong."

"If anyone knew that you knew, and did nothing… they would question the quality of your leadership."

"You didn't report it, Sam. You confided in me, as a family friend. We were both out of uniform. They have no grounds to question my leadership." Pentecost tightened his grip on her fingers, and was relieved to feel her return the pressure. "Tell them the truth, Sam. You deserve that much."

She reached up to scrub the heel of her hand across her eyes, drying the tears gathering there. Pentecost watched her eyes travel to the framed photograph set on the small ledge under the barred window, and stay there. His gaze joined hers, and he felt the familiar stab of loss at the sight of his younger self standing proud beside Jacob Carter, with Coyote Tango's helm just visible behind them. Sam had held the camera that day, for the last picture they would ever have of her father.

"I miss him," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Pentecost nodded, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. They hadn't spoken of Jake in years, long before May Day. "He would have been proud of you even if you were in janitorial," he said, his own voice suddenly rough. "But he always knew you were born for the Jaeger program. Even back then, you had a head for the engineering that he couldn't match. If he could see the way you pilot…"

Watching Sam walk away from the pilot's chair after May Day had been the hardest for Pentecost to see. After spending the better part of her childhood on base, learning from engineers and technicians and the many pilots who took a shine to her, Sam's instructors at the academy testified that she'd taken to piloting like a fish to water. It came to her as naturally as breathing. To stand silently as she relinquished Bella- her pride and joy- to her attacker… Pentecost had done so without a word, and it remained the worst day of his life, including the day he felt Jake die in the harness next to him.

That something, or someone, had convinced her to return to the connpod was a miracle, and one he intended to thank O'Neill for, one day. Pentecost hoped reporting her rape, and seeing justice be done, would relieve her burden just that much more, and make piloting that much easier for her again.

"All my life, I just wanted what you and Dad had," Sam confessed. "I thought I found it with Jonas, and when- when I was wrong, I thought it was something I wouldn't ever get to have."

Pentecost met her gaze. Deep, familiar sorrow darkened her eyes, but in them he found more of the old Sam than he'd seen in years. "That's changed?"

He knew his answer even before she nodded. He'd seen the numbers. Her compatibility with O'Neill was off the charts. She had what he'd found with Jake- in spades. "I think so." She sniffed again, and this time her smile came with a small exhale. "Getting there. This is the first step, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Yes, it is."

They sat in a companionable silence for a while more. Pentecost savored every second he could- it had been too long since they'd sat together. He waited until Sam cleared her throat and made to rise.

"I shouldn't keep you any longer, sir." When she was steady on her feet Pentecost let his hand fall away from her fingers, returning their professional buffer to its place. Sam gave him a close-lipped smile that, while not effusive, lacked the grim lines that had creased her features for so long. "Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome, Ranger. I'll notify you once the details of the investigation are confirmed." He returned to his seat behind the desk, then paused when Sam hit the doorway. "Sam."

She turned, one hand on the doorknob. "Sir?"

"Welcome back."

When she left, her smile shone as brilliantly as the sun.

FIN

A/N: I wanted to take a moment to talk about some of the subplot in this story. I really struggled with the idea of including the assault, because I was afraid it would feed into the idea that a woman has to suffer to be considered strong. In the end, I decided that this was the story that needed to be told. Given the political climate these days, and the ever-increasing reports of unpunished rape, I needed to do a story that approached sexual assault with respect for survivors, and included some of the healthy conversations I wish more media would tackle.

To learn more about how you can help support a survivor of sexual assault, please visit RAINN dot org for additional resources.