Chapter Text
The other pilots in Niki's hall are gathered around her in the lounge, uncomfortably silent as they wait for her to say something. They've done this before, back when another pilot had an accident and the only eulogy they were allowed was trapped inside the barracks.
"What the fuck, what the fuck what the fuck!" Tommy starts eloquently. "He— You— Fuck!"
"Let her talk," Tubbo says, pulling Tommy down to sit on the couch next to him. "What happened?"
And then? Niki starts lying.
"It... It was bigger than we thought it would be," she says, vividly aware of Tommy hanging onto her every word. "I screwed up, I don't know how but I did. My arm was stuck? I couldn't move it, and we needed to hold the Kaiju. I messed up, and Wilbur unhooked to try and help me. He saved me just in time and then... He was gone."
Tommy puts his head in his hands. "Fuck, man."
Phil sighs and walks over to her. "You did everything you could. He was a hero."
Techno grunts in agreement and Niki nods listlessly.
"I'll handle Sally and my grandson," Phil assures her as if she cares. "And you should talk to Schlatt about your discharge."
His son. Philza's son. He is oddly clinical as he strides over to Technoblade and mumbles something to him, not a trace of feeling in his expression. Wilbur was a star everyone on the Rig orbited around; He had friends in every corner, always knew exactly what to say or do to get what he wanted, and Phil doesn't care. He had the time to brew coffee for her return from the medbay and the energy to speak to the others, to give them a rundown of what happened before she got there.
She hates him as he gently leads the others out of the room. She despises the pristine floor, cleaned by the janitors every day and scrubbed of every lingering bit of Wilbur not even a day after he was here last. The overhead light, flickering slightly, taunts her as she sits alone in that dull, empty lounge.
She cannot go back to her room, can't face Wilbur's empty bunk, so she just curls up on the couch and closes her eyes. Her dreams are mangled, red-tinged things, full of fragments she'll forget by the time she wakes up. Someone enters the lounge to clean it, waking her up for a brief moment, but she's out again before she can catch their face and scream at them.
Niki spends two days there before she can't stand the smell of her clothes anymore, the way the fabric melts into her skin and tugs tighter, tighter, tighter. Phil and Techno might have let her crash on their couch but the pictures of their family are plastered all over their cabin and the idea of trying to fall asleep next to that is even more horrifying than cracking open the tomb of her own place.
Niki swallows bile as she trudges towards that tomb.
She averts her eyes from the left side of the room entirely when she enters it. Her half is exactly how she left it: baking recipes and photographs tacked to the wall, contraband lamp on the bedside table, her bed unmade. Pink paper stars creep over and around everything like vines gone wild. Wilbur's chessboard is sitting open in the middle of the floor, the game they’d sworn to finish after a good night’s rest now permanently frozen. Niki kicks it and the pieces scatter to hide against the wall and under the other bed.
She does not look at the corpse of her old life for five more days.
***
"Nihachu."
"I— What?"
Niki blinks, barely aware of her surroundings. She's in the Marshall's office, a barren wasteland of steel filing cabinets and harsh fluorescent lights glancing off every sharp angle. Schlatt is sitting opposite her-- Perfectly pressed black suit, bored expression, and a folder in his hand. The stench of liquor emanating from him is even stronger than usual.
"I've given you a week. That's more than most people in the world get to, I don't fucking know what you're doing, and I don't care. I need you back out there."
Niki balks. "Fucking excuse me?"
"I'm gathering everyone on the Rig who can hold a stick to spar with you tomorrow," He says, closing the folder. "If no one works I'll send you home and I'll forget I ever knew you. You can die for all I care. But now? You're useful. You're the only pilot who's familiar with the Lady and it's much easier to train someone else when their partner knows the ropes."
Niki's blood boils. She doesn't care about the war or the logistics of replacing herself, the only reason she came up here in the first place was to get the discharge she's owed. The lights seem to glare harder, piercing through her eyes to hit the back of her skull as she tries to explode Schlatt's face with her thoughts.
"Sir," she grits, barely guarding her tone. "I'm asking to go home."
"Did you not hear me? I don't give a fuck. My assistant, the useless moron that he is, is drafting a list of eligible candidates for you to beat the shit out of for two hours. If you don't show up at the training room tomorrow morning I'll send him to go get you."
"You—”
"Get the fuck out."
She stands, briefly considering murdering him before walking out and slamming the door behind her.
She passes by Tommy and Tubbo on the way back to her room-- Their helmets at their hips, clearly just back from a mission. Tommy is mid-laugh, his shoulders shaking, and Tubbo is rolling his eyes. Niki tries to squeeze past them but it's too late, they've spotted her.
Tommy gulps loudly. "Niki! Hi, Niki, hi. You doing okay? Awesome, that's great, we were just— Oh, you know, just walking. It's great, you should try walking. You've already tried walking because you're walking right now. Cool."
"Dude," Tubbo whispers and elbows him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Nothing! I'm being nice!"
"You are not."
Niki attempts to shuffle sideways to get through them but the corridor is far too narrow. Tubbo has the good sense to look deeply mortified and Tommy deftly fails to be as embarrassed as he should.
"You talk to Schlatt yet?" Tubbo asks.
"Yes. He wants me back out there," Niki says.
"For real? That's hardly fair."
"Don't you think I know that?"
Tubbo ducks his head. "Sorry."
"Can you just let me get through?"
"Oh!" He exclaims. "Yeah, of course, sorry again."
Niki does not allow herself to listen to their hushed conversation behind her as she whisks away. A few more people stop her on her way— Sorry for your loss and thank you for your service and at least he died a hero cascading ribbon-like from their mouths. When she finally slips into her quarters she is utterly spent, all the forced smiles and nods of gratitude ripped out of her. She snatches a random book out of her drawer, goes into the bathroom, and stares at the first page without reading it until every one of her bones aches.
A knock at her door. Then, so quiet she almost can't hear it: "Niki?"
It is as if the Rig itself is testing her patience, snaking rats through the pipework and using sheets of steel to fold the hallways around her. She can see Quackity shuffling awkwardly on his feet through the peephole and from the depths of her soul does not care for a word he has to say. She digs her nails into her palm, wishing Quackity would simply disappear.
"Niki, I know you're in there."
Silence.
"Don't make me use the utility keys, man."
Niki opens the door and blocks the entrance with her body. "What do you want?"
"I, um, you have to be in the training room."
"I don't care."
"Please," he begs. "He's just going to send security after me. They won't be as nice as I am."
You are trapped, the walls whisper, you are trapped, and he is a sundew unfurling its trichomes to pull you in and never let go. There is no escape, Nihachu. Give in.
The unit presses in on her from all sides— Crushing, devouring— And pushes her out into the hallway like a pea escaping its pod.
"Good, right, awesome," Quackity says with obvious relief. "It's gonna be fine. It's going to be great, just do what he wants for a while and then he'll let you go home. It's going to be okay."
She lets him talk her ear off as they walk through the base to get to the training room. The rig is not home, it never was, but every corner they pass by seems alien to her now. The floor, sensibly bare and lit by emergency light strips along it, tries its best to trip her and she will not let it win.
Quackity stops at a set of double doors. "Listen, Niki, before you..."
She flexes her fingers, tendons tight like bowstrings. He does not look her in the eye, just fiddles with the pockets of his jacket.
"Never mind," he says and pushes the doors open.
The training room is one of the nicer places on the Rig, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors on three sides and bleacher stands at the back. A large, square mat is in the middle next to a repurposed garbage bin full of wooden batons for practice. There's a larger crowd than normal gathered today, enough so that a chunk of them have to sit cross-legged on the floor next to the seats. Quackity slinks away to join them and Niki is left alone to face Schlatt in the center.
"Afternoon, soldier," Schlatt says as if he hasn't dragged her here against her will. "Well? Get going then! You there— Yes, you, in the crowd with the stupid cat ears."
The guy mumbles something but Schlatt cuts him off with a shake of his head. "What, you're Hbomb? Don't care what your name is. Pick up a stick and get on with it."
Niki makes quick work of Quackity's candidate list. She haphazardly spars with all of them; Losing most fights and pitifully winning others. She does not care whether they knock her on her back or if she eviscerates their guards. She should love this, should be teasing her opponents and shouting, but all she sees are blurry faces and the bright red exit sign.
"Next up!" Schlatt announces. "Jack Manifold, last on the list. Get over here."
A man parts his way through the crowd— Close-cropped hair, ill fitting uniform, a slight bounce in his step as he approaches the mat— and he gives Schlatt a lazy salute before picking a random staff out of the bin.
"Where do you want me, Sir?" He says, all simple-like.
"Just get on the mat."
Niki has crossed paths with Jack Manifold before. She doesn't know what his job is but he hangs out with some of her friends, she knows vaguely where he sits in the mess hall, and she knows he must be deeply obnoxious. He's always yelling or laughing and it bothers her for reasons she can't explain. The grinning, overconfident man approaching her with a wooden staff only intensifies this dislike.
"Boss said everyone with training has go fight you, then everyone without it too," he says, shaking out his shoulders and cracking his neck. "I guess that means me."
Niki wrinkles her nose. "This is ridiculous. I don't even know you."
He shrugs. "Dunno what to tell you."
"I won't fight you."
"But you want to. C'mon, attack me, it'll be fun!"
"No."
"Fight him, Nihachu," Schlatt commands. "You're too valuable to throw away. Wilbur died, so what? You drift for the good of the nation, not for your fucking feelings. Fight him."
"I—”
"That's an order."
"Yes, Marshall."
Niki raises her staff. She'll deal with him like all the others and once she's exhausted everyone on the base Schlatt will have no choice but to send her back home to wallow in her misery forever. Jack hops back and forth on his feet and his grip on his weapon is loose and wrong. Niki sets her face in a decisive glare, knuckles white, and lunges. Jack, to her immense surprise, dodges.
"Not so fast," he says. Niki sneers and starts to circle him. Jack mirrors her.
More and more onlookers start to gather around them, whispering and trading bets. Niki tries to shut them out but she catches a glimpse of Tommy in the crowd and the way he looks at her... Crack! Goes Jack's weapon on her arm. She retaliates immediately with another strike and he's too slow to block it.
"One to one," Schlatt narrates.
Niki represses a hiss and adjusts her stance, paying close attention to the way Jack moves. He's quick and lithe like Wilbur but with less flair. He bounces on the balls of his feet. He's not bored, though, and he doesn't even try to pretend that he's not laser-focused on fighting her. Niki tests his guard and he blocks it. Jack makes a swipe at her feet and she dances out of the way before coming back in to try and knock him over.
The time begins to melt away as they push and pull at each other, moving in a flurry of limbs and shouts and sweat. Niki gets caught up in the fight and celebrates when she lands a hit. She swears when Jack hits her back. The crowd cheers. Who is this guy?
"Three to three," Schlatt shouts over the noise. "One point to victory."
Niki's knuckles are white on the staff now, her vision cloudy with purpose. Jack jerks his chin at her, beckoning her forward, but she doesn't take the bait. Not yet. She starts circling him and he mirrors her, the crowd almost holding its breath as they do. Quackity's eyes look like they might pop out of his skull.
Niki lashes forward, staff raised to club down on Jack's head, and—
He's closer than she thought. He ducks under her hit and stabs at her side and she's too slow on the draw to block it. She's going to bruise later, she can feel the tender redness without lifting her shirt to look at it.
"Fuck!" She throws her staff into the bin with the others.
"Four to three," Schlatt says. "Jack Manifold takes the win. Congrats, or whatever."
Niki exhales, her face burning red. She could have won— Should have won— And yet there Jack is, fist up in the air and tongue sticking out at her like he's just scored in a basketball game.
"Okay, show's over," Schlatt announces. "All of you go back to your real jobs."
It takes a while for the crowd to shuffle out, Jack Manifold along with them, and Niki is about to follow suit but Schlatt stops her. He waits for every last one of them but Quackity (Dripping with the stench of cowardice by the door) to leave before addressing Niki.
"You're staying on the Rig," he tells her. "And Jack Manifold is your new drift partner. He moves into your unit tomorrow."
"No," Niki declares. "Absolutely not. I refuse."
"It's not optional, soldier," Schlatt says. "You'll work with Jack and that's final. No other person on this entire outpost is as compatible with you as he is, and we need you to pilot the Lady."
"But Sir!"
"No fuckin' complaining. Get out of my sight."
For the second time in the day, Niki comes close to assassinating the most important person on the base.
As promised, Jack Manifold is delivered to her door twenty hours later. He raps his knuckles on the metal and, when she opens it, pushes a single invasive suitcase inside.
"Sorry, dude, but they kicked me out of my room," he says. "God, this is so much nicer than sanitation quarters. It's huge!"
He spins in a circle, inspecting every square inch of the place with slack-jawed wonder.
"Oh, man," Jack squints at the bathroom partition. "You have your own shower? And a toilet? This is insane."
Niki grunts.
"We've met before, you know."
"What?"
"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't remember," he says with a shrug. "It must have been around the time you first came to the base, 'cause the officers set up this big party for everyone who'd gotten their Jaeger assignments. I was working the floor with the mop and your group was still bumming around by the tables.
"I was going to just clean around you guys and double back when you were gone but when I came close, Wilbur turned around and smiled this huge drunken grin, waving me over. He asked me some things about who I was, how I got there, probably more but I dunno. Then, and I'll never forget this, he shook you by the shoulders and said: This is Niki, the love of my life and the best Jaeger pilot north of the Rift. She's going to save us all one day, just you wait. And you spoke to me so softly, really nice and apologetic about staying late. I heard about you guys' double Kaiju kill in the news a week later and I knew what he said was true."
"Oh," is all Niki says.
"Right, then. I'm gonna unpack now."
She doesn't realize what he's about to do until he takes the suitcase, the wheels rolling unevenly, and starts moving away from her. Away from the line in the middle of the room she refuses to cross.
"Don't touch that!" Niki shouts, snatching him away from Wilbur's bunk.
"Fuck, man, alright!" Jack yelps. "Then where the hell do you expect me to sleep?"
Niki points to her bed, clearly recently used and covered in all of her decorations and pictures. "That one."
"That one?"
"You can't have his bed."
Niki can taste the tension in the several seconds of silence that follows. Then;
"Okay. Whatever."