Safe

Note: Replacing the first half of "Double Date" which I'm splitting to accommodate a change of POV character; before "Sync"
Date/Timing: 8 January 2019
Setting: In and around the Jaeger simulator, The Shed; Vaucluse, NSW, Australia
.
Cait tweaks the last settings on the Pons. "Fifteen points difference in your COROs, /well within the normal safe range. And you're both high HSP people, so there shouldn't be any problems. Everything cool?"
Vos nods.
Sergio yawns.
"Chuck?"
Two voices. "Yea?"
"/Monkey. Can you count down from ten for Pietr?"
"Yea."
"When'd you learn that, Chuckold?"
"On the flight here, /Ducky."
"Don't call me that," He pouts. "Wouldn't have to count if /your HUD hadn't broken soon as he set it down."
"I'd like to see /you do better with the junk lying around this place and /no /sleep."
"Pfft." Littlest Hansen rolls his eyes, crosses his arms. "Thought you were supposed to be some kinda /genius."
"I was until you melted—"
"—'my brain', blah blah blah." 
Chuck regroups, squeezing her drop bear— 
Littlest Hansen points with his chin, sneers, "Maybe you just need a nap."
Chuck ruffles, pushes into Littlest Hansen's space—
Vos tosses a stubby pencil; it bounces off Chuck's shoulder—
She spins, glaring—searching—
Vos smiles and waves.
Chuck withdraws.
Sergio clears his throat. "Lab Monkey, be a Lab Monkey."
"She's standing in front of the monitor."
"Whoops." Cait steps aside. "Pull the plug if the alignment goes squirrelly. Which it /won't. Other Chuck, get your ducks down. No, wait, that's not right."
"The hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Get your ducks in a row?" Chuck suggests.
Cait frowns. "What was I trying to say?"
"Count your ducks before they hatch?" offers Sergio.
"That's not it either. Whatever. Just do that counting thing, Chuck. On my mark, then."
Sergio rolls his shoulders, yawns hugely.
""Neural handshake initiating,"" warns AGNIS.
.
Chuck, screaming at Cait, fingers caught in her braid in
 
tears down her cheeks, Dafne clutching her sides as Griet fails untangling your hands from her
 
hair is a disaster on the left, perfect on the right, you and Kaidanovskaya side-by-side
 
with Griet sitting down in class, school-yellow ribbons in her hair
 
under her helmet 'cause she built a neat gun
 
named /Striker—yours before without a copilot still ours now
 
without hands (because you can't lift your arms) trying to eat a Timbit—Cait giggling, so tired
 
on the red eye to Lima Vladivostok crystal blue sky home
 
is Cait she wants cake so 
delicious you like cake.
.
""Pilot to Jaeger connection complete,"" announces AGNIS.
""Handshake ninety-eight percent and holding,"" Chuck reports.
""Gimme some basic combat forms. Let's see how synced up you are.""
Sergio and Pietr do, occasionally yawning simultaneously.
""I'd send 'em out in a Jaeger together. Whatta you say, Chucks?""
""They seem to check all the boxes, ay?""
Littlest Hansen scowls and shrugs.
A Category One falls in short order.
""Right, then."" Cait keys in a few commands. ""That's all we have time to get from the two of you today. Disconnect 'em.""
Sergio gets the squid cap, no problem. Gloves, easy. Boots— 
A frustrated huff.
He glances over.
Pietr grimaces, cap tangled in his hair and glove wires tangled in both cap /and hair.
Sergio swallows a laugh, steps out of his boots, heads over to help.
Pietr smiles sheepishly, starts tugging off his gloves.
Sergio shrugs, 'it happens', steers him back to the control room.
They both slouch into chairs.
Cait points to Monkey. "You're up, Chuck."
Littlest Hansen snickers.
"Shut it, Ducky." Pokes at the monitor.
"Monkey~."
"Yea?" 
Cait hints she should proceed to the rig. 
Chuck blinks. 
"Drifting? With Pietr? Your Drift soulmate?" 
"What's that?" 
"You're going to Drift with—" Cait stops, mouth twisting into a frown. "I see what you're doing and it's—"
Chuck explodes to her feet, eyes flashing—"Am I not broken /enough for you?"—presence dialed up to twelve. "You wanna see if you can wreck /another twenty percent of my brain?"
Littlest Hansen cringes.
Pietr shrinks; Sergio feels the slightest answering ache in his heart.
"There's chocolate cake in it for you."
"Do you not fucking get it? I'm not—"
"Your brain's mine for another year."
"You're trying to kill me, aren't you? Data, data, data—"
Cait smooshes Chuck's cheeks. "You're being unreasonable." And immediately wishes for a time machine. 
Chuck's eyes go wide; she stutters back a step—
Cait drops her hands. 
—into Sergio. 
"You're behaving perfectly reasonably," he says. 
"Yes, exactly," adds Cait. 
Sergio offers warmth, says to Chuck, "C'mere a minute."
Chuck lets him tow her from the room.
He puts an arm around her shoulders.
They sag.
Drops his arm to his side.
"I don't know what's going on scientifically, but you'll be safe with him."
"That's real comforting."
"But I get it. If I was in your position, I would be saying the exact same thing, and I figured 'maybe an 'all clear' might help'," he pauses. "And because Cait's ...."
"The Unstoppable Science Machine?"
"You said it, not me." He takes a breath. "I don't ... I can't ... something about not knowing your experience, but grasping the emotions ... to that effect, anyway .... What were we talking about?"
"'m not sayin' anything."
"Drifting. Right. I get it, and I was getting it when Cait pulled the switch so Pietr gets it. He's ... Cait's done this to me before and sometimes ... sometimes I can see, feel, what you—or she—would call a 'pond' but this time ... there's no pond. It's like ... lying down to sleep."
"You really are tired."
Sergio pushes open the door. "I'm resigned to never sleeping again holy Jesus motherfucker it's hot."
"It's twenty-one degrees."
"That's co—Celsius."
"Makes more sense than your crazy American system."
"Doesn't change the fact it's way too hot out."
"It's summer."
"Crazy backwards seasons."
"Sane frontwards seasons."
Sergio ushers her back inside.
"You Aussies and your upside down things."
"They're totally right side up."
The door bangs shut.
"I was saying something important."
"And you still think I'll tell ye."
"About Pietr. And the Drift. It's like lying down to sleep."
"On what, exactly?"
"Uh, what?"
"Your metaphor. 'It's like lying down to sleep'. On what? Mattress, floor ...?"
"There're no springs, if that's what you're asking. It's ... fluffy."
"That clarifies things not at all."
Sergio makes a face which says 'I am annoyed with my own shortcomings at being clear'. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but I just know it'll be okay."
A moment. 
"You all just want me dead, don't you?"
"It's safe, Chuck, I promise—"
"That's it, isn't it!" 
"It's like home."
"Anything for data, ay?" 
"I'm not Cait, I don't care about the data—"
"Of course you do!" Sneers, "You're /married! You're /Drift /Compatible!" 
"Trust me, please."
"Ye know what, fine, I'm already half dead; let's see if we can /finish /the /job." 
"Chuck—"
She yanks her jacket more tightly closed and storms away.
Go, Team DriftSci! arc: (Hypothetical) | Pons Made of Garbage | A Distinct Lack of Caffeine | Highest | Grooming | Plushie | Interface | Safe | Sync | Cake | Aye, Aye, AGNIS | Exclusion | Jockeying | Sleepytime | Miracle Worker | Go, Team DriftSci! | Go! | Up | Rubber and Glue 
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