Word Count: 9,490 (Total: 89,290)

Rating: T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

Date Submitted: 3/9/18

Chapter 10 – The Resolution of the Conflict

Herc watches his grandson sleep. The toddler looks as much like Chuck as ever. He then looks at Charlotte, and smiles when her right arm jerks. It's violent enough that Jazmine flinches, snorts, and tenses, halfway awake in response, but when there's no accompanying distress she relaxes and drifts deeper into sleep again.

He's been so wrapped up in Jazmine's court case that he's forgotten about just seeing his family, which is why he's staring at them now. It's the first time they've all napped together since Charlotte was born, and that's why they're on Herc's bed in his room—he has a full bed that can hold them with plenty of room to spare compared to the cramped space of Jazmine's single. Well, Chuck's single that Jazmine's been sleeping in.

Jason yawns and wakes up. He stretches, spots Herc, and smiles. "Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey, buddy," Herc replies, still smiling.

"Take a nap?" the toddler asks. The toddler who has apparently come to enjoy naps after protesting against them as a baby.

Herc almost says no, then wonders why. Raleigh is at the PPDC's new compound in Sydney, working with Mako and Tendo. No one is in the house except himself and the three on the bed in front of him. He really has no reason to be awake at that time of day—it's hot out and he's better off not moving much if he can help it. Taking a nap would by design lower his body temperature and keep him cool without the need to turn up the air conditioning. Besides, other than vegetating in front of the television and probably falling asleep anyway, there's not much else Herc can do in or around the house without disturbing his family.

So he says, "I think I will."

Jazmine is being what is apparently her usual compact self, so she isn't taking up much space on the bed. As is also apparently usual, she's curled around Charlotte. Jason is lying behind his mother, essentially in ownership of the majority of the bed. Herc exerts his right and authority as an adult and the family patriarch to take most of that space from his grandson, who seems fine with the loss but does demand a little play in exchange since he has a bit of energy thanks to his nap.

Herc keeps the excitement to the bare minimum to prevent the ladies from getting annoyed—no thanks to Chuck's drift phantom, which seems completely prepared to romp—and eventually Jason yawns and is done for the time being. He drifts off again, his back to his mother and his forehead resting against Herc's arm. Herc waits to make sure he's gone before closing his own eyes, and despite having never done such a thing in the past, Chuck's drift phantom takes a final cautious aural survey of the room and the house beyond before giving its permission for him to sleep.

"Thanks," Herc mutters. "You aren't going to do this every time, are you? Because it'll get old fast."

Chuck's drift phantom is firm and entirely unapologetic: Since Jazmine has married Herc and left behind the Becket/Lapierre family to pass into their care as the newest Hansen, it's their job to be that much more vigilant about her safety. At the absolute minimum, if anything happened to her then it would make them look bad, and until Herc's brother the Hansen name had been above reproach. It had, therefore, been a goal of Chuck's to return to that status, which meant protecting children and wife.

Herc is surprised by such an old-fashioned belief, especially given how aware Chuck seemed to have been about Jazmine's capacity for self-defense. There's also the fact that marriage no longer requires a woman to take her husband's name, even if it's still commonly done, and Jazmine appears to be very attached to her French heritage.

The response from the drift phantom is testy agreement, followed by the pointed observations that probably the vast majority of people wouldn't know or care about such things and would call her "Missus Hansen" anyway, and that because it was technically correct—just as it would be technically correct, in the interest of equality, for someone to call Herc "Mister Lapierre"—Jazmine wouldn't bother to express her preference to anyone she was only interacting with in passing. So most of the world would know her as a Hansen, and that has to be remembered.

"All right, all right, whatever," Herc says. He pulls his pillow farther under his head. "Fuck's sake. I just didn't realize you'd come fresh out of the Dark Ages, is all."

When he awakens an hour later, it's a gloriously slow process. Jason has migrated away from Jazmine and over to him, and is a small warm spot against his chest. Chuck also preferred napping with Herc, so the toddler's sleep-squirming isn't all that foreign. Jazmine still has her back to the rest of the bed, and Herc by extension; her breathing is quiet and even. Charlotte is even quieter, though Herc is satisfied that she's okay when he dares to peek over Jazmine's side. Without actually thinking about the wisdom of the move beyond not jostling Jason too much, Herc rests his chin on Jazmine's arm and for a moment looks out the window into the back yard. The house is silent, and beyond the house the constant drone of Sydney traffic is distant and easy to ignore.

He was raised in Australia's largest city, so it was only during his deployments that he was introduced to nights that were practically without sound. Some of his city-dwelling compatriots had found it disconcerting, much to the amusement of the "farm boys" they ridiculed for other things, but Herc decided he liked it. It's impossible to find a totally dark, silent corner of Sydney, though—and he didn't want to lose the convenience of everything being crammed together anyway—so his compromise was the purchase of the duplex, which is on the outskirts of the city. While not terribly dark at night given the atrocious light pollution from the city, it's still mostly quiet even in the middle of the day. Herc relishes it.

He puts his head back down on the bed and closes his eyes, content to let the rest of the afternoon pass without his supervision. Jason yawns and snuggles against him. Chuck's drift phantom, however it's possible for it to be lethargic, does the same. Herc sighs, content, and hugs his sons to his heart.

"Except that it's true," Raleigh says. He got back to the duplex and started making supper before Herc was able to wake up a second time.

"What is?" Herc demands. At the time, he fell asleep before it could really settle into his brain, but after coming around again he remembered identifying both Chuck and Jason as his sons. He's scared all over again that he's losing his sense of self, so he kind of blurted his fear to the younger man.

"That Jason's your son," Raleigh says patiently. "Isn't he? He's your grandson, so he's your son removed one generation. He's also your stepson, since you married his mother."

"You'd be right if either of those had been the way it'd felt I'd meant it," Herc replies testily.

Raleigh is calm. He turns from the range and considers Herc before turning back and saying, "After Yancy was killed, there was a period of about three months where I didn't respond to any name but his. I talked like him, walked like him, ate like him, smiled like him. Most of the grief counselors tried to pass it off as a method of coping. J-science called it what it was—traumatic identity dissociation. That is, the circumstances of our separation were so sudden, so violent, so terrifying, that inside my brain Raleigh was in denial, and to avoid facing the reality all around me went into hiding. It left a void in which what of Yancy was in me could fill; like any good big brother, he sensed Raleigh's distress and tried to offer protection in the only way he knew and was capable of."

"What happened?" Herc asks.

Raleigh shrugs. "For those three months Yancy had two faces—one that faced the world and one that faced Raleigh. He knew he was dead, or at least guessed it, and he pushed Raleigh to accept it and come forward again. Eventually, Raleigh did, but Yancy's still always there." He gestures at himself. "I know that this body was at one time the body of Raleigh Becket, but now it's sort of a shared body; Yancy generally tries to stay somewhere in the background and keep out of the way so that Raleigh can live his life, but in practice Raleigh is happier having Yancy close, so his influence is strong."

Herc gets what's not being said. "You don't know who you are?"

"I know who I'm supposed to be," Raleigh hedges. "And I know that sometimes, I'm not that person. But I have the benefit of knowing that when I'm not that person, there's only one other person I could be. And I know that that other person would never intentionally hurt me, so it's okay to not be who I'm supposed to be if I do something that's not what the me I'm supposed to be would do." He wrinkles his nose. "If that makes any sense."

It does. Barely. "Then you don't care— No. It just doesn't matter who you are."

Raleigh nods. "In my case, Raleigh feels guilt about Yancy's death. He's willing to share his body to give Yancy—whatever of Yancy is here—a lifetime of experiences, so he does."

Herc thinks he understands. Because whatever the circumstances, he and his junior share one reality: their copilots are dead. Raleigh's loss was much more traumatic—a cocky young man whose experiences with loss during wartime were few or nonexistent—so it makes sense that his reaction would be immediate and dramatic. Herc's past as a military airman had, by contrast, prepared him for loss and survivor's guilt. His trauma was quieter.

"I don't think that you're losing your identity," Raleigh told him, "despite what it might have sounded like when I was explaining it to Mako and Tendo. However identity works, I'm sure Hercules Hansen is whole and solid in your head. But I also think your guilt means that Herc occasionally steps back and gives Chuck the room to . . . peek out . . . from time to time. With or without your explicit permission. And whatever sort of prick he might have been, he's not enough of one to keep pushing you back for his own sake.

"It may not even be possible to," Raleigh muses. "It's not something I've felt a need to explore. But I'd say you've kept your brother's influence down, and you drifted with him for nearly as many years."

Not as often, though. Still, it's reasonable conjecture. Herc doesn't feel terribly guilty about his brother and never had—that trouble was something his brother brought upon himself. And while it might be arguable that Chuck had done the same, Chuck was still Herc's son. As a father, it was Herc's responsibility to protect his child from harm, but he failed many times over. And while Chuck frequently exasperated Herc with his behavior, mostly Herc was nothing but proud of him. It isn't a far reach to suggest Herc's subconscious pulls Herc back at times to give Chuck some sunlight and try again to make up for past failures.

"It's your body," Raleigh reminds him. "You were there first. You don't have to let anyone else in there with you do anything. But if you're looking for some way to apologize, make amends, ease your guilt, whatever . . . think about it. In my experience it does help, and occasionally it can even be kind of fun."

"Fun?"

"Shared joys are doubled joys."

Herc considers what his junior has said. It makes sense and offers comfort on multiple fronts. He's given Chuck's drift phantom some rein before, but only ever very deliberately. There's no reason it couldn't happen, if just a handful of times, in some other way.

"I strongly doubt it's a coincidence you ended up in this duplex, in the same building as your grandson," Raleigh says after a time. "You may have decided by yourself to move out of your old home, but when you were looking for a new place you were directed here."

"Already suspected that," Herc admits.

Raleigh turns once again from the range and concludes the discussion by saying simply, "From now on, do whatever feels natural. Even when Chuck was alive this could have happened to you—the only reason it didn't was because of that exactly. Your susceptibility hasn't changed since then, and won't unless you let it."

What feels natural is the idea of kissing his wife, but Herc finds that difficult. Not because he considers it a betrayal of his first wife, but because his second wife is approximately half his age. It seems . . . gross. Like he'd be taking advantage of the situation. Chuck's drift phantom scathingly advises him to actually take Raleigh's advice and let Chuck kiss his wife.

"You'd be using my body, you little bastard," Herc snaps as he makes himself his first cup of coffee—the one he uses to help him warm up before he begins the day. He'll have another with breakfast. "Haven't you thought about how that might upset her? Like it did last time?"

No. Of course not.

Chuck's drift phantom subsides, but with a final snarled comment that Herc could ask if it would upset her rather than just assuming it would, especially given that the last time they kissed she didn't know who Herc was to her or Jason, so age apparently isn't much of a turn-off in her mind. She isn't stupid, and Chuck told her a lot about jaegers and drifting that he probably shouldn't have. Her comfort level aside, the concept wouldn't be that alien.

Jazmine comes out of her room for breakfast, Charlotte in arm and Jason in tow. Jason, who's rubbing his eyes, spots Herc and detours to his grandfather. Even though the toddler says in a sort of expectant, entitled way, "Daddy," Herc smiles and picks him up. Jason hugs his neck.

"Could you take care of Charlotte for a few hours?" Jazmine asks as she fetches herself a glass of milk. "He needs my attention."

Herc looks from Jazmine to Jason and back, concerned. "Anything wrong?"

"I'm just . . . ignoring him. Because of her."

Herc starts to excuse her neglect—Charlotte is heavily reliant on her, after all—but decides it's best to not say so in front of Jason. "Sure." He hasn't spent a lot of time with his granddaughter anyway, so it'll do them both good to get to know each other better.

"Thanks."

Jazmine proceeds to make breakfast. When she puts down plates of pancakes, Herc sees that she's given Jason two pitted cherries on top of his, four on top of Herc's, and six on top of Raleigh's.

"Why does he get more?" Herc asks, less irritated and more curious. He likes cherries, but not that much.

"Because he's done the most for me as far as active care," she explains. "Your generosity has been mostly financial, which I deeply appreciate but is still less of a physical strain than what Raleigh's been doing. He's going to make himself sick if he doesn't start relaxing and asking for help."

Though she said that, when Raleigh appears a few minutes later with a grimace and one hand on the side of neck, he goes straight to where Jazmine is frying bacon on the range and tugs at her shirt with his free hand. When she looks at him, he raises his bracing hand enough to point at his neck. She turns the heat down on the range a little, spins him around, feels his neck, then goes somewhere low on his back and feels around.

"Table," she says. He sits obediently in a chair and pushes away the plate there, folds his arms on the table, and rests his forehead on them. Jazmine works on the spot on his back that she picked out. ". . . How about now?"

Raleigh lifts his head and stretches his neck. He nods and puts his head back down. Jazmine disappears for a few minutes, returns with an old-fashioned hot water bottle, heats water on the range, fills the hot water bottle with it, plugs the bottle, then slides it down the collar of Raleigh's shirt. What looks like a shoelace is looped around its neck, and she hooks that over Raleigh's head. She returns to the bacon. By the time she's done making breakfast, Raleigh is clearly feeling better. He's very pleased about his six cherries and relishes each one.

"You're going back to bed," Jazmine tells her brother after a breakfast of what, for her, is mostly fruits. "Herc's going to look after Charlotte for a while so I can give Jason some attention."

Raleigh shrugs as he gets to his feet. "Cuss if you need anything." He takes his plates, utensils, and glass to the sink before wandering out of the room.

When Jazmine puts Jason and Charlotte down for a nap after lunch, Herc is prodded pointedly by Chuck's drift phantom until he says, "Jazmine . . . would it bother you if I said I wanted to kiss you?"

She barely gives it any thought. "Nope."

"I'm serious."

She looks at him. "You think I'm not?"

"I'm old."

Her gaze flattens. "You think that because your son was younger than me my tastes are that narrow?"

"I could be your father."

"Irrelevant. You aren't." She points and says, "If you recall, I said before that I'd have sex with you. That hasn't changed merely because I've learned you're my dead fiancé's father—my ability to recognize an attractive man isn't swayed by what's considered morally acceptable in this day and age. The only thing I didn't like was your self-serving assaults on my person, which have stopped, so we have no issue as far as I'm concerned."

Herc still isn't reassured, and he isn't entirely sure why. He knows he isn't obligated to let Chuck's drift phantom do anything with Jazmine; Raleigh suggested he do so, but Chuck's drift phantom is just that—a phantom. It isn't a piece of Chuck's mind or heart or soul trapped inside Herc, but instead a mere conglomeration of Chuck's memories that when certain conditions are met can be triggered to react. Letting Chuck's drift phantom kiss Jazmine would be more to ease Herc's guilt than anything, which Raleigh had said as well.

He asks, "What are you expecting?"

She blinks from where she's now on her knees in bed, preparing to settle down with her sleeping children. "I'm expecting a nice nap."

"No," he snaps, though he's careful to keep his voice down. "I mean from me."

She squints slightly at him, her jaw intentionally misaligned to convey her confusion. "I don't understand. Are we still talking about how uncomfortable you are around me?"

"Yes."

She sighs. Her gaze shifts briefly to the wall. When she refocuses on him in the doorway, she says, "Herc, it's really your problem, okay? I think I've made myself quite clear at least twice now. My brothers told me all sorts of things about jaegers and being copilots that I imagine they didn't have permission to talk about, and Chuck told me other things. When Raleigh told me Chuck was your son, he tried to explain what he thought was going on with you. If he's right, what happens from here is up to you—it's not my place to dictate."

She's right, of course, but Herc still wants someone else to figure out what the hell he wants. Fortunately, she has pity on him.

"Listen, if you suspect you have feelings for me—for any reason—and don't know what to do about them, how is that any different from the way you felt about your wife or some past girlfriend? Shouldn't we go on some dates or something, so you can explore what you're feeling?" Her brows draw in and up in quiet distress. "And even if you decide that what you're feeling is from Chuck, why is that bad? I mean, I'd think if you found me repulsive, no influence from him would ever force you to be attracted to me. Which means that you, as a man separate from him, must see something in me that's appealing. Now I agree that if he were here this would be a problem, but . . . he isn't. Not anymore. You don't have to act like you got caught with your hand in a cookie jar."

Herc decides that's a pretty good analogy.

"I'm . . ." She sighs again, but tiredly, and stretches out beside her children. Her eyes close. "I don't have the energy to force you, but I am telling you to go to my computer and watch that video you brought home for me. The one you said you got from Chuck's laptop. I guarantee you'll find it enlightening."

Chuck starts off sitting up straight, but even in the terrible lighting of Hong Kong's shatterdome Herc can see how exhausted he is. After a minute or so his shoulders round and his head drops slightly. He yawns and rubs his eyes—precisely the way his son does—ending the display with a groan.

"Hi, bub," he murmurs. "I must look and sound like shit, but I'm squeezing this in while I can. The marshal has increased our dry runs, exercise schedules . . . pretty much everything except food and sleep. I got a video done for Jay a few days back, at least." He sighs and finds a faint smile as he props his chin in one hand and closes his eyes. "I wish you were here. I'd love to have a cuddle with your tits right about now."

He goes silent, and after about ten seconds Herc realizes he's fallen asleep. There's a very obvious edit to new footage of an awake Chuck, who looks even more exhausted than before.

"I'm sorry I passed out on you," he says. He goes quiet again, then groans. "I really wish you were here."

He quiets once more and stares down at the desk below his laptop for several moments. Finally, he looks up and says solemnly, "Duckie, I think . . . I think this bomb run is going to kill me."

Herc's heart constricts violently and begins to ache.

"If anything goes wrong," he continues, "anything . . . I mean, for fuck's sake, it's Challenger Deep. The bottom of the planet. Help would never arrive in time, even if a rescue team were on standby.

"So I want you to know that I love you. I love you so Goddamn much that poetry wouldn't do any justice to what I feel when I see you or think of you. I know that's obnoxiously sappy—I know—but it's true. I love you." He gazes earnestly into the camera. "And I know that you love me, so you don't have to worry about whether or not you said it enough. You kept my baby when I asked, you let me be there for both of you, you tolerate it when I pass out on your bed, you feed me, you just generally put up with all my shit . . ." He stops and nods with a gentle firmness. "I know you love me."

He gives the camera a crooked smile. "And now that you're suitably buttered up, I need to tell you that I still haven't told Da about you and Jay." The smile fades. "Unfortunately, I've reached the point of no return on that. Da got hurt on the last drop—broke his collarbone and jammed his arm a little. He'll live, but he's not fit to jockey. I'm going down with Marshal Pentecost instead." He sighs. "I just can't tell Da anymore, Duckie—I don't think he could handle it on top of having to leave the saddle. So however this video finds you, go forward knowing that. I'm not going to ask you to look for him, but I won't tell you not to. He can be a stubborn, crotchety son of a bitch when he wants—even worse than I am, if you can imagine—and you and Jay don't need that kind of stress. Especially not Jay. Not at his age.

"But if you do decide to look for him . . . If I could ask you one more favour, it'd be to look after him. Da's a guardian," he explains. "It's his purpose. He needs to protect. When he was a kid it was his brother, when he was an adult it was Australia, when he was married it was my mum, and when my mum was gone it was me. If this run really does go to hell, he won't have anything. Without the jaegers the world will be at the mercy of the kaiju, and I know Da would grab a fucking blunderbuss if that was all he could find and try to fight, but I don't think he'd try to survive. It wouldn't be worth the effort to do that much.

"The good news is that he's a bit like a dog: you remember to feed him, water him, put him out for a wee, pat him on the head sometimes and rub his belly other times, and that's enough. Let him be a guardian to you and Jay and he'll be happy as a clam, no matter how much he might bitch.

"And if . . ." Chuck hesitates for a moment. "Jazmine, Da and I have drifted for, what, six years now? More or less. We each have the other's memories, in whole or in part, stuck in our heads. Nothing is a secret in the drift. This may sound disgusting to you, but I've had sex with my mum. A lot. I'm telling you that because Da's had more experience with the drift than I do so he's better at keeping a lid on it. But if I die on this bomb run, he might . . . let out . . . the part of me that's in him. Not intentionally, I don't think, just as an expression of grief. Because he's good at protecting but shit at grieving. And he might get . . ." Chuck trails off and then raises his hands, his palms toward the camera as he curls his thumbs and fingers twice in a grabbing motion. "He's not a pervert or anything—at least, no more so than most other adult humans—but it still may not occur to him at the time that he's doing anything he shouldn't, if my memories are prominent in his head. It may be an on again, off again situation. So please be patient with him. And . . ."

He stops and looks to the side for a few moments. When he refocuses on the camera, he says gently, "My da is a good man, Duckie. He's everything I'm not and then some. You put up with me, so I know you can put up with him. But like I said, we have each other's memories, and because of that we've gotten more like each other over time; maybe I got something from him or maybe he got something from me. So if you find you like him and he likes you, that's all right with me. Be happy."

Herc is stunned and humbled by his son's forethought. But it does explain Chuck's drift phantom's lack of jealousy in regards to Jazmine. Perhaps as a consequence of being an only child with priority access to most things he wanted, Chuck was a jealous creature who never liked to share what he perceived to belong to him. For him to look and sound as fine with the idea as he seemed, he had to have been thinking about it for a while, gotten himself used to it, and then seen the conditions where it might be beneficial. Herc still doesn't know if he's comfortable with . . . everything . . . but it helps to know that he wouldn't be betraying his son.

Herc is restive, and not entirely because of Chuck's drift phantom. Now that he knows the prosecutor is a cultist, he doesn't want Jazmine in the same courtroom. In the same building. On the same block, for that matter. But since the parental leave ended Jazmine has insisted on attending because it's her case, so she's sitting on his left the way she has been so far. She's been behaving more or less normally, if looking a bit more surly about her situation. Her brother is also in attendance, but not sitting where he sat before. Herc has no idea where he is.

The prosecutor, for his part, has upgraded his "solution" for Jazmine's illegality from merely deporting her and taking her children to imprisoning her and taking her children. He's also somehow gotten his hands on the fact that Herc was previously in solitary confinement. Herc makes a note to tell Tendo to find out whether it was a leak, a hack, or infiltration that spread that.

"It was voluntary," the prosecutor admits, "but that merely means he was able to walk out when he liked. Which he did, with no indication that he took precautions to protect those around him. The man has an unexamined, untreated medical condition; he is unfit to be given custody of his grandchildren. He's a danger to them!"

Darryl looks, alarmed, at Herc. Herc waves him off, and says when the judge prompts him for an answer, "I was in confinement, but he's acting like it was for mental instability. It wasn't. And contrary to what he said, I was examined and the doctor determined that I wasn't contagious, so I went home. But I'm surprised he'd know about it, seeing as the PPDC isn't required to report directly to Australia except in cases of contagion. For the record, my 'confinement' was merely to the interior of the PPDC grounds so I wouldn't risk infecting my civilian neighbors—one of which was a vulnerable child. If he thinks I was endangering anyone then I'd like to see the paperwork he has regarding my condition at that time."

Of course, there is none unless it's forged. Most everything about that incident was done word-of-mouth by Tendo and Raleigh, and the PPDC doctor who'd examined him afterward had officially given him a clean bill of health. The DHA's cultist prosecutor would have to spend more time and money to prove conspiracy if he wants the judge to believe Herc is dangerous.

Darryl isn't as convinced as the judge and hisses, "That's something I needed to know!"

Herc looks at him. "I can see the value of warning you about it if I'd actually been treated for something other than the flu, but how was I supposed to know he'd try to use my having a normal, transient physical illness as proof of my unfitness to be around Jason?"

Darryl still doesn't believe him, but Herc isn't worried. Darryl has always been one of his most intuitive friends, a valuable skill limited only by a lack of telepathic powers. Whatever Darryl may suspect, the only way to confirm it will be to get Herc to confess, and like hell Herc is going to do that.

The judge deliberates for several days. Herc spends the time dividing his energy between his grandchildren; he still doesn't know either of them that well, but Jason is very much like his father and even Charlotte has a few of the mannerisms Chuck had during the same part of his own life. Jazmine is as protective and attentive a mother as she has been before and as much as Herc could have asked for, though she's still in a perpetually exhausted phase since Charlotte is up at all hours demanding a meal or a change. Raleigh is . . .

Raleigh is trying to get Herc in a massive amount of trouble, is all that Herc can imagine. He's acquired a paintball gun from somewhere—possibly Tendo, who's ideally suited to be an accomplice in something like this—and from time to time will "go for a walk," during which time the journalists camping in the front yard will be shot in the back, buttocks, legs, or arms with a variety of fluorescent paint colors. Equipment is also not safe from attack. The assaults are entirely random, and the pattern of splatter changes as the shooter tries to evade detection. Everyone seems to be aware that it's all Raleigh's doing and are clearly irritated about it, but since he appears unarmed when he leaves and when he returns, they can't prove it and sue him for damages.

One positive thing about it is that all of the paparazzi and a lot of the tabloid journalists have vacated to protect their cameras; the gossip isn't worth the damage to their gear. They also may have left because they noticed that they, specifically, are being targeted. Certainly, with so many of them gone the assaults are much fewer and farther between—though if anyone still around gets pushy it's a guarantee that there'll be a response later in the day or during the following day. The assaults have largely encouraged the journalists to behave, and as a sort of reward Raleigh and Jazmine are more willing to step out and spend time answering questions.

Herc doesn't make a point to visit with the press—he's really had enough of them after a decade—but he does spare them some time if he has to go out for some reason, such as grocery shopping. It makes the interactions much more bearable, though the questions themselves are often painful regardless. He doesn't really want to talk about Chuck, to anyone, but the media want him to. Over and over. And to protect Jazmine and his grandchildren, he reopens the wounds in his heart. Over and over.

Thankfully, Chuck's drift phantom is always there afterward, to shore him up inside.

On the day the judge makes his decision, the air conditioning in the courthouse breaks again. It makes Herc wonder what the hell his taxes are going to, if not the upkeep of public buildings. This judge, however, is superior to his predecessor in that he takes the time to ask Jazmine if she'd prefer to delay the verdict to a later date.

Jazmine refrains from snorting, though Herc can tell she wants to. "No, sir. I appreciate your courtesy, but now that I've given birth the strain on my body is different. The water provided by the court is sufficient."

"Very well."

The judge allows both sides the opportunity to provide any last-minute evidence or information and make their closing statements. The DHA prosecutor waxes veiled-xenophobic for well over an hour; Evelyn rises, tells the judge she has no more to offer, and sits back down. The judge then recesses the court for an early lunch, much to the irritation of Herc, who just wants it all done with. When everyone's back in the courtroom an hour later, the judge goes through all the typical ceremony and then gets to his ruling.

Herc would have lunged to his feet had Darryl not intuited what he intended to do and held him to his chair by one arm. The judge has decided that Jazmine will, in accordance with the law, be deported for overstaying her visa. Because of the ages of her children, they will be sent with her. However, given that there is no indication that she intentionally overstayed as a form of economic migration and because her children are half Australian, she'll be permitted to reapply for a visa in two years instead of three or ten or never.

Evelyn and Jazmine are graceful in their reaction to the ruling.

Herc is most definitely not, particularly with Chuck's drift phantom's fury acting as kindling to the fire.

The DHA prosecutor is even less so. Any composure he has possessed to this point, he loses. He argues, trying to reword everything until the judge's mind is changed. The judge calls him down for it. The prosecutor then reaches into his blazer and retrieves something. Herc doesn't really see the gun itself as much as he sees the way the prosecutor is holding it—the proper, stable hold—and understands from that how things have escalated. The DHA's cultist prosecutor shoots the judge or at least shoots at him; either way, the judge falls out of sight.

The bailiffs are closing in, but they can't shoot back without risking friendly fire. They, however, can take the risk of rushing him because they have bulletproof vests. Herc grabs Darryl, who's closer to the psychopath and more vulnerable, yanks him back, and steps in front of him. Herc locks eyes with the cultist as the other man swings around toward him, arms raised. For a moment, Herc is absolutely calm as he stares down the barrel of the handgun. In his chest, Chuck's drift phantom is swelling with a cold fury. If that traitorous son of a bitch expects him to cower and beg for his life . . .

He gasps. His chest is suddenly burning. He staggers back. His knees weaken and give out, but he's caught before he hits his head and eased the rest of the way to the floor. It's getting increasingly difficult to breathe.

"Jesus," Darryl says, breathless with panic as he tears Herc's shirt open. Herc doesn't have the ability to tell him to watch his back. "You stupid cunt . . . Stupid cunt!"

Evelyn appears with a bottle of the court's water and produces a lacy white handkerchief. "Here."

Chuck's drift phantom rages at him in panicked fury, demanding that he pull it together for once and stop being so melodramatic, but Herc just can't stay conscious. Not even for a memory of his son.

Once he thinks about it, Herc realizes he didn't ever expect to wake up.

Except he did.

Derrek is sleeping in his uniform in the vinyl-upholstered visitor's chair beside Herc's bed, gun in hand and finger on the trigger. Herc chooses to tempt fate and rattles the bedrail of what's obviously a hospital bed. His friend sits bolt upright, brings the gun to bear on the window on the other side of the room, and shouts, "Stop! New South Wales police!"

It hurts like hell to laugh—even just the weak, short burst he has the energy for—but it's worth it.

Derrek lets out a noise between a sigh and a groan. "Goddamn you, Hansen. Can't you take this seriously? Jesus Christ . . ." He holsters his gun and leans onto the mattress to hug Herc's head carefully.

The behavior is unusual for Derrek, who's a complete marshmallow with his wife but a real man's man with everyone else, so Herc asks, "What, no kiss?"

"Unfortunately for you," is the dry response, "you're taken again and I have too much class to poach." Still, a kiss is bestowed to his crown. "There. I can at least do that so you can say you had my mouth on your head. Just don't tell anyone which one and you'll be golden."

Morbidly curious, Herc asks, "Did I die?"

"A few times," Derrek says into the pillow. "If you could not do it anymore, that'd be grand." He sits up and presses the button that will bring a nurse to the room. "You scared the fuck out of Darro and me, mate."

Herc feels nothing about the revelation. He's pretty much been ready to die since his wife died, and almost looking for an opportunity to since Chuck died. It's far more a surprise that he didn't stay dead than that he died multiple times.

Exhaustion washes over Herc—the prank and laughter really took it out of him. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Probably shouldn't do that," Derrek tells him. "The night-duty nurse is a work of art."

The nurse on duty shows up right then, and though she's not ugly she's also not what Herc would consider a work of art. He figures she isn't the nurse his friend was talking about. Derrek is animated with her anyway, happy to tell her about how he found out Herc was awake.

"The knob scared the bejeezus out of me because he's a terrible friend."

The nurse tries to hide her amusement, but she ultimately fails. "You boys shouldn't be roughhousing when one of you is so seriously hurt."

Herc silently dismisses them and goes back to sleep.

Derrek is still with him, again asleep with gun drawn and finger on the trigger, the next time Herc wakes.

"Oï," Herc calls. Derrek flinches, but doesn't draw a bead on the window this time. "Do you always sleep with your gun like that?"

Derrek graces him with a flat look and holsters the gun. "Hansen, I'm not here just because I'm your friend. I'm here because Eternity in Blue has made an announcement that they plan to kill you, and our operatives have found out that they mean it—they've put a price on your head and are reaching out to bounty hunters. And they're just the one we know of. There'd be more guys in this room if the hospital would allow it, but they compromised by giving you a VIP room and letting us station plain-clothes watches from the critical care waiting room to here."

Herc isn't terribly worried. It's not the first time a kaiju cult has wanted to kill him. In fact, the PPDC has been aware that most of the world's cults each have a hit list of jaeger pilots, and given his tenure Herc is arguably on every single one of them; Azure Rapture and Aoi Tenshi were the first ones to announce their targets, way back in 2017, and Herc had been on both of those lists. As a precaution, the PPDC had sent agents underground to keep track of which cults threatened whom, and though Herc has never seen his own list, Tendo mentioned once that someone had indeed put in brackets at the top the phrase "all of them."

It's something the PPDC largely hasn't bothered to share with law enforcement, since the cults do plenty of other illegal things that they're being sought for. But Chuck was actually stabbed in the back by a cultist in Hong Kong—Stacker kept that very hush-hush for a variety of reasons—and there were other rangers attacked even before that, none of which were reported on once the Jaeger Program fell out of favor. It was just another hazard of the job to rangers, and nobody outside the JP cared. So Herc isn't surprised his friend has no idea that he's had a bull's-eye on his back since nearly the moment he was instated as a jaeger pilot. It's merely that the prosecutor is the first one brave or stupid enough to get close and really make an attempt.

"Is the judge all right? Did you get the bastard?"

Derrek snorts. "Yes, and of course we did. We would have anyway, since it was in a courtroom, but your little wife and her brother pretty much delivered the cunt on a silver platter. He's licensed for that handgun, by the way."

Chuck's drift phantom clamors and Herc doesn't disagree. "Is she all right?"

"They're fine. They've gone to the PPDC compound with the kids and are staying there. Her brother and I have been in regular contact."

The new PPDC compound Herc commands is far smaller than any of the old shatterdome compounds, but it's still fenced off with chain link topped by razor wire and patrolled regularly by heavily armed and armored strike troopers. Jazmine, Jason, and Charlotte will be as safe there as Herc—or Chuck—could want.

"The boss was offended when they said they didn't want police protection," Derrek adds, "but I say let 'em go wherever they want as long as it's secure. It's cheaper and it leaves more of us available to protect you and carry out an investigation."

"Should transfer me there."

"Like hell," Derrek says. "They've already barred me entry once—I had to speak to your girl through the fence. I'm not letting them stop me from checking up on you too."

"Jesus Christ, you're such a mum."

"Your mum likes to know you're not dead, Hansen."

"I'm Marshal. They'd have to let you in if I told them to."

"I'll think about it."

Herc rolls his eyes and shifts under the thin hospital blanket. "You do that while I sleep."

"Yes sir."

The next time Herc comes around, Darryl is sitting where Derrek had been. An officer Herc doesn't know but who Derrek probably hand-picked is across the room in another chair. Herc finds the strength to reach out and poke his friend, who's staring blank-faced at the television and clearly seeing none of it.

Darryl flinches and looks at him. "Herc . . ."

"How's your love life going?"

"Is that seriously all that's on your mind?"

"Well, I'd much rather be in the infirmary in the PPDC compound where I could make sure my grandkids are safe, but Dezza said no. So you get to be my second concern."

Darryl sighs and rubs the side of his neck. "It's not. We're both focused on other things."

"I told you—"

"Attorneys get death threats all the time, Herc. We understand our mortality and have an agreement for the time being. Fuck off."

"Fine. Anything interesting happen—anywhere—while I'm lapsing in and out of consciousness?"

Darryl intentionally annoys him by reciting some random useless bullshit about reality show stars and other pop-culture idiocy. Then comes more relevant world news. Apparently, Russia wants to make up for the time lost to the kaiju, because the hacking and political propaganda traceable to there is again on the increase, and that isn't all; China's back to trying to annex waters and islands through bullying; North Korea is still looking to get itself wiped from the map; those African nations that had been wise enough to cease hostilities are picking up where they had left off; and the United States of America is being itself, simultaneously practicing covert and overt imperialism in as many countries as there's adequate military and undercover agents available to distribute to. After twelve long years of a united global war against alien invasion, it's international infighting as usual.

Herc groans. Most of it he was already aware of, either by virtue of just being alive long enough to know the signs or through various connections with people in positions of power, but it's good to know that the public is being informed. With or without official confirmation. "So much for my dreams of world peace."

Darryl snorts. "You know we would have only turned the jaegers on each other if given the chance."

"Believe me, I had no doubt whatsoever. You didn't pilot one of those things and fail to realize how you'd have to destroy it after the kaiju were gone just to keep humanity from self-destructing even faster. Anything local I should know about? Other than that the cults want me dead, because that's not news."

There's really nothing of import. Darryl fills him in on the recent politicking in and around Parliament, then tells him to get some more sleep.

Despite Derrek's theatrical whining protests, Herc decides to spend the remainder of his convalescence in the PPDC compound. Once the doctors okay him for travel, that is. He makes a point to introduce his friend to the gatekeepers on duty, and instructs the latter to permit the former entry.

"He'll need to be searched each time, sir," is the response. "Protocol."

"He'll let you search him," Herc answers, and then looks squarely at Derrek, "or he doesn't come in."

Derrek rolls his eyes. "I'm a police officer, dickheads."

"Seems you haven't noticed, but a government prosecutor just tried to kill Darro and me," Herc replies. "If the circumstances are right, anyone is capable of doing anything."

"I am truly offended by your implication, you paranoid cunt."

Herc isn't moved. "You'll get over it. Now go home—I'm sure your wife's waiting."

"Yeah, someone on this planet wants me around." Derrek gets into his cruiser, shuts the door, and rolls the window down. "At least I didn't get married because some pretty young thing felt sorry for me."

Herc grabs the rifle of one of the strike troopers at the gate and points it at the police car, a little to the side of his friend's head. God forbid the thing go off somehow and kill Derrek for the sake of a joke. In a voice that falls extremely short of being a good Schwarzenegger impression, he says, "Get out."

Even so, there are a few reasons why Derrek has been one of Herc's best friends since school. One of those reasons shows in the way he immediately grasps the reference. He throws one hand up in a sharp, almost mechanical gesture and replies in a slightly more accurate voice, "Talk to the hand."

Herc returns the rifle and adds, impression-free, "Tell your babysitter you don't get dessert tonight because you're an arse."

Derrek laughs. "Of course I will. I would totally have done that even if you hadn't told me to. Because I am one hundred percent above reproach."

"Your nose just got a few centimetres longer," Herc tells him.

Derrek laughs again, louder, and as he drives off, shouts, "Tell the missus I said hi and that I'm sorry you're the best she could find!"

Herc makes an obscene gesture after him, aware he's watching in the cruiser's rearview mirror—because Derrek is one of those friends who makes every effort to irritate the people he likes—then turns to actually enter the compound. "How've things been?" he asks the troopers as he passes through the gate and pauses on the other side. "Any breaches?"

"No, sir," is the answer from the older of the two troopers, who's been with the Jaeger Program for many years. "All quiet. But please speak to Becket—it's difficult to protect him when he insists on prowling the inside of the fence and making himself an easy target."

Herc promises to say something to him and hops into a cart for the jaunt to the compound's main building.

Tendo is prompt with the report on what's been happening while Herc's been away. It seems that the DHA prosecutor's cult was following Chuck and had known about Jazmine for years; previously, two others were sent out to try to grab Jason. He's admitted that the man Jazmine killed was one of them, and though he hasn't revealed the identity of the other and doesn't seem inclined to, Herc figures it's the woman who lived in his half of the duplex right after Mister Dillon was moved out. Since she was significantly more sly and bailed before Jazmine could make her disappear, she's likely still alive and needs cover.

Herc doesn't miss the concerned look-over he gets while listening. However, Tendo says nothing about his condition, and after finishing the report waits patiently for new orders.

"Did you find that leak?"

"Yes sir. Just wanted to feel important, as far as I can tell. He shipped out a few weeks back."

"Good. And where are Jazmine and the rugrats?"

"Suite E."

Herc frowns a bit. "Why the hell are they there?"

Tendo lets out a longsuffering sigh and says, "They both said that suite A was too obvious. Yancy's middle name starts with an 'e.'"

"Whatever," Herc mutters. "Thanks. Finish up whatever you're doing and go home."

Herc knocks on the door to suite E. After a moment, Raleigh—wearing an old and stained 'kiss the cook' apron—opens the door and lets him in with a, "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Why do you ask?" Herc answers. "Do I still look like shit?" He's half dead, so he knows he does.

Raleigh just grins and goes back to the kitchenette, where he's cooking something that smells amazing. It seems Missus Becket had been quite the cook herself, to have at least two children who are quality cooks.

Mako and Jazmine are in the small sitting area with Jason and Charlotte, and both women are tending to both children while also doing their own things—Mako is working on some piece of technology Herc would never be able to identify to save his life and Jazmine is pretreating some stained baby clothes for a wash. Jason seems to have taken to Mako, because he demands her attention more than he does his mother's, leaving Jazmine to mostly care for Charlotte, who appears to be largely absorbed with the exploration of her own hands.

Jazmine finishes treating an outfit, sets it aside, then gets to her feet and turns to Herc. He feels something unknot in his chest as he looks at her—Chuck's drift phantom is relieved to see her unharmed. She approaches in silence and then lifts her arms to hug him. He returns the embrace without hesitation, putting into it all of Chuck's drift phantom's affection for her. As they part he kisses her crown, her cheek, then presses his lips chastely to hers. He's pleased that she doesn't draw away, and it doesn't come entirely from Chuck's drift phantom.

"Daddy!" Jason squeals, apparently finally noticing he's there.

Herc looks at his grandson and says with a smile, "Hey there, Jay. Have you been good for Mummy?"

Herc reclines on the blanket and closes his eyes. There's no need to be particularly vigilant when a privacy fence taller than he is boxes in the whole back yard and hides it from everyone. Charlotte squirms against his flank, safe on the side where there's the most shade and blanket and she's less likely to roll into the grass, heaves a huge sigh, and then goes still. Herc yawns. He listens to Jason splash violently in the kiddie pool and hears Jazmine make a melodramatic exclamation about a toy boat that must be there as well. Jason laughs. Chuck's drift phantom is at peace in his head.

Finally, Herc's world is stable again—whole enough that he thinks he might be able to find at least a little peace of his own one day. He's mostly healed and moved back into the duplex with his family, and though it's a bit cramped and noisy at times, Herc can't help believing the noise is superior to the silence. It's true that the threat of assassination by BuenaKai-hired hitmen remains possible, but Herc doesn't feel the danger to him is significantly greater than it was when he first discovered he was on cults' hit lists. He does worry about his grandchildren but is reassured by Jazmine's caution, which borders on the paranoia she warned him about when they first met.

Jazmine walks over and sits beside him, barricading Charlotte on two sides. Not that the baby's been trying to go anywhere, to be sure. "How are you?" Jazmine asks.

Herc sighs, as content as he expects he'll ever be after the horrible turn his life took so many years ago. "A little sore, but I can't say I have many complaints at this point," he replies. He opens his eyes to look at her. "Right now, there isn't much I can think of that could make this better."

She's still being deported with Jason and Charlotte, but Herc tries to console himself with the fact that she can apply for a new visa in just two years. He doesn't like it very much—wouldn't have liked anything other than her staying in Australia, really—but he also knows the kind of ruling the judge could have made, and isn't keen to make the man reconsider his generosity. Jazmine doesn't know, and given her response to his past offers of assistance he's not going to tell her, but he's planning to fight to get as many of her possessions as possible back. Including her half of the duplex. As much as he values the noise his family makes, he wants her to have her own place again when she returns.

She smiles. "I suppose that makes two of us. So, what do you want for supper?"

Chuck's drift phantom clamors to have Chuck's preference noted, and Herc doesn't argue. "I think I could fit a few of your BLTs in my stomach."

Jazmine thinks about that, then says, "You, sir, have yourself a deal."

Finis

Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:

That whole courtroom bit just . . .

ACCURACY IS IRRELEVANT IN THE FACE OF DRAMA.

Okay? XD

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line! I'm always looking to improve, so constructive criticism is welcome. Hope you enjoyed!

~RN (LS)