To Fight Monsters, We Created Monsters (Pacific Rim)

Chapter 20: my boy

2025, January 8 – 06:47 – Hong Kong Shatterdome, Hong Kong, China

The roaring cheers were nearly deafening. Her limbs were heavy wearing the DriveSuit, and Greyson was absolutely exhausted, but she could last. It was a little under an hour since they succeeded — survived, really — the emergency run.

By the time she and Raleigh had led the group of staffers into the mess hall, there was already another wave of people there to meet them; two of which brought relief back to her. Herc called Raleigh's name, and Chuck pushed past the workers just as his father did.

When the Hansens got to the small clearing where the people had dispersed, Greyson threw her arms first around the father, careful not to budge his arm with the DriveSuit. Turning to her boyfriend, she grabbed his jacket and pulled him down to her, feverishly kissing his lips, still coming down from her Drift high.

After pulling away, Greyson kept her hands around his neck, swimming in his scent of ocean and motor oil. Her mind was still reeling over the night, over crossing off two kaiju and reconnecting with Raleigh in the Drift. Greyson felt like he had been projecting the ghost of their past between them but having faced death twice in six hours tends to make someone think about the things they had.

"I love you," she whispered to him over the roar of the Shatterdome, the most honest she had been in years.

His eyes seemed to shine from that. "I know," Chuck teased, pressing his lips to her forehead.

They both stayed in each other's embrace for a moment, until, that is, Herc began to speak. In a low voice, he said to Raleigh, "My kid'd never admit it, but he's grateful." Herc held out his good hand, and Raleigh took it. "We both are."

The doors swung open again, and Pentecost's voice soon followed, calling for the returned pilots. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, making a route for the Marshal to pass. Pentecost started, "In all my years of fighting, I've never—" A genuine smile shone on his face. "—seen anything like that. Well done." The Marshal spoke to them both, but his eyes lingered more on Greyson. "Proud of you," he finished.

She squeezed Chuck's hand, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. The lieutenant was beaming. Stacker Pentecost was proud. Of them both, sure, but also of her. It was... weird, the feeling of pride bubbling in her chest. Greyson was never as close to Stacker as she was to Herc, despite having known each other for a solid decade. But it didn't matter.

He was proud.

Focusing his attention to the rest of the Shatterdome, the Marshal continued loudly, "I'm proud of us all." The hangar bay remained quiet as he made his way forward, to speak to the souls before him. "But, as harsh as it sounds, there is no time to celebrate. We lost two crews. No time to grieve." Turning back around, he glanced at Raleigh and Greyson momentarily. "Reset that clock."

Everyone started to murmur around. The fleeting feeling of darkness dissipated. It was all business again. But then, Greyson's eye caught something. She raised her hand to her nose, signaling to the Marshal of a problem. His nose was bleeding again. He gave her a look. Pentecost pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and applied pressure to his nose.

It was obvious now; he wasn't getting any better. "Reset the clock," the Marshal repeated.

As the Marshal made his way away from the scene, a confused Raleigh, with furrowed brows, looked at Greyson for answers. She shook her head in dismissal; she'd tell him later. There were more important things than what secrets Pentecost was hiding from the world.