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Chuck growled, only to find that it did nothing to deter the general cheer of the people around him. Didn’t people know that there were more important things to be fussed about than a holiday? There were upgrades and repairs to be made to the jaegers, strategies to make for the upcoming mission, tests that could be run to find problems before they came up…
They knew this. He knew they did—J-Tech crews were notorious for their pride in their work, of course, and the Shatterdome couldn’t function if they didn’t. He guessed he couldn’t blame them for wanting a little bit of a break, and yet… did they really have to make a big deal about the feast in the dining hall that night? With Hong Kong’s open port, it made it easy to get a meal worthy of a holiday, but who were they kidding? They were all miles away from their families—those that had any family left, that was—and trapped together in the Shatterdome, watching the war clock tick down the seconds to the next kaiju. How could anyone possibly be in the holiday spirit?
Forcing a semblance of a smile onto his face, Chuck suffered through in silence. His father seemed to be having a good enough time, conversing with some of Striker and Crimson’s techs. The tension he always carried in his shoulders had eased slightly, not that Chuck noticed that sort of thing. Even Mako had ditched her tablet and clipboard that had been attached to her hands for the last couple weeks, engaging in a debate with Sasha Kaidonovsky. He didn’t even want to know what that was about, but he wasn’t sure who was dumber for debating with the other. Mako might appear shy and reserved, but Chuck Hansen knew otherwise first-hand.
Finally, the people at their table seemed to cotton on to the face that Chuck didn’t particularly want to be there. His fingers itched with the need to do something—he had a list of things he wanted to check on Striker, and if none of them were going to do it, he could damn well get a start. He pushed up, making his way out of the dining hall. The halls had even been strung with little blinky lights here and there, and Chuck resisted the urge to rip them down.
Working on Striker tended to calm him like nothing else. It was easy to lose himself in the mechanics and workings, and Chuck absently signed in on the log. The bay was silent and empty for once, almost eerie and lonely if Chuck cared to feel that way. Reflexively, he glanced around to check for possible hazards to mind, and paused. Above, in the catwalks, a single person was sitting just out of the reach of the shadows. Almost instantly, a scowl crossed Chuck’s face. Of fucking course Becket would be up there, all dramatic and mysterious, brooding and avoiding the feast.
Whatever. Let him sit up there, alone and—wait. Why wasn’t Mori with him? The two were attached at the hip, all wrapped up in one another most of the time. Why wasn’t Mori up there, soothing his sad puppy dog eyes? No, instead of Mako, Becket was alone, and even Chuck could see the empty distance in his eyes, a stark contrast to the jaunty little holiday medley playing in the distance.
Well, fuck. He hesitated, wavered, then slammed his toolkit back into the tray. Grumbling under his breath, he stormed away. He wasn’t going to get his alone time, he should have known that he’d never manage to have time to himself, especially in the bays.
It took several minutes, but Chuck finally stalked up the steps to the appropriate walk. Becket gave no indication of hearing his approach, and Chuck took a vicious pleasure in the way the older man jumped when he stomped his way closer. He gave Becket no chance to open his stupid gob, instead shoving a tray into his chest and forcing the has-been to either take it or wear it. Becket nearly dropped it, but accepted it, then fumbled the thermos Chuck thrust at him.
“Could at least act like it’s the hols,” Chuck snapped, and Raleigh’s confused blue eyes looked up at him. “Sitting up here, all dramatic and shit. Didn’t Mori tell you about the feast?”
“Yeah,” Becket managed, still looking gobsmacked and confused. How the hell anyone could think he was attractive when he looked that confused was beyond Chuck. “Yeah, she did. Not much for crowds these days.”
Chuck snorted. Becket looked down at the tray, then looked back up with a raised eyebrow.
“Cookies?” He asked, and Chuck rolled his eyes.
“Don’t get sweets a lot anymore, yeah?” He asked. “So, there. Dinner, dessert. You’re not much use to me if you starve to death before the mission, y’know.”
Raleigh sneered back at him, though something had changed in his gaze. Some of those shadows Chuck had seen from clear down on the floor had gone, leaving Chuck more than a little confused. Had had mistaken how fucking depressed the idiot had looked? Maybe it had just been the light. Either way, he guessed he didn’t have to worry about him taking a dive over the rail or something, and he turned to leave. There was a quiet shift, a muffled snap, and then Becket’s right hand closed around his calf.
“Here.”
“What?” Chuck asked blankly, unsure. Why in the hell was Raleigh holding out half of one of the cookies toward him? He’d had his sweets earlier, and it wasn’t as if Chuck looked like he hadn’t seen a good meal in ages.
“Here,” Raleigh repeated. He gestured with the cookie, then at the space next to him. “Siddown or something.”
Chuck tensed. He and Raleigh weren’t friends, so what the fuck? Something about that damned look in the guy’s eyes, however, had him awkwardly moving to comply before he was even aware he’d made the decision. Becket thrust the cookie back at him, leaving him feeling oddly like a grade schooler again, sharing snacks at snack time. He accepted it, guarded, and Becket offered a slow, sad little smile.
“Still getting used to full meals,” he allowed, digging into the potatoes almost thoughtfully. “Too many sweets don’t sit well with me.”
“Don’t you carry pocketfuls of them candies?” Chuck asked, feeling almost stung. Raleigh just shrugged one shoulder, swallowing.
“Old habit,” he said thickly, then cleared his throat. “Yancy hated those things.” Before Chuck could freeze, flinch, or stick his foot in his mouth, Raleigh bobbed his head slightly, not quite a nod as he added, “Easier on me than tons of cookies. Sad, huh?”
“Mate, there are tons of sad things about you, least of all that,” Chuck drawled. He shifted, thigh bumping against Raleigh’s for a second; he jumped, but Raleigh shifted accordingly after he’d readjusted—placing his thigh back against Chuck’s. “Like the fact you let Mako walk all over you last night.”
Raleigh shot him a wounded look, but it didn’t last long.
“’S that why you’re up here?” He asked, tilting his head. Raleigh just shrugged.
“Just wanted some space,” he replied. “Like I said, hall was a little crowded for me.”
Abruptly, Chuck felt almost awkward again. He shifted, preparing to push up and leave Becket to his space, only for Raleigh’s hand to close around his wrist.
“Stay,” he ordered, voice more authoritative than Chuck had heard thus far today. He blinked, and Raleigh smiled, soft and just for Chuck. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay.”
Slowly, gingerly, Chuck settled back down. Nodding to himself as if satisfied, Raleigh shifted closer, enough to leave an impression of his warmth along Chuck’s right side. It felt weirdly relaxing, and Chuck scowled at him for making him feel all weird.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just didn’t want you to starve. Goodwill and all that, yeah?”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Chuck,” Raleigh said—but his smile was pure and bright this time, easy and pleased. Chuck found himself a little stunned by it, and tipped his chin up defiantly.
“Yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas or whatever the fuck,” he shot back. “All right?”
“Yeah,” Raleigh agreed with a pleased little hum. “Yeah, we’re all right.”
For now, anyway. It was a start.