[The sound of his father's fist against the door sends a fresh wave of pain through his hair, and he hisses as he flinches. Fuck you, old man, what the fuck. Is wrong with you?
They're not going to talk about how this feels like the first time that Herc has sought him out, deliberately and knowing that he was hurting, because it probably is and Chuck hasn't got the emotional capacity to sort through how much he wants that and how much he resents his dad for it. It's too little, too late, alright Dad? Had your chance to be a father five years ago.
Chuck forces himself to sit up, grimacing even as a fresh wave of nausea hits him and he almost doubles over again. No, no he's not throwing up again, he will sit here on this floor in this bathroom-- no that's just as fucking pathetic.]
What? [He spits the question at him even as he stumbles to his feet. It's kinda easier, once he's actually standing to swing the door open.]
Is this where we hug and everything's magically all better?
[ They fuckin' killed it out on the Miracle Mile, and yet Chuck can't even.
It's a relief, perhaps, that nothing on the outside seems to have changed because of the intensity of that Drift, sharing memories that hadn't been accessible in test drives, that at least it hasn't gotten any worse like Herc had feared. He grits his teeth all through Chuck's stumbling and retching, feeling his jaw ache with the pressure of control it takes not to just kick the door down and drag his stupid, stubborn son in by the ear to make the post-Drift electric sensory ghosts go away.
Chuck opens the door all on his own, eventually. Just the proximity to his son sends a bleed of relief under his skin until the hot, pulsing ache between his temples doesn't feel as demanding. Herc lets the change show on his face, because Chuck has to be feeling it harder than Herc is.
He doesn't move any closer, instead fitting his hand to the nape of Chuck's neck and gently tugging Chuck in, holding his head like he used to when Chuck was just a --
-- a kid. Like Chuck is now, even still.
Herc tries his best not to telegraph that thought. ]
[Yeah no. This is completely not okay. It's just not but Chuck is so blinded by the sudden relief that the weight of his father's hand on his neck brings, like an actual switch was flipped in his head, going from migraine from hell to relief, just like that.
He's so distracted that he lets it happen, soaking up the way it feels like he doesn't want to lay down and die. And that is because his old man is sort of hugging him and-- wait a minute.
That comment about a magical hug had been sarcasm you know.
It lasts all of ten, maybe fifteen seconds before Chuck's stubborn side rears its head and he brushes Herc's hand off his neck. No, no it's not that easy, he can't just hug him and expect everything to be fixed.]
[ Herc gets to enjoy the few moments of relief before Chuck brushes him off. The loss physically hurts enough, like a sting or a shock of electricity to his skin, that Herc visibly winces, shoulders going as square as his jaw as he shifts into defensive.
For chrissake, the kid might be even more bullheaded than the kaiju. Herc damn well knows that not everything's fixed by anything, but even Chuck has to appreciate what velcroing is: a recommended medical technique for pilots post-Drift, not a magical fix-all switch Herc thinks he can flip to make their issues go away like Chuck's acting like this is.
Herc ignores the voice in his head that tells him he should've given his son a warning before touching him at all, but. Maybe he liked how it felt, even guiltily so, having Chuck close like they never can be outside of this.
Yes. So a hug won't change anything, Herc does understand. ]
I know you aren't, Chuck. [ He doesn't touch him again, but Herc looks Chuck in the eye, face set. Driving in a point. ] But you are a pilot, and no pilot comes out of hangovers clean without some goddamn physical contact, you learned this.
[If there's anything worse that Herc could've done, besides hug him without warning and then chew him out for ignoring his training, like he wasn't the best at the Academy that year, Chuck would be hard pressed to name it. His fists clench at his side and he glares right back at his dad.
True, they did talk about velcroing in the Academy but Chuck always kind of dismissed it because he's better than that. He needs his dad to be a Ranger but not for anything else.
Except this. His headache is starting to ebb back, like a wave and he would totally stand there all night and have a pissing match with his dad too.]
I'm not hugging it out with you in the bloody loo.
[ Yeah, but it does the job. Herc's still blind when it comes to his son, so he doesn't know what being a Ranger means to Chuck, that Chuck doesn't know how to be anything else, but Chuck, Herc understands, also doesn't know what it means to be a Ranger on terms that aren't his own.
Chuck is a Ranger, but he doesn't acknowledge his limits like a good Ranger should. No one is above the rules, not even the best -- understanding that is what had made Stacker so efficient a pilot, and the lack of understanding that is what will, in short years to come, bring the Becket brothers down too.
The kid can't get it through his head. Never needed to, with talent like his. ]
Good call. [ Herc looks around the room in a glance, like he's only just really realized where they are. The reality of it seems to hit him all at once -- the fight, the celebration, the context of the situation beyond Chuck -- and he relaxes a fraction even if the line of his shoulders are still tensed and wary. There's a measure of acquiescence in Chuck's reply, so Herc just gestures to the door with a tilt of his head.
Chuck's fists clench and loosen at his side a couple of times. Seriously having a pissing match with his dad all night is tempting, because he really, really cannot stand the idea of leaning on Herc for anything.
But he also thinks he might throw up again if he has to stand for longer than five minutes and he knows damn well that velcroing with his dad is the only way to keep that from happening.
Vomiting has never been so appealing.
But in the end, he is serious about not hugging it out in the fucking bathroom, so he stalks off towards their bunk.]
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no subject
They're not going to talk about how this feels like the first time that Herc has sought him out, deliberately and knowing that he was hurting, because it probably is and Chuck hasn't got the emotional capacity to sort through how much he wants that and how much he resents his dad for it. It's too little, too late, alright Dad? Had your chance to be a father five years ago.
Chuck forces himself to sit up, grimacing even as a fresh wave of nausea hits him and he almost doubles over again. No, no he's not throwing up again, he will sit here on this floor in this bathroom-- no that's just as fucking pathetic.]
What? [He spits the question at him even as he stumbles to his feet. It's kinda easier, once he's actually standing to swing the door open.]
Is this where we hug and everything's magically all better?
no subject
It's a relief, perhaps, that nothing on the outside seems to have changed because of the intensity of that Drift, sharing memories that hadn't been accessible in test drives, that at least it hasn't gotten any worse like Herc had feared. He grits his teeth all through Chuck's stumbling and retching, feeling his jaw ache with the pressure of control it takes not to just kick the door down and drag his stupid, stubborn son in by the ear to make the post-Drift electric sensory ghosts go away.
Chuck opens the door all on his own, eventually. Just the proximity to his son sends a bleed of relief under his skin until the hot, pulsing ache between his temples doesn't feel as demanding. Herc lets the change show on his face, because Chuck has to be feeling it harder than Herc is.
He doesn't move any closer, instead fitting his hand to the nape of Chuck's neck and gently tugging Chuck in, holding his head like he used to when Chuck was just a --
-- a kid. Like Chuck is now, even still.
Herc tries his best not to telegraph that thought. ]
Something like that.
no subject
He's so distracted that he lets it happen, soaking up the way it feels like he doesn't want to lay down and die. And that is because his old man is sort of hugging him and-- wait a minute.
That comment about a magical hug had been sarcasm you know.
It lasts all of ten, maybe fifteen seconds before Chuck's stubborn side rears its head and he brushes Herc's hand off his neck. No, no it's not that easy, he can't just hug him and expect everything to be fixed.]
I'm not a kid anymore, Dad.
no subject
For chrissake, the kid might be even more bullheaded than the kaiju. Herc damn well knows that not everything's fixed by anything, but even Chuck has to appreciate what velcroing is: a recommended medical technique for pilots post-Drift, not a magical fix-all switch Herc thinks he can flip to make their issues go away like Chuck's acting like this is.
Herc ignores the voice in his head that tells him he should've given his son a warning before touching him at all, but. Maybe he liked how it felt, even guiltily so, having Chuck close like they never can be outside of this.
Yes. So a hug won't change anything, Herc does understand. ]
I know you aren't, Chuck. [ He doesn't touch him again, but Herc looks Chuck in the eye, face set. Driving in a point. ] But you are a pilot, and no pilot comes out of hangovers clean without some goddamn physical contact, you learned this.
no subject
True, they did talk about velcroing in the Academy but Chuck always kind of dismissed it because he's better than that. He needs his dad to be a Ranger but not for anything else.
Except this. His headache is starting to ebb back, like a wave and he would totally stand there all night and have a pissing match with his dad too.]
I'm not hugging it out with you in the bloody loo.
no subject
Chuck is a Ranger, but he doesn't acknowledge his limits like a good Ranger should. No one is above the rules, not even the best -- understanding that is what had made Stacker so efficient a pilot, and the lack of understanding that is what will, in short years to come, bring the Becket brothers down too.
The kid can't get it through his head. Never needed to, with talent like his. ]
Good call. [ Herc looks around the room in a glance, like he's only just really realized where they are. The reality of it seems to hit him all at once -- the fight, the celebration, the context of the situation beyond Chuck -- and he relaxes a fraction even if the line of his shoulders are still tensed and wary. There's a measure of acquiescence in Chuck's reply, so Herc just gestures to the door with a tilt of his head.
After you. ]
no subject
Chuck's fists clench and loosen at his side a couple of times. Seriously having a pissing match with his dad all night is tempting, because he really, really cannot stand the idea of leaning on Herc for anything.
But he also thinks he might throw up again if he has to stand for longer than five minutes and he knows damn well that velcroing with his dad is the only way to keep that from happening.
Vomiting has never been so appealing.
But in the end, he is serious about not hugging it out in the fucking bathroom, so he stalks off towards their bunk.]