Clint had slipped into the drift carrying an immense amount of dread. Very few people had ever drifted, let alone proven drift compatible. He had watched the footage – he knew what happened when this went wrong. Now, locked into an unnamed jaeger prototype by her side, his heart was pounding out of his chest.
There is a whoosh and then he is floating in blue, misty memories. At first they are his own – the death of his parents, the orphanage, running away with his brother – before they start to bleed into something different. Her consciousness brushes his, and he catches a glimpse of a fire and feels her fear like copper on his tongue. The flood of images takes his breath away. It no longer feels as though they were two separate people with individual memories. He feels her the fear and uncertainty of her upbringing as strongly as he feels his own. He understands it. Once, just briefly, he catches a glimpse of his own face.
Natasha hesitates, and starts to pull back.
Suddenly Clint remembers exactly who he is drifting with, and -
Left hemisphere out of alignment. Right hemisphere out of alignment.
But he could still see, feel, hear, smell what had been in her memories. The fire. Running. Always running. Something deep inside of him aches. He understands her. As much as he wants to hate her, he understands her.
About the same time he comes to this realization, there is a yell over the coms and he realizes that the jaeger prototype has become detached from its moorings and is stumbling backwards. His feet move without thinking in the harness, and everything is off balance. A gigantic arm swings out, knocks a chunk out of a wall and sending concrete tumbling down on the heads of the people watching.
Next to him, he feels her in the same place he is, half in and half out of their joined memories, confused and uncertain and hating it.
“Tasha! Tasha, can you hear me?”
Through clenched teeth, she yells back, “Loud and clear, cowboy! We need to get aligned and get control of this thing.”
“Copy that.”
Taking a deep breath, he slips back into the drift. Lets it wash over him. Lets her wash over him. There is a pause, like a hitched breath, and then they click together. Clint nearly gasps out loud again, feeling them join so seamlessly. They move together, swinging one leg back to catch them, to stabilize. Arms and legs moving in sync, they steady the massive machine that somehow feels like just an extension of their own bodies. There is nothing like this, Clint thinks.
It’s not like they don’t get in trouble for it, but they are standing side by side as the Marshall reprimands them. After, they walk out the door together and, without saying a word, turn the same direction down the hall.
He has picked up her gait, he thinks. Just a little bit. But he remembers it from tracking her, and from the drift. Beside him, she slowly comes to a halt and faces him. She’s standing like he sometimes does – feet apart, arms clasped behind her back.
“I’d say we’re drift compatible,” she says with a tiny smirk. With her red hair pulled back off of her face, she is all pale skin and sharp angles and a face he knows as well as his own. “No matter how mad they are, they need us. They’ll finish that jaeger and they’ll give it to us.”
He nods. “That was…” What sort of word covers what happened in the drift? What it feels like? There is nothing. So instead he looks at her, and knows she understands. He grins. “Ready to go kill some kaiju?”
“Of course.” They begin to walk again. She glances at him sideways. “You called me Tasha in there.”
“Did I?” For some reason he’s smiling. “I guess I did.”
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-07-21 11:32 pm (UTC)They almost blow up the entire facility.
Clint had slipped into the drift carrying an immense amount of dread. Very few people had ever drifted, let alone proven drift compatible. He had watched the footage – he knew what happened when this went wrong. Now, locked into an unnamed jaeger prototype by her side, his heart was pounding out of his chest.
There is a whoosh and then he is floating in blue, misty memories. At first they are his own – the death of his parents, the orphanage, running away with his brother – before they start to bleed into something different. Her consciousness brushes his, and he catches a glimpse of a fire and feels her fear like copper on his tongue. The flood of images takes his breath away. It no longer feels as though they were two separate people with individual memories. He feels her the fear and uncertainty of her upbringing as strongly as he feels his own. He understands it. Once, just briefly, he catches a glimpse of his own face.
Natasha hesitates, and starts to pull back.
Suddenly Clint remembers exactly who he is drifting with, and -
Left hemisphere out of alignment. Right hemisphere out of alignment.
But he could still see, feel, hear, smell what had been in her memories. The fire. Running. Always running. Something deep inside of him aches. He understands her. As much as he wants to hate her, he understands her.
About the same time he comes to this realization, there is a yell over the coms and he realizes that the jaeger prototype has become detached from its moorings and is stumbling backwards. His feet move without thinking in the harness, and everything is off balance. A gigantic arm swings out, knocks a chunk out of a wall and sending concrete tumbling down on the heads of the people watching.
Next to him, he feels her in the same place he is, half in and half out of their joined memories, confused and uncertain and hating it.
“Tasha! Tasha, can you hear me?”
Through clenched teeth, she yells back, “Loud and clear, cowboy! We need to get aligned and get control of this thing.”
“Copy that.”
Taking a deep breath, he slips back into the drift. Lets it wash over him. Lets her wash over him. There is a pause, like a hitched breath, and then they click together. Clint nearly gasps out loud again, feeling them join so seamlessly. They move together, swinging one leg back to catch them, to stabilize. Arms and legs moving in sync, they steady the massive machine that somehow feels like just an extension of their own bodies. There is nothing like this, Clint thinks.
It’s not like they don’t get in trouble for it, but they are standing side by side as the Marshall reprimands them. After, they walk out the door together and, without saying a word, turn the same direction down the hall.
He has picked up her gait, he thinks. Just a little bit. But he remembers it from tracking her, and from the drift. Beside him, she slowly comes to a halt and faces him. She’s standing like he sometimes does – feet apart, arms clasped behind her back.
“I’d say we’re drift compatible,” she says with a tiny smirk. With her red hair pulled back off of her face, she is all pale skin and sharp angles and a face he knows as well as his own. “No matter how mad they are, they need us. They’ll finish that jaeger and they’ll give it to us.”
He nods. “That was…” What sort of word covers what happened in the drift? What it feels like? There is nothing. So instead he looks at her, and knows she understands. He grins. “Ready to go kill some kaiju?”
“Of course.” They begin to walk again. She glances at him sideways. “You called me Tasha in there.”
“Did I?” For some reason he’s smiling. “I guess I did.”