suicidemission | like a match to gasoline

Chuck's fucking pissed off that half the goddamn world thinks he proposed to Raleigh Becket. He's pissed that Mako seems to think it's her responsibility to attempt to get them to kiss and make up.

He's pissed at himself for being pissed in the first place. Raleigh's all but spelled it out for him and Chuck, being the stubborn fuck that he is, just keeps pushing him away, snarling and hissing and spitting at him like he's a tomcat that's had its territory invaded.

He just pushes the older Ranger away, keeps needling at him, keeps saying shit that he shouldn't be saying. And half the time he doesn't know if he's hurting Raleigh or if the older man just thinks he's some dumbass kid because for all that Becket is an adorable puppy, he's fucking amazing at hiding what he's thinking and Chuck doesn't know how to read people anyway and maybe they're both just shitty at relationships and dealing with people on any kind of social level.

It's a giant clusterfuck and this whole goddamn tour has been a pain in the ass and a waste of his time and of the PPDCs resources. Chuck is so sick of this shit and he's ready to leave, but they've got their first interview to do after the 'proposal' and it's important that this shit get cleared up because it isn't true and while Chuck knows people badmouth him behind his back at least he knows it's usually valid.

This is just a straight up lie.

He's dressed nicely for it (because he has a stylist that makes him dress and that combs his hair) but his face is set in a deep, deep frown and his arms are crossed as he waits to talk to this asshole that's going to inevitably ask questions that piss him off.

Again.

Raleigh is tired. The endless hotel and climate hopping from one country to the next for the tour is making his insomnia act up in new and interesting ways. Half the nights now he's not even making it to two am. His stylist makes disapproving noises as she pats on and smooths out something that mostly hides the way he looks like a raccoon. The suit, at least, fits entirely this time without small pins to hold it in place. Someone had overestimated his actual size under the bulk of his sweaters to begin with and they hadn't been happy to find out he would need suit jackets to hide the effect of five years of rations on his body.

He absolutely hated formal ware and was generally trying to cajole and charm his way out of the tie and pocket handkerchief at the very lease, but not this interview. He owed it to Chuck to look his most credible and put together when he tried to correct the mistake stemming from his small joke. He was at his rope's end when it came to establishing any kind of friendship, or anything else for that matter, with the other ranger. At this point, he was resigned to just trying not to fuck it up again if Chuck ever tried to bridge the gap from his side.

Raleigh stepped up by Chuck, wondering how on Earth Mako and Herc had weaseled their ways out of this particular morning show, and waited for their names to be called and the cue to walk across the sound stage smiling and waving. He didn't have to wait long, not even long enough to get the ill advised idea to try and talk to Chuck as he scowled.

"And now, the guests you've all be waiting for! The Rangers of the Shatterdome! Please welcome, Chuck Hansen and Raleigh Becket!"

Raleigh is so much better at the smiling and waving than Chuck is. Chuck doesn't care for this shit; he can be a damn smarmy bastard, charming when he feels like it, but he's tired of it and ready to retreat back into the Shatterdome or something similar and throw himself into the kwoon where he doesn't have to deal with adoring fans and people screaming and crying and asking for autographs. He's tired of flashing lights and the pip and fizz of champagne and wine and celebratory toasts. He's exhausted, mentally and physically, and it shows in his stance and posture.

Their names are called and he manages a tight smile when he walks out behind Raleigh, flickign a hand in an obligatory gesture of acknowledgement, but beyond that, he remains silent when they sit down.

Raleigh can do the talking. He's proven to be so good at it, after all.

Raleigh takes the hint recognizing Chuck's still in no mood for this or probably human interaction of any kind. He takes the seat closest to the host of the show, Becky something, he thinks her name is and turns a strained smile on the roaring crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone in particular.

Becky Whatever-her-name is younger than a lot of their previous interviewers and she looks like she's about to come of her seat at them, though whether it's to maul them or ask them questions Raleigh isn't quite certain. She skips right through the welcomes to the show and all the other preliminary things on the teleprompters and zeroes in on Raleigh's bare hands.

"Where, Ranger Becket, is your ring?" She sounds like a hynena to Raleigh's tired ears. Entirely too gleeful about having this interview.

"What ring?" Raleigh keeps the smile on his face even though he knows damn well what ring.

"The ring Chuck just proposed to you with of course!"

It bothered Raleigh, that he was Ranger Becket and she didn't afford Chuck the same title and respect, referring to him like she had the right to his first name and he frowned for a moment. He recovered quickly though and held his bare hands up to the camera.

"I'm afraid the cameras caught the wrong candid moment. I tied a cereal box ring from breakfast to Max's collar as a joke, and the cameras just happened to catch the moment before Ranger Hansen threw it at my head."

Yeah see, okay that--

That pisses Chuck off too, like this girl thinks that she can just call him 'Chuck' like they fucking know each other and sit there and address Raleigh with all this respect and shit like Chuck is some fucking kid here at Raleigh's whim or something.

Forgive him if his attitude sours, his expression darkens and if he turns a dark, dangerous glare in her direction that has her squirming uncomfortably in her seat while Raleigh answers.

"It sure looked like something else, didn't it, everyone?" There's a roar of applause and Chuck slouches in his seat and refuses to look at the camera, instead folding his arms over his chest and muttering something rude under his breath. Backy flicks a look between them, eyes shining like she's some kind of fucking Jaeger fly (maybe she is, you never know).

"So does that mean you two are still single and ready to mingle? Guess that's good news for all us single ladies, then!"

Smile.

Raleigh glances sideways at Chuck, feeling uneasy and hating this entire charade. Mako was going to kill him in the kwoon for accidentally starting all this shit. He frowns and responds a little bit sharper than he really should.

"Whatever it looked like, it was a failed attempt at a joke that the world has taken out of context and blown out of proportion. We'd appreciate it if everyone would laugh at my mistake and move past it."

He grits his teeth at the second question. This kind of thing had been fine when Yancy was at his side and they could laugh at it together later, safe in their fearlessness and love for Gipsy Danger over anyone else but each other. Now it's just grating and exhausting.

"I don't know what Ranger Hansen's plans are, but I have no intention of mingling anywhere. There's still a lot of work for the PPDC to do. That's where I belong right now."

It had taken a lot to get there, almost six years and too much loss to count, but Raleigh had no more intentions of running, unless maybe it was away from this soundstage. He was tempted to add that ladies weren't his first choice anyway, but he felt like that would be telling.

Chuck's so pisssed he could vomit fire, and the only reason he hasn't exploded is sitting right next to him, answering the questions with that clipped tone that Chuck's pretty fucking familiar with at this point.

Of course, this is Chuck and he can only shut his trap for so long. Sitting in grumpy silence and scowling at the camera while he answers questions about the mission and his life as a PPDC Ranger is one thing but this is digging into his personal life and it's a burr in his side, reminding that he doesn't have a personal life and he never has, and probably never will. He doesn't know how to exist outside of his jaeger and if this is it, if this kidn of shit is his 'reward' for living, well.

Then maybe he should've gone down with Stacker, like he was supposed to. You don't eject your goddamn copilot like that - you never leave them.

"Wouldn't last anyway would it, mate?" Chuck finally says, straightening himself and smirking, leering over at Becky who seems to see that it's not a compliment, the way he's looking at her.

"He's excellent at running away from committment. So yeah, you're right - suppose that is good news for the lot of you."

Not so much for Chuck, or for Raleigh. Chuck knows he's stepping out of line, toeing boundaries and smashing what progress they made into smithereens but he's angry; he's angry at this woman, he's angry at the public, he's angry at Stacker, he's angry at everyone.

Raleigh tries to tell himself that Chuck's angry at the world and just taking it out on him, that he's not actually still this angry at Raleigh himself for disappearing after Knifehead, but the problem is, he doesn't know that for sure. Chuck could very well still be stewing at him for that, so there isn't anything that keeps him from flinching in the seat. He rolls with it, turning his response to the painful jab into a chuckle well enough that maybe the public at least wouldn't notice.

"He's right. Gispy Danger's the only girl who's ever been able to hold my attention span."

He almost keeps going to add something about Chuck probably not knowing what it's like to mingle, but that's worse than what Chuck's said to him, because at least he made his choice. Chuck didn't have one to make. So, Raleigh holds hi tongue. He's tired, and dealing with the fallout from a return jab like that wouldn't be good for either of them.

Becky's blinking her eyes between them like she's picking up on the underlying tension, but can't possibly figure why it's there. Because, of course, they're heroes, not damaged tired men with no lives and too many scars. She brightens up again nodding at Raleigh's words.

"And what a beautiful girl she was. Do we have a--yes, we do!"

Suddenly, on the screen to the side of the stage there's a picture of Gipsy Danger. Raleigh's eyes latch onto it immediately and he kind of wants to throw up, because it's an old picture. One of his favorites after their suits' shielding had been upgraded, but before Knifehead. It wasn't even the Gipsy he and Mako had lost, but the one he and Yancy had lost.

Becky's voice brings him back and he can't imagine what his face looks like for all those cameras.

"And what about you, Ch-Ranger Hansen? What sort of plans do you have?"

Well, Raleigh thought, at least she took a hint there.

Edited (missing words) 2013-12-06 17:33 (UTC)

Chuck’s jaw drops. He recognizes that picture of Gipsy; he remembers when she had that upgrade and God, how he’d lusted after that fucking Jaeger, desperately wanting her for his very own before she was destroyed and he was assigned to Striker with Herc. She was a gorgeous beauty, heart shining for the world to see and for them to throw this picture up, the beautiful girl that had been Raleigh and Yancy’s--

Of all the tactless, moronic, idiotic things – it’s done without honor, without warning, without consulting the pilot of said Jaeger. It’s so typical he wants to scream.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

It’s loud enough that the cameras pick it up and have crews frantically trying to blip the swear out before it makes it to airwaves, and a collective murmur moves through the crowd at Chuck’s language. He almost wants to laugh, to burst into hysterics and slap his knee or something equally ridiculous.

His attention zeroes back in on the woman talking and he registers her words (barely), his hands gripping the armrests.

“I think we’re done here. C’mon, Becket.”

Chuck’s had enough. He’s furious and it’s on Raleigh’s behalf and he cant sit here any longer without feeling sick and confused.

He doesn’t offer any more words. Raleigh can follow or he can sit here and deal with this on his own, but Chuck’s out, walking off the stage, straight-backed, like he’s at attention the whole time.

Raleigh's head snaps away from the picture still on the screen and he turns to look at Chuck, he's surprised Chuck's blowing the interview off when they've already done so much of it, but at the same time he's not surprised at all Chuck's about to walk away. The fact that Chuck's going to walk away and leave him alone to the wolves hurts, but it's a minor wound compared to everything else that day.

And then, Chuck's giving him the out, making himself the instigator and taking Raleigh with him. Solidarity among the Rangers, or maybe he recognized exactly which picture of Gipsy Danger that was, too. Raleigh wouldn't put it past him. He just feels an overwhelming sense of relief that no one would ever be able to mistake Chuck Hansen for a running coward and that he was using that to take Raleigh with him.

He doesn't think about it, because if he does he'll feel guilty about the mess Herc and Mako are going to have to clean up. He just nods sharply at Becky and follows Chuck out. It's a challenge not to hunch over on himself.

When they're out from in front of the cameras he starts yanking the tie off his neck and sheds the jacket. As soon as they're back to the small dressing room they'd been assigned together he drops the accessories on the couch and makes his way to the sink. He's still nauseous, but it's just the feeling. It's not right after Knifehead when he couldn't keep food down at all. He splashes water on his face and hangs his head there trying to breathe.

"Thanks for the exit." He finally says without looking at Chuck.

Chuck’s emotions are pinballing all over the place; he’d just insulted Raleigh on camera, implied he can’t keep himself in any kind of committed relationship then turned around and got offended and pissed off on his behalf and stomped off of the set of a nationally televised interview.

Mako’s gonna be furious. Herc’s gonna be furious. Becky’s furious, watching them leave, because now she has no pilots to interview and she’s stuck trying to fill a void for the next twenty minutes of her show.

Chuck gives about 0 fucks.

He saw that look on Becket’s face and a switch flipped and he acted on impulse, offering Raleigh a way out in a way only Chuck Hansen can do. Chuck stomping off is expected and he isn’t looked at like he’s a coward, and Raleigh going after him to ‘reprimand’ him isn’t something people would blink at.

He waits until they’re in the dressing room to tear his jacket off and rip his tie away, throwing them on the couch on top of Raleigh’s before unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt. He’s so pissed off he’s hot.

“Fucking assholes,” he snarls in return, “the fucking hell were they thinking?”

Raleigh can't keep up with Chuck's ever swinging pendulum of anger, but he grateful it's not currently knocking against him. He splashes his face one more time and pats it dry with a towel before heading back into the room and sinking into the chair there. In contrast to the way Chuck's giving off heat, Raleigh feels like shivering. He knows it's in his head, but the can almost feel the snow on his arm.

He gives up on sitting still and goes for the clothes he'd arrived to the tv studio in, unbuttoning the top of his shirt until he could yank it off over his head and replace it with his sweater. He goes back to the chair then.

"They don't understand. None of it."

This time he lets himself give into the urge to rub at his shoulder as he sinks back into the chair. He's never wanted it to be a habit, so he rarely let's himself even really look at it when he's topless, but this once with Yancy's second hand worry and listen to me rattling around his brain he lets himself have it. It would be better than holding the right side of his head. He breathes out carefully.

"That's not the picture they should have, but I don't suppose they would have anything from Hong Kong."

No one had wanted to record the failing PPDC's last ditch attempt to save the world. It makes his stomach roll again and he shakes his head. He appreciates Chuck's anger on his behalf because he's too shocked to feel it himself.

Edited (html screwup) 2013-12-06 18:36 (UTC)

Raleigh Becket is not a small man. Chuck remembered when he was younger, when he was still in the Academy, watching the Beckets on TV and taking note that Raleigh was well defined, built, solid. Even after five years of working on that goddamn wall and living off of rations Raleigh is still built - though admittedly smaller than he should be.

Right now though, sitting in that chair in that stupid sweater of his, he looks small. Weary, a little beaten, and Chuck can’t – fucking handle it. This man was his hero at one time, someone he aspired to be just like, and here he is sitting in front of Chuck, all busted up and doing his damndest to keep that shit together and somehow miraculously managing to pull it off. Chuck doesn't know how he fuckign does it.

Somehow even now Raleigh Becket still managed to inspire him, though he’d never let it show.

Chuck watches him for a minute and lets the words rattle around in his head before he marches over to the closet and jerkily grabs his bomber out before coming over and abruptly dumping it in Raleigh’s lap.

“It’s warm,” he snaps, before turning on his heel and going to root around in his bag and dragging out a flask and a metal cup. “Here.” It’s a small cup, just enough to shoot whiskey or bourbon or some other concoction that burns the throat and warms the limbs. “Shoot it. Don’t sip it like a pussy.”

Raleigh grips Chuck's jacket and leans forward to put it on over his sweater. He'll probably eventually get too hot in both layers, but for now it's exactly what he needs. It sits right on on his shoulders, but the arms of it are a little big, obviously tailored to Chuck's muscle bulk. It's comforting and feels like a defense against the world out there that Raleigh didn't know he wanted.

The flask is even more of a surprise, even though he knows it really shouldn't be probably. He half laughs at Chuck's strict directions on how to drink it, but he follows them twice before handing it back with the false heat of the alcohol spreading through his body. He's feeling better already, and it's the quickest recovery process he's had ever, he's pretty sure.

"Alcohol is bad idea, but that seems to be the theme of the day, so thanks."

He hasn't had anything to drink since long before Knifehead. On the Wall he couldn't and didn't want to spare the rations squares for it. Before that, well, on-call pilots had to be sober, which Chuck probably knew all about. He can see himself in the mirror from the corner of his eye. He still looks like a kicked dog, maybe, but his coloring is back.

“Yeah.”

Alcohol is a bad idea, and Chuck doesn’t drink often and when he does, it’s never in excess. He’s aware of the rules and regulations of the PPDC and how there was to be no drinking for people on active duty – like Chuck, like Raleigh.

He takes it back, screws the cap back on and goes to rinse out the metal before he throws it all unceremoniously back into his duffle. He hesitates before peeling himself out of his dress shirt, glancing over at Raleigh before unbuttoning It the rest of the way and leaving it like that, hanging open over an undershirt, the telltale lump of dogtags right there, hanging around his neck at all times.

Only then does he kick his shoes off and allow himself to sit on the couch, forehead resting in his palm, a slow exhale escaping his lips as he tried to calm himself down.

Raleigh's a little surprised Chuck doesn't take a drink himself even after his agreement with Raleigh's statement, but he understands that adding alcohol to Chuck's anger isn't going to do anything like relax him, like it will help Raleigh loosen up a little against the shock.

He sweeps his eyes over Chuck just once before he finished unbuttoning his shirt and doesn't stare even though he wants to. Chuck is solid, not like a mountain maybe, but more like the unstoppable wall of water behind a tsunami. Raleigh likes that Chuck's that way, even if Chuck doesn't want the admiration. So, he doesn't stare. He toes his own shoes off and sprawls slumped in the chair with the jacket pulled around him and his head resting on the back of it.

He's feeling a lot better, and that's probably the bourbon talking on his nearly empty stomach, and the fact that he'd never really been good at alcohol tolerance anyway. He turns his head, looking at Chuck. The laugh wells up unprovoked in his throat and he can't stop it before it's out there in the air.

"Oh, God. A month ago we survived two nuclear blasts and now I can't even look at a photo without needing you to rescue me."

He’s sort of watching Raleigh, eyes crinkling at the edges just enough that someone perceptive enough would be able to tell that it’s from amusement and not from a smirk.

Becket’s all bundled up in his jacket - his jacket, Chuck’s Striker Eureka jacket and it’s fitted comfortably right there around Raleigh’s shoulders. It looks good, really good on him and Chuck likes it, likes how it’s sort of like a claim even though Chuck’s too stubborn and bull-headed to take what’s been offered to him.

Chuck picks his head up and leans back against the couch, an arm draping over the back of it, ankle resting on his knee as he barks a laugh.

“Always need savin’, don’t you, Becket?” Always gotta have someone clearing a path for him.

Raleigh's usually too vivid memories slip slide through his grasp pleasantly for the moment. He thinks Chuck might be referencing Stacker, as well as what just happened, and he wants to protest that he's not the lady, that Gipsy was, but that's a little to raw so he leaves it be. Instead he pushes himself up and out of the chair moving to sit heavily on the much more comfortable couch next to Chuck with his legs stretched out.

"It's good though, that it's you." Raleigh tilts his head back on the couch and closes his eyes with a bit of a smile. "You do it right, but that's what you do." He almost adds because you're the best, but he's not drunk, just a little loose and he can stop his mouth from running.

He doesn’t move when Raleigh gets up and comes over, just lets his arm stay where it is. If he wanted, he was close enough to lift it and slide his fingers through blond hair, but he keeps his hand still, clutching at the couch cushion when Raleigh leans back. Raleigh’s head does bump his wrist, but he just – stays put, fingers digging into plush material.

“It’s ‘cause I’m the best.” If Raleigh won’t say it, Chuck will for him. “Good at smashin’ shit up, yeah?”

Kaiju, relationships. Chuck’s good at ruining it all.

Edited 2013-12-06 20:34 (UTC)

Raleigh started to nod in agreement with the first part of Chuck's statement, but found himself cracking open and eye and fixing it on the younger man at the second part of it. He thinks, a lot of the time, that he doesn't have Chuck figured out at all. He also thinks, that Stacker didn't give Chuck enough credit in his sharp assessment of him.

"The best at saving people." He corrects him kind of earnestly for not actually moving to do it, but he's finally warm, and he can feel Chuck's arm across the back of the couch. It's nice, even more comfortable now than because he'd screwed up shit with his joke. "I've smashed more stuff than you. Gipsy twice and that's only counting jaegers."

Fucking hell, Raleigh Becket.

He continues to surprise Chuck all the time - Chuck's not the only one with a fucking question mark hovering over his head. Raleigh's ability to joke about smashing up Gipsy Danger throws Chuck off completely. So much so that he chokes back a guffaw, arm casually and totally unintentionally sliding down to rest around Raleigh's shoulders.

"Striker was a Mark V," he shoots back, though his tone lacks the malicious quality Raleigh is likely used to by this time. "He counts as two; Fastest, newest, first and last of his kind. And, my total kill count is eleven. World record. 'Sides, killin' kaiju, that's savin' people. So really, you're just verifying what I said, mate."

Raleigh's head turns entirely towards Chuck at the laugh and he opens both eyes so he can watch. The arm that falls unexpectedly around his shoulders his heavy and warm, but it's safe rather than restraining even to Raleigh's tired mind. He shifts slumping towards Chuck and a little further down on the couch so Chuck's arm settles more firmly around him.

"But you don't really smash a kaiju. It's more like blowing them up or cutting them down. Gipsy cut them down with the sword or blew them with the canon. Striker had those chest missiles and the sting blades. So yeah, saving people not smashing things."

He half shrugs under Chuck's arm. "I don't want to argue about it though. Too tired."

"I don't either."

He's tired. For once, Chuck isn't feeling antagonistic or temperamental. He's calmed down considerably, though there's a tinge of anger still in the muscles of his jaw. His hold is loose and he shifts to allow Raleigh room to lean, though there's a faint hint of possessiveness in the way his fingers curl into the leather of the jacket.

"Nap."

Over half of the things Chuck says are a command, this is no different.

The absolute last of the tension goes out of Raleigh when Chuck seconds not wanting to fight anymore and he absently toes off his shoes, pulling his legs up on the last couch cushion and leaning further into Chuck's shoulder.

"I can follow that order."

He closes his eyes and settles in feeling better than he had for most of the time since they left the Shatterdome in Hong Kong. After a few moments his breathing evens out.

"At until Mako shows up to spring us and kill us herself." He mutters and suppresses a yawn before eventually, finally dropping off to sleep against Chuck.

"Good t'know."

Raleigh gets comfortable, leans heavily against him and Chuck does curl his arm protectively around him, fingers digging into his arm while he sits there awake, guarding the sleeping Raleigh.

He sits like that for a long time, letting Raleigh doze against him, carefully shifting and adjusting until Raleigh's head ends up cradled carefully in his lap, Chuck's fingers carefully and with a surprising amount of tenderness sliding through his hair.

Edited 2013-12-07 04:36 (UTC)

like a match to gasoline

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