Somewhat of an AU in which we explore Chuck Hansen's character. I've tried to keep to what we know of him from deleted scenes, etc. but obviously, i've had to take a few liberties here and there. Enjoy!

"But it's guys like you who brought down the jaegar program. To me, you're deadweight."

But Raleigh, of course, isn't the problem. Never really was.

The problem is them.

Together.

Because sometimes, if Chuck looks hard enough, he can see the person he used to be in the way Raleigh looks at that girl, all wide-eyed innocence and respect.

And sometimes, he can see her in the way Mako Mori looks back; careful, curious, but confident in knowing that whatever they face, she can protect him and he can protect her. And Chuck hates it. Because that's something that, when all was said and done, he hadn't been able to do; protect her. And that, he realizes, makes him just like his father.

He tries to laugh at the irony, but it hurts more than he expects and he knows it's because he's there and he doesn't deserve to be.

He remembers walking through the Shatterdome for the very first time; bag slung over his shoulder, combat boots thumping heavily against the ground with every step he takes. He looks around, takes all of it- the sights and sounds and colors, in and he isn't sure quite where to go or what to do with himself.

His father is here somewhere, but as usual, he is too busy saving lives, trying to make up for the loss of his wife to be bothered with his son just yet.

"'Ey, you're in the way, mate!" someone grouses at him.

Chuck hastily steps to the side and a man shakes his head and mutters under his breath as he continues on.

More people push past him as he walks, rushing to make repairs or deliver reports. And everything is a blur of different languages and ethnicities, even within the Sydney Shatterdome, and Chuck realizes suddenly that he, standing at 6 feet and weighing a hefty 177 pounds, feels small. Of course, anyone would feel small inside of the colossal building in which people moved so quickly, with such purpose, that time seemed to be passing for them on an entirely new measure.

This world is moving too hurriedly for Chuck to interfere; or even get a word in edge-wise.

That is when he notices her; a woman who isn't rushing to be anywhere or speaking to three different people at once or downing cups of coffee one-after-another and hoping that one more sleepless night will get her that much closer to some fascinating scientific discovery.

She is dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a fitted white shirt and has long black hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She glances around the Shatterdome with disinterest, wiping at a wrench with an old rag. One loose tendril of hair falls into her face and she tucks it behind her ear with her wrist before she turns back and continues tightening a bolt into the very bottom of the very bottom of a very impressive-looking machine.

"Is it yours?" he asks, approaching her and staring up at the massive jaegar that towers over her work station, a thousand feet tall at the very least.

The girl glances at him, startled by the voice. Then, she smiles, although Chuck notices that the smile doesn't seem to particularly reach her eyes.

"The Aurora Tempest belonged to my parents." she explains, in an accent that matches his own. She wipes her hands on her stained pants and tosses her wrench into a toolbox on the ground.

"What happened to them?" he asks.

"They died."

She doesn't smile when she says it, but she doesn't appear very heartbroken either and that confuses him-and intrigues him. Still, he tries to be polite and doesn't ask.

"I'm sorry." he says instead, rather gruffly and in a callous-sounding manner that he knows would piss his father off.

She just shrugs.

"I never really knew them." she answers. Then she leans in and says with mock secretiveness. "Always busy saving lives." She gives a derisive laugh. "Sometimes, they bothered to remember they had a daughter, but I spent more of my childhood training here than anywhere else..."

That hits Chuck hard and he decides almost immediately that he likes this woman, despite her sardonic smile and apparent lack of social skills.

She crosses her arms and looks up at the jeager thoughtfully.

"Who's your copilot?" he asks.

"I don't have one yet." she answers. "Trials start next week."

Her eyes flicker in his direction and she smiles tiredly. "I guess i'll be seeing you there."

And Chuck wants to ask her what she means, but is unceremoniously interrupted by another gruff voice.

"Chuck! Is that you?"

Chuck looks over his shoulder to see one of his father's old friends, standing there with graying hair and smiling eyes. He wipes his grimy hands on a rag, prepared to give Chuck a solid shake on the hand, and so, Chuck looks back at her to say his goodbyes, to learn her name, if he's lucky.

But when he makes to speak, he notices that she has already gone back to her tools.

He leaves her alone. He gets the feeling she doesn't even notice.

Two days later, he gets to watch her fight.

And that is when he knows, knows with absolute certainty, he has to be her copilot.

She, however, doesn't seem as convinced at first, and only agrees to consider him if he can match her point for point in a one-on-one fight.

All the recruits gather round to watch, excited to see her, a girl who's been training her entire life, get taken down by a trainee whose body is so massive nobody thinks she stands a chance.

They take their stances.

And it begins.

They size each other up; slowly, carefully, playing the match out for the first few steps with their minds.

Then, she smiles.

Before he knows what's happening, she steps left, ducks, swipes at his face...is locked into a grab and goes tumbling over his shoulder.

Sheer instinct saves him this once.

It begins again. He swings at her. But like lightning, she is quick. So quick he doesn't even see her take hold of his arm and pin him to the floor.

Raw skill saves her this once.

And it continues. She is graceful, movements sudden and fluid- evasive, flexible, and sly. He is direct, somewhat clumsy in his attacks, but brash and forceful, quick and unrelenting, without a single moment of hesitation.

One, zero.

One, one.

Two, one.

Two, two.

In the end, they tie with a score of ten, ten and his lungs are on fire and sweat is dripping down his brow but he feels proud. He did it, after all, and he turns to her, expecting some sort of acknowledgement; a few words or a 'congratulations' at the very least.

She, however, just grins at him cheekily (and this time it does reach her eyes) as she walks across the mat to where her boots and jacket are neatly folded and lined up against the wall.

He isn't certain but instinct tells him that it wasn't by his own skill that they tied.

She slings the wooden stick across her shoulder with one hand, and with her boots in the other, she whistles an odd little tune as she leaves.

He watches her go; confused, amazed, in-awe.

Of course, in the end, they are assigned to be partners.

And after a somewhat humiliating third conversation, in which Chuck had, as was his nature, spoken more crassly, acted more harshly than he had meant to, they somehow become good friends.

She comes to life around him: him and no one else. And he realizes that seeing her this unguarded, with a laugh this free and a face suddenly so expressive, was a privilege one had to earn. And he had earned it. Through rigorous training sessions and trust and patience and trading one secret for another.

But then over time, something happens that Chuck does not expect.

He sees her smile and there's a twinge in his chest and he knows what that means, but he hates it.

And when his father finally notices the strange way he is acting, he gives his son a rare smile during one of the even rarer times that they see each other, raps his knuckle against the calendar that marks the upcoming day of their first neural handshake test, and says, "When you drift with someone, you feel like there's nothing to talk about."

That fills Chuck with enough doom and gloom to lose the next four sparring matches against her.

The first time it happens is nerve-wracking.

Because she'll know.

His lips are dry and his nerves are a clumsy mess, but even that is mistaken for arrogance and some of the other recruits roll their eyes at him as he passes. But Chuck hardly notices as he has other things on his mind and this frustration could kill him, but then, he sees her and suddenly the nerves leave him and calm fills him instead.

When it is all over, he, completely by accident, looks at her.

She looks back.

She smiles.

And he smiles.

Because now, she knows everything, and he does too.

And over the course of a year, Chuck is suddenly happier than he has ever been.

In the days before they learn how bad things really are, they laugh together. They spend meal times talking about his more-often-than-not absent father and her long-dead mother. They train together, dream about what they'll do when the breach is finally closed and the war is done.

But then, the attacks get worse and one by one, jeagers begin to fall, people begin to turn, and the blame starts to settle on the only ones willing to risk their lives to fight for the world.

Things are suddenly so much worse than they feared.

Years pass, and soon, neither of them are the young bright-eyed recruits they used to be; not anymore.

They still talk about what they'll do.

But time passes and their worries grow and deep down, they come to understand that most likely, their old dreams will never come true and they'll both be long dead before the kaiju stop coming.

Years of death and destruction have hardened them; made them battered and broken and held together mostly by bad stitches and scars and bandages. Dark patches begin to show underneath her eyes and he fares no better.

When other soldiers, their allies, fall, they mourn together. And one day, they find that laughing and talking and filling the silence with bright conversation becomes spending their off days sprawled out in her room, watching anything but the news and ignoring the reports they've been told to read through that are now stacked up sky high on the coffee table and scattered all over the floor.

She curls up on the bed and rests her head in his lap. He strokes her hair. She closes her eyes.

They are both exhausted. But even with all of the death and destruction around them, he is grateful that at least he has this.

The eerie blue glow of the TV reflects off of the walls and after awhile, she falls asleep. Her breathing comes soft and easy and Chuck manages to remain still and let her sleep for a good hour before his leg starts to cramp up and the TV gives him a headache.

When he shuts the machine off, she wakes and gives him a sleepy smile, and then, tired as they are, they spend the night losing themselves in the dark; in the slow, rough, heavy rhythm of their breaths and sighs and moans.

It isn't even a kaiju that finally takes her life. No, if it had been even that, Chuck could forgive himself.
It is an illness; a sickness that creeps into her body then mind and slowly kills her. And somehow the disease forgot, or it didn't care maybe, that they had promised that when the time came, they'd die together in a jaegar, defending each other to their last breath. And it kills him to know that there are some things even he cannot help her fight against.

When he visits, she tries her best to smile. Her frail form straightens and her hollow eyes try to seem focused, trying to preserve any sense of dignity she has left.

But he knows that she cries and withers at night because it just feels so pathetic; dying in a hospital bed. Once, she was a solid center; an unstopppable force. And now, she can't piss or shit or bathe without needing someone to help her. That is how the doctors phrase it anyway: "help her". But every time someone comes in and drops her clothes around her ankles and ogles her scarred, frail body and wrinkles their nose at the waste, she fades and the faraway look in her eyes grow and grows until Chuck is afraid it won't ever leave again.

Eventually, the time comes when she spends most of her time crying in his arms and he cries too and holds her and tries to soothe her because he loves her and he can't do anything else. But soon, even the crying stops and she spends all her time just...staring out the window of her room.

When she finally goes, she has no last words.

When you drift with someone, you feel like there's nothing to talk about.

He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back.

She blinks at him slowly, once. Tries to smile.

He does the same, but somehow, he feels as if he's failed her.

And then she is simply gone forever.

No dramatic ending; no final goodbye.

No warning.

Just...there one moment and gone the next.

When they bury the body, it rains.

And "soldiers like her die every day" so even though the public holds parades and festivals and pretends to honor those who fight, few people bother to brave the harsh weather for her. Chuck doesn't mind this. She had no friends anyway. She never wanted them and he knows this. When the few who have come to pay their respects are gone, Chuck remains. His suit is soaked through and his shoes and socks are uncomfortably muddy, but he stays. Because he still can't believe that she's gone.

Hours later, his father finally shows up. He claps his hand on his son's shoulder, not even bothering to try and explain why he's here; three hours late.

Deep down Chuck knows that his father hadn't shown because it's a painful thing- for another Hansen to have to bury their loved one before they go in the ground themselves. But it still makes him sick.

His father doesn't say very much. But he does tell him how different she was before she'd met him; how lucky she had been to find him, and him to find her.

Chuck shrugs his father's hand off of his shoulder and heads back home.

All of the prettied-up bullshit, he might have believed it once. But not anymore.

You see, people liked to pretend that drifting was special. The truth of it was, you could drift with just about anyone if you were empty enough.

But she had chosen him to be his partner. And he had let her die- without the pride and dignity she deserved.

Not in a jaegar.

In a hospital.

After the funeral, after the destruction of the Sydney Shatterdome and his decommission and a long period of grieving he's spent downing hard liquor, barely sleeping, barely eating, he wakes to a phone call from his father.

His mornings become rolling out of bed and groggily trudging to work before he is completely awake. It's been years since his last jockey, but he's been convinced to work here in Hong Kong, for the good of a dying world. For the sake of the future he knows she'd want him to fight for.

Drift?...If he forces himself to, if he absolutely has to, he can.

But he refuses to use the Aurora Tempest ever again and as the jeager program tries to find him a new drift partner, Chuck looks on bitterly as the machine is passed on to two incompetent new recruits, then destroyed in one of the worst attacks in history; the attack that he knows was the one in which they would have died together; the way they were always meant to.

After that, Chuck sees new recruits and he hates them. He makes sure they know it too, so they'll keep their goddamned distance and he'll never have to think about how it would have broken her heart to know that the jaegar that was piloted by her parents was lost to such mediocre pilots.

Mediocre.

He hates the word.

Work eventually becomes tolerable. When they assign his father as his copilot, Chuck refuses at first because how can he with a man who knows nothing of him? But when he drifts with his father, for that moment, his thoughts aren't just his own. His father takes some of the burden and Chuck hopes to god that that will leave his head just a little bit freer of the memories.

It helps a little, but it doesn't, too.

Because all of a sudden, there are reminders everywhere, especially with that bastard Raleigh around.

When it happens, the memories force their way into his head against his will and make it so damned hard to breathe.

"She's my partner." Chuck hears Raleigh say, breathlessly, but with a confidence he can't help but feel a little bit disgusted by.

He hates every single one of these empty-headed honor pilots, looking for their pride and fame and purpose, without a hint of the fight and strength that she had.
So many of them will and have died in jeagers. So few of them deserve it.

As Raleigh leaves the room, his eyes meet Chuck's just for a second and Chuck smirks and sneers, but that night, he goes to his room, turns up the tv as loud as it will go, and tries to do anything but remember.

Eventually, Chuck finds that he has no choice but to accept them for what they are; good pilots.

They save his pathetic arse, as well as his father's and Chuck is surprised at how relieved he feels when it hits him that he doesn't have to die that day. He is surprised at how much he finds he wants to live, even although she is gone.

And when all of them return to the Shatterdome, the shouts and cheers ring out through the entire floor.

Between the gaps in a jubilant crowd, he looks to them. Gives both a reluctant nod because now he knows that they are more like him and her than he had thought. And maybe that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
Raleigh seeks forgiveness for things that aren't always his fault. And Mako forgives him because she understands.

Seeing that, Chuck holds on to the hope that she would have forgiven him his faults too.

It isn't true, what people say.

In his last moments, Chuck doesn't see his entire life flash before his eyes.

He sees only the moments he regrets.

Arguments with his father, with Raleigh and Mako, with other recruits he's met over the years...

He sees moments with her too.

They hurt each other, they hold each other and cry, she squeezes his hand and smiles and says nothing, the life fades from her eyes.

Still, he sees her. For the first time in years, he sees her and he doesn't feel ashamed.

He holds that close to his heart.

And finally, Chuck lets go.

fin~