[ Chuck nearly passes out limp in the rigging after their first run together; it takes Herc a full two minutes to rip the jack from Chuck’s feedback cradle and disengage his son from the motion harness, his hands are shaking so badly. The Drift was like nothing he ever had with anyone he’d piloted with before – not with Stacker, or Scott – because it’d burned him down to the core, how Chuck had lashed out at the kaiju from the start. Herc’d ridden every one of Chuck’s emotions like he would ride a boat through a hurricane: fighting against the tide and watching massive black waves close over his head, knowing that if he stopped, he’d drown from them.
When they come back, Chuck is swept up in a sea of hands and congratulations.
Herc doesn’t see him again until upwards one hour later. Not because he doesn’t know where Chuck is -- the Drift-hangover is strong enough that he can estimate where his son might be, neural bridges still connected through ghosts-links -- but because every thought Chuck’s hurling at him is like white noise, overwhelming and sharp, hurting Herc’s already aching brain enough that he has to excuse himself from the celebration and find someplace dark to sit in, the hangar lights cracking open his skull and blinding him, throwing curses at his stubborn son from within his (their) head. The noise dials down after a while, still there but softer – so Herc takes that as a cue to make his way down.
He catches Chuck throwing up in the lavatory.
Which is... not an unexpected reaction. The adrenaline highs of the Drift’ve been wearing off steadily in the past hour, and the hangover lows are just starting to kick in for Chuck, who's never piloted before this. Even Herc can feel it under his skin – the wrongness of the proximity between them. He squeezes his hands into fists on the other side of Chuck's stall door. ] Chuck.
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[ Chuck nearly passes out limp in the rigging after their first run together; it takes Herc a full two minutes to rip the jack from Chuck’s feedback cradle and disengage his son from the motion harness, his hands are shaking so badly. The Drift was like nothing he ever had with anyone he’d piloted with before – not with Stacker, or Scott – because it’d burned him down to the core, how Chuck had lashed out at the kaiju from the start. Herc’d ridden every one of Chuck’s emotions like he would ride a boat through a hurricane: fighting against the tide and watching massive black waves close over his head, knowing that if he stopped, he’d drown from them.
When they come back, Chuck is swept up in a sea of hands and congratulations.
Herc doesn’t see him again until upwards one hour later. Not because he doesn’t know where Chuck is -- the Drift-hangover is strong enough that he can estimate where his son might be, neural bridges still connected through ghosts-links -- but because every thought Chuck’s hurling at him is like white noise, overwhelming and sharp, hurting Herc’s already aching brain enough that he has to excuse himself from the celebration and find someplace dark to sit in, the hangar lights cracking open his skull and blinding him, throwing curses at his stubborn son from within his (their) head. The noise dials down after a while, still there but softer – so Herc takes that as a cue to make his way down.
He catches Chuck throwing up in the lavatory.
Which is... not an unexpected reaction. The adrenaline highs of the Drift’ve been wearing off steadily in the past hour, and the hangover lows are just starting to kick in for Chuck, who's never piloted before this. Even Herc can feel it under his skin – the wrongness of the proximity between them. He squeezes his hands into fists on the other side of Chuck's stall door. ] Chuck.