suicidemission | (no subject)

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He’d told her nine and abruptly left, fleeing the situation like it was a hive of bees chasing after him. He’d promptly gone back to his room where he’d taken a cold shower, drank a gallon of water to free himself of the warm, lingering buzz that he’d obtained from either the alcohol or her presence (he couldn’t be sure what was truly the cause), then sat on his bed and vented at Max for several hours – Max, who very patiently sat there and listened to all of it.

He didn’t have a lot of input, though.

When Chuck had at least some of his sense back, he takes a proper shower and puts on clean clothes and finds an ancient bottle of cologne stuffed in the bottom drawer of his dresser that, on further inspection, expired about three years ago but still smells okay, and shoves what he’d had on and his previous, soaking wet set into the laundry chute.

He kills more time by walking Max through the ‘Dome and ignores most people that talk to him, allowing only Miss Mori to pet his dogs head before he swings by his old mans room, pawns the animal off on him with barely a word (save for insistent pestering as to her name - Rhoda, it suited her), then doubles back to her room where he raps on the metal twice and waits, hands behind his back, face affixed with the usual, surly look he was so often seen with.

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He ties it tight, making sure she can't see before coming back to her side and taking the basket, a hand touching her elbow to guide her.

"Not kidding. It seem like I'm kidding?"

She grabs his hand and hold it tightly, squeezing his fingers in a tacit warning not to be a dick and take her somewhere to embarrass her. Because then she's going to murder him.

"Right, lead the way, then."

He gives her a squeeze back because Rhoda he is not stupid.

He leads her down the halls and to the maintenance bays, around technicians who looked quizzically at them both but didn't say anything, towards the elevator, up the lift, and directly into Striker's conn-pod.

He's careful with her, telling her to step up once they're inside. Only once the door is shut does he pull off the blindfold, and wait for the reaction.

He better not be fucking stupid. Or she will kill him.

She's glad she's not wearing her heels, because while she's perfectly adept at walking pretty much anywhere in her heels, she'd rather not have to think about that tonight.

She has an inkling about where they're going based on the ambient noise around them and the fact that this seems suspiciously familiar. It doesn't detract from the wonder she feels when he takes her blindfold off.

"...Oh my god."

"That good or bad, doll?"

He's settling the basket down, eyes fixing on her in mild apprehension. He knows, realistically, this isn't really romantic. It's sort of anticlimactic really, but honest to god it's the best thing he could come up with.

"It's just sandwiches," he says, gesturing to the basket. "But they'll be alright, yeah?"

"This is so cool."

Okay, so it's not traditionally romantic, but it's still amazing. There are a few photos of the interior of conn-pods floating around the internet, but almost nobody gets to see them in person.

She just hums distractedly when he talks, too busy wandering around the perimeter, taking everything in.

The reaction gets better and better as the minutes tick by. He's starting to get a sense that's he's done at least alright, and he grins a little as he swipes the blanket and spreads it - Striker hates crumbs - and sets things up.

"I'm uh, not great at romance. But I figure this would do. 'S private, doors locked n all."

She may or may not almost skip over to him, wrapping both hands around his bicep and stretching up to kiss his cheek.

"This is great, Charles."

Chuck doesn't do a lot right in his life - not outside of piloting the Jaeger whose conn-pod they're currently standing in. He's well aware it's what he's best at because it's been (mostly) his personal choice to make it so. He's practiced, worked and fought for this spot and to be so entirely out of his element leaves him floundering a little.

It's only natural that he reverts back to what he knows, even if it isn't exactly what a girl might want.

But she seems pleased and it warms him to his core that maybe he's done this right, and he drops a kiss to her forehead and grins.

"Yeah? Don't bring anyone up here. Not really allowed, but I wouldn't bring 'em up anyway, even if they were."

He's trying to say she's the first, she's the only, but it's not coming out correctly.

She grins up at him, pressing herself close to his side, her fingers pressing into his arm.

"Are you telling me I'm special?"

"And if I am?"

He's giving her a sort of apprehensive kind of look, brows raised and lips a little pursed, even as she comes in close.

"Well, I guess I better give you special thanks, then."

She tugs on his arm so she can lean up some more and kiss him properly this time, smiling against his lips.

"This is incredible, Chuck, thank you."

He slides both arms around her waist and draws her in, leaning down so that she's able to reach him.

"Welcome," he mumbles, face a little red but he's secretly very pleased with himself. He's trying, here, and it's a pain in the ass and she's a pain in his ass but so worth it.

She is absolutely worth it, Hansen, and the sooner you accept it the better. Her arms slide around his neck to keep him down at her level and she kisses him again, then once more, then finally pulls herself back a little.

"You said something about sandwiches?" Not that she particularly wants to eat, even though she's hungry.

She wants to be given a detailed tour of the conn pod and also maybe make out some more.

Yes. Yes, she is.

"Mm? Yeah. Stole some from the kitchens." Because he's not Raleigh, he can't smile and bat his eyes and get whatever he wants.

Smug ass motherfuck.

"Lessee...ham and cheese or...ham and cheese?" He's holding one in each hand and giving her a very serious look. "A difficult choice."

He's not Raleigh, no, but his surliness means more for her and less for others, so she's not exactly sad that he's not as universally loved as the other pilots are.

Her answering look is just as serious and she takes a while to consider, like this is a really important decision.

"I think…ham and cheese."

"Good choice." He passes it over, then settles down on the blanket, patting it to indicate she join him.

"If you'd made the wrong one, I would've had to just kick you out. Striker 'n I can't have bad decisions up here, yeah?"

She lowers herself surprisingly gracefully down onto the blanket, settling her sandwich down on her knees.

"Well, goodness, if that was the consequence for picking the wrong option, I'm glad I chose what I did." She leans her shoulder against his, hiding her smile as she picks the wrapper off her sandwich. "I'd hate to lose you and Striker."

"Package deal, doll."

He's grinning, but he's kind of serious. He's a jaeger pilot - and everything that that entails. He kind of does need to know that...well.

He's not getting his chain jerked around, too. He's falling for her - fast. He doesn't want her to ditch the second he's gotta jet off to kill a kaiji - or be killed trying.

Rhoda's worked in Shatterdomes for long enough now to know about the futility of keeping Jaeger pilots away from their Jagers, away from the fight. She knows better than to expect Chuck not to go out and battle Kaiju because of her.

It's not going to happen.

Still, that doesn't mean she can't enjoy what she has now.

"So, I've been told that Jaegers are mildly sentient, or at least, that it feels that way in the Drift." She picks a piece of her sandwich off and pops it in her mouth. "Introduce me to Striker, then."

"Wonder who told you that." He smirks a little and tears off a piece of his bread before setting it down in favor of getting up so he can smooth his hand over his harness.

"He can hear us now." Not that Striker was indicating that. "Striker, this is my girlfriend Rhoda. Rhoda, this is Striker Eureka, the only Mark V jaeger in existence."

"It might have been a certain pilot…"

She hides her smile behind another chunk of her sandwich, listening to Chuck talk to his Jaeger. She doesn't make any kind of comment on him calling her his girlfriend — jumping the gun a little, are we? — because that's where she wants this to go anyway, so if he's already there, then she's happy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Striker Eureka," she replies, surprisingly serious for someone who's talking to a giant robot while inside said robot's head.

Well she's not correcting him so he's going to just keep assuming.

"You can assume he likes you if the lights stay strong and don't dim. He gets a bit testy when there's people he doesn't know about, but he hasn't made a peep since you walked in."

"Maybe he knows you like me," she teases, jostling his shoulder with hers.

Honestly, she's not sure if he's talking out his ass about this, it wouldn't surprise her. But whatever, she doesn't mind. This is still mind-blowingly cool.

"He absolutely does," Chuck verifies, patting the harness fondly. "Sees everything, doesn't he? Remember, two way street. Pilot to pilow, pilot to Jaeger." He smirks a little, then settles back down.

"Sounds daft, yeah? Hard to explain to someone who's never Drifted."

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helpmerhoda - 2013-08-26 13:58 (UTC) - Expand

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suicidemission - 2013-08-26 14:08 (UTC) - Expand

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