Raleigh Becket (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wentnuclear) wrote2017-06-22 11:52 am
wentnuclear) wrote2017-06-22 11:52 am
pacrim au for amos
It's Raleigh's birthday.
He hasn't told anyone, and he doesn't plan to do anything to mark the occasion, but he turned 25 at 3:27 that morning. As usual, he was awake, and watched the number tick over on his bedside clock with a vague sense of despair. Another year. Another fucking miserable year, trudging along on a doomed project and feeling empty inside. Another year of dodging recognition and questions, of the television droning on in the background, of shitty rations and countless workouts and the world being slowly wrecked one Kaiju at a time. At least he's basically fluent in German now, even if his accent is garbage. It's the only positive thing he can say for himself.
Alaska in December is dark through the morning, but Raleigh sticks to his routine. He goes for his usual run, does pull ups until he loses count, showers and pulls on yet another hand-knit sweater under his work gear. He gets to work before the dawn, harsh lights stinging his eyes as he approaches the site. Nobody speaks to him, to offer him a cup of coffee he'd only decline or ask how he's doing. They know better by now.
Top of the wall is an awful assignment. Dangerous and uncomfortable, particularly in winter. At least it's not snowing today -- the wind up there when it does stings his face and blinds his eyes, and he hates wearing the extra gear necessary to work in that. Raleigh kicks off the snow clinging to his boots from the ground and starts to climb the rig, equipment heavy on his back. He hardly feels the ache of it anymore.
There's a new guy up there with him today, a bulky fellow who Raleigh thinks started about a week ago. He never bothered introducing himself or asking about the guy, but he's not completely in his own world. He's heard the others talking to him. Amos, his name is, and he isn't chatty either. Not one bit. Like Raleigh he shrugs off all their questions as if who he was before the wall doesn't matter, and that'll probably make him good company. Anyone's better than Tommy, though, Raleigh's been tempted to kick that pain in the ass off the wall more times than he'd admit to. He gives his new coworker a nod of acknowledgement and tethers himself to the beam to get to work. Some days he skips that step, thinking that if he falls, well, that's just what happens. But hey, it's his birthday. He'll be a little more careful today, and maybe he'll hold off on losing his grip until February 29th. Then again, he thinks that every year, and he never does.
The sun rises awhile later on the inland side, golden hues blazing over the snow, and Raleigh does set his torch aside for a moment to watch. Another day. Another year. God, he's tired. He rubs at his face with a thick gloved hand, feels the strain in his bad arm and figures he can take a minute. If somebody below notices him shifting to sit on the beams and watch the colors light the sky, they can yell all they want. He's never been written up for anything and stopped caring what people think a long time ago. It's just a minute.
He hasn't told anyone, and he doesn't plan to do anything to mark the occasion, but he turned 25 at 3:27 that morning. As usual, he was awake, and watched the number tick over on his bedside clock with a vague sense of despair. Another year. Another fucking miserable year, trudging along on a doomed project and feeling empty inside. Another year of dodging recognition and questions, of the television droning on in the background, of shitty rations and countless workouts and the world being slowly wrecked one Kaiju at a time. At least he's basically fluent in German now, even if his accent is garbage. It's the only positive thing he can say for himself.
Alaska in December is dark through the morning, but Raleigh sticks to his routine. He goes for his usual run, does pull ups until he loses count, showers and pulls on yet another hand-knit sweater under his work gear. He gets to work before the dawn, harsh lights stinging his eyes as he approaches the site. Nobody speaks to him, to offer him a cup of coffee he'd only decline or ask how he's doing. They know better by now.
Top of the wall is an awful assignment. Dangerous and uncomfortable, particularly in winter. At least it's not snowing today -- the wind up there when it does stings his face and blinds his eyes, and he hates wearing the extra gear necessary to work in that. Raleigh kicks off the snow clinging to his boots from the ground and starts to climb the rig, equipment heavy on his back. He hardly feels the ache of it anymore.
There's a new guy up there with him today, a bulky fellow who Raleigh thinks started about a week ago. He never bothered introducing himself or asking about the guy, but he's not completely in his own world. He's heard the others talking to him. Amos, his name is, and he isn't chatty either. Not one bit. Like Raleigh he shrugs off all their questions as if who he was before the wall doesn't matter, and that'll probably make him good company. Anyone's better than Tommy, though, Raleigh's been tempted to kick that pain in the ass off the wall more times than he'd admit to. He gives his new coworker a nod of acknowledgement and tethers himself to the beam to get to work. Some days he skips that step, thinking that if he falls, well, that's just what happens. But hey, it's his birthday. He'll be a little more careful today, and maybe he'll hold off on losing his grip until February 29th. Then again, he thinks that every year, and he never does.
The sun rises awhile later on the inland side, golden hues blazing over the snow, and Raleigh does set his torch aside for a moment to watch. Another day. Another year. God, he's tired. He rubs at his face with a thick gloved hand, feels the strain in his bad arm and figures he can take a minute. If somebody below notices him shifting to sit on the beams and watch the colors light the sky, they can yell all they want. He's never been written up for anything and stopped caring what people think a long time ago. It's just a minute.
no subject
He's been sharing a section of the wall with this guy, Raleigh, that's been around for ages, and was exactly the same kind of quiet as Amos was, which made them close to being best friends. Anyone who doesn't bother him, ever, is good in his books. They're civil - say hello, sometimes, share a nod and a look when they're having lunch, give each other a hand on the beams. It's more than enough.
At least, it is until today, when he watches Raleigh sit down for a moment, but slips when he gets back up. It looks painful, if the look on Raleigh's face is anything to go by, and, well. They need to be careful when they're so high up.
"You okay?"
no subject
"Yeah." His heart is pounding a mile a minute now, but he was never in any real danger. Slowly, he lets go of the cross bar with his bad arm and grimaces as pain shoots like lightning from his shoulder to his fingertips. This is gonna be a problem, isn't it? When he can't let it be.
Not wanting to show any more clearly that he just fucked himself up, he goes back to work as best he can. Still favoring his bad side, but never commenting on it. A whistle blows down below to signal the workers to take their lunch, and for the first time since his slip Raleigh glances to Amos again -- he's felt the other man watching him on and off for the past few hours.
"Go on, I'm right behind you."