#and yes I borrowed a few lines from shoh (especially the dancing and 'trying on fancy clothes' scenes)

[haledamage]

Coming Home

I'm a day late because this thing got much bigger than I expected, but better late than never! This is for @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer 2021! The prompt was Pacific Rim AU!

Some of the backstory stuff is from this post here. Some is just pushing ShoH canon slightly to the left so it fits better in a Pacific Rim setting. Some is the result of reading ShoH and watching PacRim at the same time and then taking a nap to see what seeds got planted. There will be a part 2 to this because I had to split it up in order to finish it on time and then I was late anyway.

Shepherds of Haven/Pacific Rim AU. Iorwen Emroth/Blade Bronwyn (well, hints of it. more in part 2)

---

The Haven Shatterdome looked very small from overhead. Iorwen watched it loom closer with a trepidation somewhere between “being late for an important exam” and “being read her last rites.”

It had been just over two years since she’d last been this close to a Jaeger, half a world away and in a different life, but all the Shatterdomes looked the same after a while. Steel and glass and everything painted in olive drab, black, and safety yellow. 

Part of her felt like it was too soon to walk into those hangar doors again, the empty space at her side where her partner used to be still a raw, open wound. She couldn’t even think xer name yet without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Returning to work felt like a betrayal of xer memory.

Another part of her, louder with every passing minute, was just so happy to be home again.

"Wen!"

Iorwen had barely stepped out of the helicopter when she heard her name called and turned to see Red jogging toward her. He looked more tired than she remembered him, but his smile was as bright as ever, his hair vivid against their otherwise drab surroundings. She’d known he was here - he’d transferred to Haven shortly after she left Capra - but hearing it and actually seeing him were two very different things.

She dropped her bag carelessly to the tarmac and ran to meet him halfway, throwing herself at him as soon as he was close enough to wrap her arms around his neck. He hugged her back without hesitation. They were making a Hel of a scene in the middle of the landing pad, but neither of them really cared.

"I knew you'd come back," he mumbled into her hair.

"Had to." She finally pulled away, stepping back just enough that she could see him. "You can barely tie your shoes without me, Liefred."

He only laughed before leaving her side just long enough to grab her bag. He slung an arm around her shoulders as he rejoined her, dragging her towards the hangar. "Welcome home."

She stared up at the Shatterdome, hangar doors towering over them. It didn't look nearly as welcoming as Red seemed to think it should, and was much more intimidating than it had been from the air. It still smelled like blood and motor oil - or maybe it was her memory that did.

She tried to put on her best smile anyway, for his sake if not her own, and let him drag her inside.

They stepped into a hive of activity, the sounds of machinery and voices echoing off the walls, laughter and shouting and clanging metal rising up to greet them. She tried to stop and take it in, but Red was still dragging her along with him out of the main hangar and into a labyrinth of hallways; she probably could have escaped him if she tried, but she didn’t really want to.

“Have you met the Marshal yet?” he asked, once they were in a quiet enough place that he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“Not yet. Mostly talked to his second so far.” Trouble Alder had, in fact, shown up out of the blue one day three months ago, sitting on her front porch with a stick of charch between his lips and looking completely at home. He’d revisited her every day for a month until he’d finally worn her down enough to convince her to come home. Stubborn bastard. “What's he like?”

“Intense,” Red answered almost immediately. “Most of the younger crew are terrified of him. He doesn't like me.”

Iorwen scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re the most exceptionally likeable person I’ve ever met. Everyone likes you.”

“He doesn't.” 

They stopped in front of a door in what was probably the barracks, the walls lined with identical doors on either side. Sure enough, there was a simple bed, a dresser, and not much else inside. Iorwen didn’t mind; she didn’t need much else.

Once she’d dropped off her bag and they started down the next hallway, Red continued, “I don't know if he likes anyone. He barely says two words to anyone but Trouble.”

She was still skeptical, but didn’t push. “Well, he must be doing something right. Look at this place. Capra barely had a skeleton crew compared to this.”

“It’s amazing!” Just like that, Red lit up again. “Some of Blest’s best and brightest are here. Pilots, mechanics, scientists, strategists, you name it.”

“And which of those are you? All of the above?”

“Mostly scientist, I think,” Red rubbed a sheepish hand over his hair. “There’s better pilots. Pan, Neon, and I serve better in the lab than on the field most of the time.” He paused, watching her cautiously, before adding carefully, “And… which will you be?”

“I’ll be working in the clinic,” she said quickly. “As a Healer. I’m not… ready to be around Jaegers again. I might never be.”

“I understand,” he assured her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

They fell silent after that, and stayed that way until they stopped in front of a door labelled Administration. “This is Shery’s office. She’ll get you all set up.”

“Thanks, Red.”

“Anytime.” With one final quick hug, he turned to leave, only to stop halfway down the hall. “Oh, and Wen?”

“Hmm?”

“Welcome to the Shepherds.”

---

It was two weeks before Iorwen finally met the Marshal, and it happened entirely by accident.

She had just finished a shift in the clinic, patching up minor burns and bruises on unlucky mechanics and restless pilots. The silence between Kaiju attacks left everyone on edge, and that led to carelessness, which inevitably meant stupid injuries. She didn’t mind. All things considered, she’d rather have the silence.

As she turned a corner, she noticed a light was on in the training room, and curiosity led her there without much input on her part.

She recognized the man in the room easily enough. Even if they’d never spoken directly, she’d seen him around enough to know who he was. He commanded the attention of a room like no one she’d ever met before. He was hard to look away from, even here, out of uniform and either unaware or uncaring of her presence.

Magnetic. That’s what he was.

He was also much younger than she expected for a Marshal. He was close to her own age, or at least she assumed he was. She wondered about the story there - obviously there must be one - but knew better than to ask the rumor mill. Gossip was like dust: inevitable, everywhere, and harder to see through the more you stirred it up.

The Marshal’s back stiffened, and Iorwen knew she’d been caught staring even before he glanced over his shoulder in her direction. She stepped into the room as casually as possible. “Hello, Marshal.”

He simply nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “Ranger.” She bit her lip to stop herself from correcting him. “Emroth, right?”

“Yes, sir.” She approached until she could finally see his face. “Iorwen.”

Another nod. “Blade.” She thought he would leave it there, but after a moment, he spoke again. “Antiqua speaks highly of you.”

“Of course he does. He's biased.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at the idea that Red was going around extolling her virtues to anyone who would listen. When the Marshal - Blade, she mentally corrected herself - gave her a look that she interpreted as curiosity, she elaborated. “We trained together as cadets. He was my first Drift partner actually.”

“But you never piloted together?”

“No. It…” Iorwen broke eye contact, the floor suddenly fascinating. “It didn't work out that way.”

“It's not too late,” he said, almost softly.

“Yes it is. I'm not a Ranger anymore. Not after…” Xer name got stuck in her throat, like it always did. She took a couple of deep breaths until she could comfortably breathe around it again, but her smile was still sad. “I'm happier on the ground. I'm a good Healer. It's where I should be.”

She could feel Blade’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back up to meet them. Eventually, all he said was, “I see.”

He turned his back on her again and it didn’t take long before her gaze was drawn to him again. He was wearing a tank top, like most people did when they came here to train or spar, and standing this close she could clearly see the web of electrical scarring trailing over his arm and shoulder.

She knew those scars well. The scars of someone forced to solo pilot a Jaeger. She should know, she had a matching set.

Blade did an admirable job of pretending he didn’t know he was being observed, but he moved too carefully for it to look entirely casual. Or maybe he just always moved like that. He picked up a bo staff and tested the weight of it.

Iorwen took the opportunity that presented without thought or hesitation. “Looking for a dance partner?”

The briefest flash of surprise crossed his face before his expression smoothed back out. “Are you… sure?” he asked carefully. If she didn’t know better, she might say he almost sounded nervous.

She found it charming. She found him charming, with his not-quite-smile and his cool confidence, this magnetic man who could simultaneously terrify the cadets while inspiring absolute loyalty in them.

But she didn’t tell him that, of course. She just grabbed a staff of her own and grinned as she lifted it in a fencing salute. “On your guard, Marshal.”

---

After that first night, it became a regular thing. Not every day, not even on a set schedule. But sometimes after she was done in the clinic or in the garage, Iorwen would stop by the training room, and sometimes when she did, Blade would already be there. Not waiting for her, not exactly, but never surprised when she arrived.

He never really said much, but she didn't mind talking for the both of them. She could tell he was warming up to her, as the weeks passed; his silence felt much less formal and stiff and more cordial. Eventually, even friendly.

Two things were apparent from the very beginning, though. Well, three things. The first was that Blade, as a fighter, was completely out of her league. She never stopped by with any expectation of beating him; she was content to follow his lead. It was nice to be active again, to feel the familiar burn in muscles left dormant in her self-imposed retirement.

The second was that they were extremely drift compatible. While Iorwen could never beat him, she could consistently predict him. They could both be blindfolded and still know what move the other would make. There was an effortlessness to the way they understood each other that bordered on the supernatural. It was a kind of connection that she hadn’t felt since Zori had been killed.

The third thing was that neither of them were willing, in any way, shape, or form, to admit the second thing.

It was barely a week before Red found out.

He flopped down on the bench next to her in the cafeteria. “I brought those papers you were looking for to your room last night, but you weren’t there.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, but it still managed to feel like one.

“I spent a couple hours in the training room,” she said as casually as possible. “Trying to get back in shape.”

Red blinked a few times, letting that sink in, before smiling wide. “That’s really good. Let me know if you ever need a sparring partner.”

“I kind of… have one?”

“You do?” His smile went from friendly to devious, the look of a man who had four sisters and was willing to tease her as if she was a fifth. “Who?”

Before she could stop herself, she looked across the room at Blade. He sat at a table with Trouble, whose laughter was loud enough to reach them even from the other side of the busy cafeteria. The Marshal’s face remained impassive, looking like he wasn’t even listening, but Iorwen knew him well enough to tell he was amused.

As if he could feel her watching him, his eyes snapped up and locked on hers. She smiled at him; he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Red cleared his throat, and she looked away quickly, turning her attention back to the smugly amused grin of her best friend. “Well, I guess maybe it’s not everyone he doesn’t like.”

“Guess it’s just you.” She nudged his shoulder and he rubbed at it as if she’d hurt him. “He’s not as bad as you made him out to be.” She couldn’t stand his knowing look anymore and turned away, but doing so led her eyes right back to Blade. “He's nicer than he looks. And surprisingly funny. He doesn't treat me like I'm fragile. Like I'll break if someone talks about… Zori.” 

Mentioning her former Drift partner and copilot didn’t hurt as much as she expected it to this time. Less like twisting a knife in her heart and more like being poked in a fresh bruise.

Mentioning xer also stopped whatever comment Red had been about to make right in its tracks. He studied her with obvious curiosity, mouth still half-open in surprise. Whatever he saw on her face had him leaning forward and tapping his forehead against hers, a quick gesture of affection and understanding. She leaned into it until he pulled away.

And then his teasing smile was back as if it had never left. “Plus, he's handsome.”

She eyed him warily, but let him have the subject change. “That too.” She picked up a piece of fruit from her plate and popped it into her mouth. “Please don’t say anything about this to Pan or Neon.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I mean it, Red. Not a word.”

---

“So I hear you and the Marshal have a thing.”

Iorwen sighed from the very depths of her soul. “I hope Red knows how very dead he’s about to be.”

Panrachus looked legitimately confused at her response. “What? I didn’t hear that from Red, I heard it from Caine.” Then he gasped, eyes widening with sudden, delighted recognition. “What does Red know?”

She only barely bit back a groan. “Why are you even here?”

“Right! We’ve got something you oughta come see.”

She followed him, with more than a little trepidation, out of the clinic, through the office labyrinth, and out into the hangar. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings and realize where exactly they were going. “Why are we going to the Jaeger bays?” He didn’t answer. “Pan?”

Then they turned the corner, and she had her answer.

Looming over her was a Jaeger unlike any she’d seen before. It looked almost lanky, the proportions lean and sleek instead of the more familiar bulky designs. It would be unbelievably fast with the right pilots; she could tell that just from looking at it. From the top of each wrist, a wicked-looking blade extended over the hand, almost long enough to drag the ground. It was painted black, navy, and silver, but its eyes glowed bright blue.

From the ground, it almost looked like iladrin. Like the same blue light that lit Iorwen’s own eyes.

“What’s her name?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the Jaeger.

“Stellar Enigma.”

“Who’s piloting her?”

“You are.”

She jumped at the unexpected voice behind her and turned to see Blade, Red, and Trouble approaching, along with an entourage of what looked to be equal parts Shatterdome leadership, actual engineers, and nosy onlookers.

“You are,” Blade said again, quieter, softer, “Ranger.”

“Blade, I--” Iorwen started, but she wasn’t sure what she actually intended to say.

He reached up and lightly pinched her cheek, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll be alright.”

Before she could reply, Trouble gently but pointedly cleared his throat, reminding her of their audience. She glared his way, just for a second; he grinned back, unabashed and unrepentant.

“Who’s my copilot? Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought, trying to act some semblance of professional.

“I get the feeling you already have someone in mind.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Bit early to be reading my thoughts, isn’t it, Marshal?”

---

Iorwen’s suit didn’t fit as well as she remembered. Tight around the shoulders, too loose at the waist. Like it was meant for someone else, no matter how many things tried to tell her otherwise.

Blade’s fit him like a second skin. He looked like a Jaeger cockpit was where he was always meant to be. Like it was the rest of the world that didn’t fit him right instead.

She met his inscrutable gaze before ‘admiring’ could cross the line to ‘ogling’. “You look good.”

He paused for a long time, staring back at her in silence, before finally clearing his throat. “You too.”

She grinned, both at the compliment and at the sight of the Marshal so off-balance, but she took pity on him and changed the subject. “Do you want the left or right?”

“Right.”

“Good. I prefer left.”

They didn’t speak anymore as they connected to their harnesses and their suits started interfacing with the Jaeger, the computerized voice talking them through system checks. It took longer than Iorwen remembered, but it had been a long time since she last Drifted with anyone, let alone with someone new.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, once their helmets were in place and they’d run out of checks to do. “I’m not--”

“Yes,” he interrupted sharply. “You’re ready. We both are.”

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. To thank him, mostly, for a list of things that seemed to be growing bigger by the hour. She kept quiet; he’d hear it in her thoughts soon enough.

“Initiating neural handshake in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… neural interface drift initiated.”

Between one breath and the next, she was somewhere else. Images flowed over her, some familiar, some new. She did her best to let them pass, to not cling too hard to any of them.

The destruction of Drummond's Point, the first attack the day the Kaiju came. Iorwen, dragging Zori's unconscious body out of town as fast as thirteen-year-old legs could carry her. Blade, stern and silent even as a child, a soldier from the day he was born. Zori, tears at the corners of xer eyes as xe laughs at a joke Pan told, Red and Neon joining in, the three of them always together even then. Blade's older brother, startlingly similar to him in appearance and demeanor, the two of them either sparring or fighting; for them, there had never been much difference.

Zori's scream as xe's ripped out of the cockpit. Gladius didn't make a sound as he met the same fate.

Iorwen's grief washed up against Blade's, soothing in it's familiarity. A gentle reminder that they weren't alone anymore, that thanks to the Drift they'd never be entirely alone again.

She saw him in her memory of their first meeting. Stern, aloof, but warm underneath, like a fire behind frosted glass. Captivating her before he even so much as looked at her. 

And then herself through his eyes at that same introduction. Sad, withdrawn, but still burning bright. The embodiment of stubborn hope, like a flower blooming in a snowy field.

And then they broke through the surface, both gasping as they came up for air. Below them, Stellar Enigma came to life. The rush of memories and emotions settled into the background, present but no longer demanding attention.

“Pilot connection stabilized.” It wasn’t the computer’s voice this time, but Shery over the intercom. “How do you feel?”

Moving as one, Blade and Iorwen lifted their hands, right fist resting on left palm, and bowed. Stellar Enigma did the same, moving as smoothly as her pilots did. Iorwen couldn’t tell which of them the wave of elation came from, but it burst out of her in a laugh.

“It feels like coming home.”