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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years ago

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Soldier, Poet, King

Part 14

[Beginning] [Previous]

[AO3] [Masterpost]

Warning for Lan Xichen experiencing a pretty strong panic attack that requires him to be sedated so that he doesn't endanger himself (in the sense of this universe, i.e. neural overload rather than becoming a risk for self-harming etc.)

--//--

With the battle won, now seems like the perfect time for Lan Xichen to have a chance to have a bit of a come apart. He’d helped everyone else through theirs, and he’d been happy to do it — but his brother is still out there somewhere, had been down in the city when the Kaiju landed, and his partners aren’t doing well at all, and his dear friend and her partner are currently being extracted carefully from their forcefully-shut-down Jaeger out in the rubble of the city to receive emergency medical attention lest they die, and everything happening is just so much to deal with, when is he allowed to break down on someone’s shoulder?

Nie Mingjue is stonily silent as he holds Jin Guangyao in his arms, sitting there on the floor of the comms tower right where their partner had collapsed, and when he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair off Jin Guangyao’s forehead Lan Xichen can see how badly his fingers shake. He aches to beg someone to help them, for someone to bring him the news of his brother and Wei Wuxian, or to at least keep an eye out for Lan Wangji and let Lan Xichen know when he returns — he yearns for the chance, for once, to not be the one who holds everyone else together.

But Jiang Wanyin and all of the (conscious) Jins are down in Sparks’ Bay 5 anxiously waiting for Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan to be brought in, Nie Zonghui is coordinating the effort of emptying the bunkers again and sending people out to check on the citizens of the rest of the city in the aftermath, and there’s no one left to ask that he feels like he can burden with their problems.

He falls to his knees in front of Nie Mingjue and leans in slowly enough to know Nie Mingjue is watching him to press their foreheads together and breathe through the trembling panic buzzing right under his skin. Nie Mingjue exhales heavily and leans forward enough to increase the pressure, so Lan Xichen tips his chin to brush a barely-there kiss to his bloodless lips.

“We should get him somewhere else…somewhere that’s not the floor,” Lan Xichen mumbles after a few more moments spent just sharing Nie Mingjue’s space. He’s close enough to hear the thickness in Nie Mingjue’s throat when he swallows and pulls back enough to look down at Jin Guangyao lying unconscious between them, far too small and pale. Nie Mingjue gathers him closer, too tight, and Lan Xichen tuts as the shift in position forces Jin Guangyao’s head to loll back at an angle that wouldn’t be at all comfortable were he awake.

“I can’t,” Nie Mingjue chokes. “I…He’ll wake up. Then we can go. I can’t –”

Lan Xichen hums softly in the back of his throat and puts a grounding hand on the back of Nie Mingjue’s neck to squeeze tightly, silently understanding. He readjusts to get a little more comfortable sitting on the floor and tucks himself close enough that Nie Mingjue can curl forward to hide in his neck as he clutches Jin Guangyao close and breathes through his usual post-battle comedown.

Lan Xichen isn’t sure how long they’ve been there when there’s a tentative knock at the door and he turns his head enough to spot Wen Ning, of all people, poking his pale face around the door frame.

“Zewu-jun, Chifeng-zun,” he greets with a little bob of his head. “Jie’s looking after Jiang-guniang and Jin-gongzi, she sent me to check on the three of you.”

“Come in, Qionglin. How are they?”

“Unconscious, but stable,” he says with barely a stutter as he bustles in, a standard issue portable first aid field kit strapped to his thigh and hip. “They’ll be alright, jiejie’s the best doctor in the world for neural overload.”

“Mn. And..Wangji? Wuxian?” It feels wrong to ask, a jinx, but Wen Ning just nods again as he settles in on his knees there on the floor with them at the top of Jin Guangyao’s head so that Nie Mingjue doesn’t need to change how he’s holding him for Wen Ning to start taking his vitals.

“They’re fine! They got in a shelter when it hit land. Wei-gongzi borrowed a phone off someone they were with in the bunker and called jie once they opened back up to let people out. They said they’re going to help with the clean-up and redirecting everyone back to the residential quarters, but they’ll be back as soon as they’re finished.”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes and turns his face away from Wen Ning to have a moment to let pure, naked relief cross his features. His hands shake where he’s supporting Jin Guangyao’s head and still cupping the back of Nie Mingjue’s neck and Nie Mingjue leans in to brush a kiss to his cheek in silent understanding.

Wen Ning works in silence for a few long moments, taking Jin Guangyao’s vitals and, when Lan Xichen gives him a nod to go ahead, checking his eyes with a flashlight. Lan Xichen’s hope that it would wake him up is in vain, but Wen Ning doesn’t look any more concerned or serious than usual so he does his best to believe that this isn’t overly worrying.

“I’d need to get him down to the medical labs for a full test if you want me to scan his brain activity, but I’d say he’s mostly just been overwhelmed,” Wen Ning says when he’s finished and he gently sits back to let Nie Mingjue readjust his grip on Jin Guangyao again, to pull him closer. “I…I heard what happened. Reliving his trauma would have taken a lot out of him to begin with, even before the..the rest of it. He needs to rest somewhere quiet, your quarters should be perfectly fine. Though of course if you want to bring him down to the medical bay you’re welcome to. We’ve got plenty of cots.”

“We’ll take him home,” Nie Mingjue rasps. He sounds like absolute hell, and Lan Xichen sees Wen Ning pick up on that instantly, his wide gaze turning shrewd.

“Chifeng-zun. I’d like to examine you as well.”

“I’m fine.”

Lan Xichen subtly shifts a little to the side to give Wen Ning room to get a look at Nie Mingjue’s eyes, which he realizes too late are bloodshot, and more than a little unfocused.

“Jie’s orders. Everyone gets a checkup.”

“I said I’m fine!”

“Mingjue.” Lan Xichen is proud that the fresh fear spiking through him isn’t audible, his voice instead firm, authoritative (he’ll find time later to ruminate on how much he sounds like Lan Qiren). “Let Qionglin examine you or I will knock you unconscious as well. You’re slipping.”

Nie Mingjue, for the first time since they’d met, looks absolutely livid. With him.

Lan Xichen meets his burning gaze calmly, steadily. It’s who he is. It’s who he always has been.

Calm.

Steady.

Always there to support. To guide. To lead.

What else is there for him to do?

Nie Mingjue bares his teeth at him and clutches Jin Guangyao so tightly Lan Xichen hears his too-relaxed shoulder pop.

“You’re hurting him, Mingjue,” he whispers. “Let me hold him, just long enough for Qionglin to check you over.”

Perhaps no one else would be able to see it (no, Jin Guangyao would be able to as well, if he were awake) but Lan Xichen can see something like sense in the depths of Nie Mingjue’s unfocused glare. He can only imagine what sort of internal battle his lover is fighting, straining back to reality when it would be so easier to let his demons win. Wen Ning is motionless and silent beside them, waiting patiently for Lan Xichen to succeed, as if he can’t imagine that he won’t. Lan Xichen reaches out — slowly, slowly — and covers Nie Mingjue’s too-hard hands with his own.

Gently.

Nie Mingjue’s fingers twitch under his and Lan Xichen helps him begin to loosen the death grip he has on Jin Guangyao’s arm and thigh.

“It’s alright, ge,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “I’m right here, we’re safe. But I need you to let me have A-Yao, just for a moment.”

Lan Xichen forces himself to stay precisely where he is as he hears the lift clattering up to the top of the comms tower.

“Mingjue, love — please, you have to let go.”

“Da-ge!!”

Lan Xichen watches a bit more light return to Nie Mingjue’s gaze at the sound of Nie Huaisang’s voice and his grip loosens again, ever so slightly. Lan Xichen brushes his thumbs against Nie Mingjue’s knuckles and ducks his head enough to catch his gaze again.

“Mingjue, let me hold A-Yao so Huaisang can help Qionglin.”

“What are you all doing on the floor?” Huaisang asks — too loud, too fast. He swings into the room and barrels straight through the fraught atmosphere to drape himself over Nie Mingjue’s shoulders, arms tight around his brother’s neck so he can burrow into him like a child getting a piggy-back ride.

“A-Sang?” Nie Mingjue rasps. His arms finally uncurl and Lan Xichen exhales a soft sigh of relief as he hurries to transfer Jin Guangyao’s limp, prone form into his own arms, across his own lap. Lan Xichen strokes Jin Guangyao’s short fringe back from his forehead while Nie Huaisang distracts Nie Mingjue with his chattering about how uncomfortable the bunkers are, how he’s so happy they weren’t in there for too long, how everyone’s settling back in nicely after being let out.

“Go on, Qionglin, he won’t hurt you,” Lan Xichen reassures Wen Ning at a questioning glance. The man nods his shy thanks before he reaches out for Nie Mingjue’s wrist to start taking his vitals with the little scanner from the first aid kit. Lan Xichen actually watches the sense return to Nie Mingjue’s eyes as he listens to his brother giving a play-by-play of the gossip down in the bunkers, as Wen Ning takes him mechanically through the usual battery of check-ups — something that he knows Nie Mingjue has sat through with varying degrees of willingness too many times to count.

“Zewu-jun, I’d like to check you over too.”

“Yes, of course,” he agrees easily with a smile to hide the fact that he hadn’t even realized Wen Ning had finished with Nie Mingjue, too lost in thoughts of his own to follow the familiar beats of the routine. Wen Ning lets him keep holding Jin Guangyao as he goes through the same steps again, taking his vitals with all the ease of years spent training under and then working alongside his sister.

“Do you need us to keep an eye on Chifeng-zun?” Wen Ning murmurs when he shuffles behind Lan Xichen to press on a few acupressure points in the back of his neck. “He’s still at risk.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head in a soft no. Across from him, Nie Mingjue looks a little confused, a little lost, and more than anything painfully exhausted. But he thinks of seeing him in the medical bay, hooked to monitors and hanging onto his sanity with little more than gritted teeth and clenched fists, and his heart breaks.

Wen Ning presses a few more spots on his neck and shoulders until his heartbeat slows and he feels like he can take a deep breath again. It nearly ends on a hitching sob but he controls himself with force of will and a lifetime of practice. He controls himself long enough to bundle Jin Guangyao up in his arms to stand with him, long enough to capture Nie Mingjue’s wandering attention and signal for him to follow, long enough for them to move in an uncertain shuffle — him, Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Ning — down through the shatterdome, down long corridors bustling with people returning to their business or else rushing to help wherever they’ve been called, until they reach their quarters.

Lan Xichen continues to keep it together through getting Nie Mingjue settled in bed with Jin Guangyao wrapped up tightly in his arms once again, and through sending the others out into the hallway with reassurances that they’ve got things under control, that they’re going to be fine and yes, of course he’ll call if he needs help.

Nie Mingjue’s gaze is heavy on him as he closes the door, and leans against it, and breathes in.

Out.

In.

Out.

The shivery feeling in his chest is back with a vengeance; Xichen pushes off from the door with hands that don’t feel the cold bite of the metal, nor the way he fumbles and accidentally bashes his knuckles against the jut of the frame with a clang, bone on steel.

“A-Huan?”

“I just need to step next door for a moment,” Xichen says. “Please stay with A-Yao.”

He swallows around whatever it is that’s trying to escape his chest, his throat, and hurries around the edge of their bed to the door that separates the two halves of their space; the handle slips from his uncertain grasp once, twice, before he manages to push the lever far enough to hear the latch spring free.

“A-Huan!”

“Just stay with A-Yao!” Xichen pleads around the sob clawing its way free with anxious fingers despite his attempts to contain it. He hurries into the other room and accidentally slams the door shut again behind him in his haste to be alone, to be hidden, to be safe —

Do not show excessive emotion.

Maintain your own discipline.

Be strict with yourself.

Do not create damages.

Love all beings.

Uphold the value of justice.

Shoulder the weight of morality.

Have courage and knowledge.

Do not fail to carry out your promise.

Be strict with yourself.

Maintain your own discipline.

Do —

Do not —

Do not show excessive emotion.

Do not show excessive emotion —

Xichen bites his arm hard enough to bruise, better that than to scream, than to cry, than to grieve in excess for something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to put a name to.

It’s too much.

All of it, it’s too much. It’s been too much for so long he didn’t even notice it growing worse.

He can’t stop it, he can’t get out, he has a duty, he has a responsibility, shoulder the weight of morality, uphold the value of justice —

The sob he’s been holding in shakes loose, then free, and the floodgates open, forcing him to curl in on himself where he’s crammed himself in the corner between one wall and another, his back protected and safe as he falls apart at the seams there in the dark as silently as he can try to be. He can’t disturb Mingjue, he can’t do this in front of him when his partner has so much more reason to relapse and lose himself but he hadn’t, he hadn’t, he’s stronger than Lan Xichen will ever be and Lan Xichen can’t even support him right now and if he can’t support his own partners in their hour of need then how can he expect to be their co-pilot, how can he even call himself their partner if this is what he can be reduced to —

“Shhh xiongzhang, I’m here,” Lan Wangji’s voice calls, soft as a memory, and how can Lan Xichen know it isn’t one? He’s been in Nie Mingjue’s head, he’s seen the hallucinations he used to have, heard the voices he used to hear, and now here Lan Xichen is thinking he can hear his brother when there’s no way enough time has passed for them to be back from the city yet. And there’s always so many other things to do for cleanup, his brother wouldn’t come to him first, why would he? He has Wei Wuxian, and together they’re going to heal the world and Lan Xichen will watch from afar his brother wouldn’t be here —

“I am,” Lan Wangji says. The two words, firm and confident and much more present than he’d thought, make him freeze save for his trembling, and though he doesn’t dare look up to see if he’s truly hallucinating this he can’t help but reach blindly into the darkness in front of him, hand grasping, seeking, desperate for proof that he hasn’t been left alone, left behind —

His seeking fingers are caught in a firm grip and Lan Xichen shudders again as he’s tugged forward, closer, out of the bruising smash of his corner and into arms that wrap confidently around his hunching shoulders to press reality back into him through sheer force.

“It’s alright xiongzhang, you’re safe.”

“Wangji?” Nie Mingjue still sounds like hell and Lan Xichen wants desperately to soothe him, send him back to bed, tell him to tend to A-Yao and watch over him, keep their lover safe while he’s so vulnerable.

All that escapes his lips is a whimper.

“He is overwhelmed, but unharmed,” Lan Wangji reports. His voice is cool, clinical, the same voice he’s heard in his mind and at his side too many times to count. He can’t…he can’t be weak, in front of Lan Wangji. He can’t break like this. That isn’t allowed. It’s against the rules.

“You have a responsibility, Xichen,” Lan Qiren tells him. Lan Xichen is fifteen today. After their usual silent breakfast, he had received the expected congratulations for the milestone of another year lived from his brother’s silent, gesturing hands and his uncle’s stern sort of affection that he craves more than anything. “Your brother and I will assist you, but it’s time you step up to start leading the clan as you are meant to do. You cannot fail in this, do you understand me? Too many people are depending on you.”

“Yes, Shufu,” he says, because he knows. He’s known since he was old enough to overhear someone say that he would one day have to lead, and he’d begun preparing for perfection from that day until now. He can do it. He has to.

Lan Xichen clutches the thick canvas of Lan Wangji’s jumpsuit and hides in his brother’s shoulder as if that can hide the fact that he’s finally failed. He couldn’t protect Wangji, he couldn’t protect his lovers, or the people of Shanghai. He can’t do anything now except let fear overtake him, and if that’s all that he can do then how can he ever look his uncle — his brother, the rest of their family — in the eyes again?

“I’m sorry, xiongzhang,” Wangji tells him, soft and for his ears alone. “Everyone will be well, you may ask for help.”

He can’t. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t —

“Wangji, Wen-daifu is here.”

Lan Xichen flinches away from Nie Mingjue’s ragged voice as much as he recoils from the thought of anyone else outside of his brother or his lover seeing him like this, but Wen Qing steps into the room without waiting for a go-ahead. Lan Xichen attempts to sit up straight around the yanking ache in his gut and the way his entire body wants to remain curled tightly in on itself. His shaking hands release Wangji’s jumpsuit and he swipes them under his eyes just to be sure, startled to feel them suddenly become cool and damp with tears that he wipes away again, a bit harder as if he can scrub his skin clean of the evidence of his weakness.

“Zewu-jun,” she greets, businesslike to combat Wangji’s softness. Lan Xichen jerks as if he’d been shocked, the title reminding of his duty, his reputation, with all the subtlety of a baseball bat to the face. Lan Wangji stiffens in the same moment and turns to look at Wen Qing over his shoulder. Lan Xichen can’t see his brother’s expression in the dark and half-turned away like he is, but something about it stops even the fearsome Wen Qing in her tracks, her hands raised in conciliation or surrender.

“Do not,” he snaps, a rumbling censure with the entire force of his unshakeable conviction behind it. “He is only Xichen. Human.”

The Twin Jades. Light-Bearer and Life-Bringer, larger than life, utterly unreachable. Distant. Aloof from the world, from emotion, from the difficulties of mortality. Meant to guide others — all of humanity — along the path to peace and righteousness whenever and wherever possible.

Lan Xichen has never felt further from the man his unasked-for title proclaims him to be. It’s a relief and an embarrassment in equal measure that his brother knows this without needing to be told.

“Xichen,” Wen Qing agrees, some of the brusqueness in her voice slipping away as her hands drop down to her sides again. “A-Ning was worried for you, Xichen. You’re very close to neural overload, I have some things to help.”

“He was not in the fight,” Lan Wangji protests, protective. He pulls away from where he still has an arm wrapped around Lan Xichen’s shoulder in order to place himself fully between Wen Qing and Lan Xichen. He’s never wanted his brother to feel the need to protect him, but if he must then Lan Xichen will guiltily cherish the feeling of being taken care of, even as it makes him feel weak and helpless in a way that really just feels like failure.

“You and I both know that a pilot does not need to be in a Jaeger to lose themselves.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t have the focus necessary to understand the significance of the moment that passes between them then, but whatever it is they both know that he doesn’t is enough incentive to coax Lan Wangji into shifting aside enough to allow Wen Qing to kneel in front of him.

“Xichen,” Wen Qing says quietly, and this time there’s no business-like professionalism in her wide, dark eyes at all. There’s only kindness, and he aches to lean into it like a flower follows the sun. “I understand why you feel this way, and I understand that it’s unlikely to change at my say-so. But you do not have to be perfect, and I promise you that the people you wish to be perfect for would never wish to see you kill yourself attempting to do so. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

Xichen’s breath hitches in his chest as he battles with the shame of needing to be told something he has never once hesitated to offer to others. Others are allowed to be weak. Others are allowed to need his help, others are allowed to break. Never him. He doesn’t argue with Wen Qing, though. He’s never once questioned corrections to his behavior, and so he nods and it turns into a stiff, tiny bow, just the dip of his head and shoulders as his hands curl into fists on top of his thighs.

Wen Qing watches him for another long moment before she sighs and seems to resign herself to the fact that he isn’t capable of obeying the half-spoken order to let himself relax right this moment. He struggles not to fold and break under another failure as she turns her attention to reaching into the kit strapped to her hip as Wen Ning’s had been, though he knows hers doesn’t only contain the standard issue first aid supplies.

“Even outside of the Drift, pilots are more prone to neural overload than anyone else in the world,” she says as she withdraws a syringe full of something viscous and electric blue in the light seeping in through the open door behind her. She holds it up above eye level to let the light shine through it, and whatever she finds (or doesn’t) seems to satisfy her as she pulls a disposable needle from the medkit next, her hands sure and steady as she rips open the package and starts to assemble the dose. “Each time we Drift, we weaken ourselves to each other, and though we’re stronger for our ability to connect as we do, we also gradually become so dependent on each other that to exist separately is..taxing.”

Lan Xichen tries to keep up with the thread of her speech with his fracturing attention. Lan Wangji moves to kneel beside him, his perfect mirror save for the way his brother slides a warm, heavy arm around his shoulders, grounding and steady just like Wangji himself.

“Your Drift with Chifeng-zun and Lianfang-zun is still young, and you don’t have the benefit of regular training or drops to keep your pathways aligned and strengthened by each other. It may seem counter to how you started, but you each grow weaker the longer you go without connecting in the Drift. Do you hear me, Xichen? This shot is a temporary fix — when you’re all three recovered, I’m prescribing you sessions in the Drift simulator. You do not have a choice if you want to survive this war.”

“I understand,” Xichen tells her, because that, at least, he understands. Without his Drifts with Lan Wangji, and with all of the stresses and other demands on his partners’ time, time in the simulator seemed…selfish to ask for, particularly when they’re all so keen on other, more accessible ways of being intimate together to make up for the fact that they can’t be flight partners as the other Drift pairs are. It makes sense that the yawning ache in the back of his mind, in the depths of his being, is actually something medically diagnosable; it certainly feels like it should be.

“I’m going to give you this stabilizer, you’re going to sleep in that ridiculous bed over there, and when you wake up you and your partners will get the clusterfuck that is this Shatterdome under control. When you’ve finished that, all three of you will report to medbay as my patients until I give you clearance to look after yourselves. Repeat it.”

Xichen sucks in another too-unsteady breath and focuses on the weight around his shoulders, the steely glint of determination in Wen Qing’s glare.

“I will receive a neural stabilizer for a temporary solution, which must then be slept off. When I wake, Mingjue, A-Yao, and I will address the immediately pressing issues within the ‘dome that cannot be delegated or delayed. We will then put ourselves in your care until you decide we may leave it again.”

Wen Qing, apparently mollified, only leans forward and Wangji’s arm around his shoulders turns restraining as there’s a pinch just beside the nape of his neck, and the uniquely uncomfortable sensation of far more fluid under his skin than there should be. Within moments there’s a soft aura around the edges of his vision, and his head feels too thick to string two thoughts together.

Even as his consciousness slips away, Lan Xichen knows his muscles remember the proper way to sit. He kneels upright as the world slips away from him, and only as he’s sliding fully under does he feel himself sag sideways to land against his brother’s chest, dragged there by the grip around his shoulders as much as his relaxing muscles.

“He’ll be alright, Wangji, I promise,” is the last thing he hears before he slips into soothing nothingness and has no choice but to trust that there are people to care for him as he lets go.

–//–

“How long will the build take?”

Lan Xichen stirs a little at the sound of Nie Mingjue’s voice, pitched low but thankfully not nearly as rough as the last time he’d heard his partner speak. He can’t hear whatever response he receives, but Nie Mingjue grunts his acknowledgement of whatever was said; he must be on his rarely-touched cellphone, a necessary evil if he must run the ‘dome from enforced bedrest.

“Xichen and A-Yao are still down for the count, I can’t check with them. But it’s better than what we’d hoped for anyway, so I don’t think they’ll say no — get him on it as soon as possible. What have we said to the press?”

Another response, an unheard half of the conversation. Xichen blinks his eyes open slowly, keeping them mostly close to ensure the feather of his lashes softens any lights that may hurt his head. The lights are dimmed though, the directionless yellow glow of the track lighting in the ceiling turned as low as it can possibly go. It’s comfortable enough, and it means that when Lan Xichen focuses more on his immediate surroundings the first thing he sees is Jin Guangyao’s face, soft and smooth in deep sleep. He brings one clumsy hand up to press the backs of his fingers against Jin Guangyao’s cheek; his partner doesn’t so much as twitch, not even a flutter of his lashes, but a finger held carefully under his nose reassures Lan Xichen that he is, at least, still breathing. That’s reassuring enough for now.

Nie Mingjue grunts another wordless acknowledgement — surprisingly neutral, as he nearly never is when dealing with the press.

“Could be worse. Hold them off a little longer, will you? I know people are panicking but..I can’t…without them, I —”

Xichen reaches across Jin Guangyao between them to feel blindly for the nearest part of Nie Mingjue he can find. His fingers close around the hard curve of his knee where he’s sat up in bed, legs folded tailor-style, and the second he makes contact his partner’s hand lands heavy and warm on top of his to hold him there.

“Xichen’s awake, I have to go. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

Xichen turns his head enough to squint up at Nie Mingjue as his partner clicks something on his phone and tosses it away in favor of leaning down to press lingering kisses to his temple.

“How long —” Lan Xichen coughs around a painfully dry throat. Nie Mingjue kisses him again before he sits up to reach for his canteen with his free hand and unscrews the cap with a deft flick of his fingers.

“Just a few hours, don’t worry,” he says. Lan Xichen picks his head up enough to let his partner trickle a thin stream of blessedly cool water past his lips. “Zixuan and Yanli have woken up. They’re pretty disoriented and Wen Qing has already declared them permanently unfit for active flight duty, which we all figured. But they’ll live so it’s up to them what they want to do next. Wangji and Wuxian are resting, my orders. Zonghui and Huaisang are holding off the press as best as they can until we can draft up a statement about…whatever the fuck we’re going to do next.”

Xichen hums and squeezes Nie Mingjue’s knee, presses a kiss to Jin Guangyao’s warm forehead. He takes the moment to appreciate how perfectly smooth it is in sleep as it never really is when he’s awake, when his brow is nearly always furrowed in concentration.

“What is it A-Yao and I need to know about?” he asks, curious despite the heaviness still clinging at the edges of his mind (the aftereffects of the medicine Wen Qing had given him, he’s sure).

Nie Mingjue clears his throat and lifts Lan Xichen’s hand from his knee to press lingering, near-worshipful kisses to his knuckles.

“I want Wei Wuxian to convert Sparks into a three-man Jaeger…For us.”

The first thought that Lan Xichen can’t help but think is that that will go down like a lead balloon. Jin Guangshan would never allow —

Well. What Jin Guangshan would or would not allow doesn’t matter at all anymore, does it?

The second thought that follows on its heels is that it is, of course, the most logical solution to their conundrum. Sparks Amidst Snow is a brand new, top of the line Jaeger, already kitted out with as many weapons and mobility modifications as can be reasonably fit into (or onto) a single piece of machinery while retaining its efficiency. The unique shape of Lotus Spider was a choice the Jiang siblings all made together to accommodate the uniqueness of their fighting styles, three distinctly different pilots sharing a single form that can rotate and adjust to whichever of the three is in control at any given time. A three-man Jaeger doesn’t have to be built like that, it doesn’t have to move like Lotus Spider does. A three-man Jaeger can simply be the same machines that they’ve all been piloting since the beginning of this war. There’s no reason they shouldn’t use Sparks Amidst Snow — now completely pilotless — to solve a logistical problem so neatly.

What he says is, “Oh. She’ll need repainting.”

Nie Mingjue laughs, sudden and unexpected, and Lan Xichen smiles sleepily as his partner leans over their boyfriend again to kiss his temple and his cheek in a quick flurry of desperate, scratchy little pecks.

“I love you,” Nie Mingjue murmurs against his skin. “You scared the shit out of me, A-Huan. I’m sorry I scared you first.”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes again and hums, apology and forgiveness in one (not that Nie Mingjue had needed to ask his forgiveness anyway).

“Now that I’m awake we need only worry about A-Yao together.”

Nie Mingjue pulls back to blow out a gusty sigh and slide gingerly down to lie flat, his arm joining Lan Xichen’s slung over Jin Guangyao’s waist, their hands resting on opposite hips to hold him evenly between them.

“Wen-daifu took a look at him after she knocked you out, said he’s pretty fried. He’ll be fine!” Nie Mingjue hurries to reassure; Lan Xichen assumes his expression twisted with a suitable amount of alarm for the situation. “He just needs to sleep like Qionglin said, we all do. If A-Sang hadn’t come and found us I would have lost it, you came extremely close to losing it, and A-Yao shut down instead of losing it. It’s exactly what Wen Qing told you — we opened ourselves up to the Drift but we haven’t strengthened our connection at all since then. We’re much weaker apart than we are together, we have to start acting like it.”

“Darling, I already might as well live in your pocket,” Lan Xichen sighs. Nie Mingjue snorts and glances down at Jin Guangyao with a little smile.

“Well you and A-Yao can live in my pockets if you want but it’s not my brain, and apparently that’s where I need you to be.”

Lan Xichen hums again with a smile he hides in Jin Guangyao’s hair. It slips off his lips again quickly though as he thinks about what they’ll have to accomplish before they can begin their prescribed Drift sessions.

“Oh gods..the press, Mingjue. What on earth are we going to tell the press? What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to come clean. About all of it.”

Lan Xichen looks up at his partner with wide eyes — the truth is..not very pretty, nor flattering or reassuring, he has to say, so long as Nie Mingjue means what he thinks he does. Dealing with the public is an exercise in extremely careful half-truths that help to quell panic rather than incite it. They play a delicate balancing act, every single Shatterdome does, even Wen Ruohan in Tokyo. If he told the general population about the majority of the experiments he conducts, or the way he was burning (probably still is burning) all of his pilots to the ground as quickly as humanly possible to achieve the record-breaking stats his program boasts then there would be repercussions. Even someone as callous as Wen Ruohan knows the value in being circumspect when public opinion is in question.

Nie Mingjue, his beloved straightforward and honest-to-a-fault Mingjue, doesn’t have…quite the same sense of self-preservation when he elects to speak his mind.

“We don’t have to,” Lan Xichen whispers and nearly feels Lan Qiren’s reproving glare all the way from Gusu for daring to imply that the unvarnished truth is anything less than the best possible path forward. It goes against every single one of his childhood lessons, it goes against the typical true north of his own moral compass — but he also can’t bear the thought of Shanghai being thrown into even more chaos now on the heels of such an alarming battle as the one they’ve just fought. They have rebuilding to do, injuries to treat, there isn’t time for the leadership and ethics of the Shatterdome that keeps tens of millions of people safe to be called into question. Nie Mingjue is already tied up nearly every hour of the day in meetings to discuss strategy, provisions, research, everything of import with the leaders of every numerous government and military agency responsible for monitoring their operation. He won’t have time for even more such meetings, or to stop them altogether in favor of damage control with the public, and they have a war to fight —

There just isn’t time —

“Whoa. A-Huan, breathe. Don’t make me get Wen-daifu back in here to knock you out again.”

Lan Xichen sucks in a deep breath he hadn’t realized he needed and his vision clears of a handful of little black spots that he blinks away a few times quickly for good measure.

“What the hell just happened?” Nie Mingjue demands, and only because Lan Xichen knows him so well does he hear the concern in what could so easily be read as anger.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps instead of answering and closes his eyes as Nie Mingjue leans over Jin Guangyao again to kiss his forehead. “Such transparency simply seems like a recipe for disaster.”

“So does continuing to lie,” Nie Mingjue shrugs, though the tension in his clenched jaw belies his nerves. “At least if we tell them and I wind up forced to resign then..well. We can figure it out. I don’t think I will, though. I’m not saying it’ll be easy but it’ll be..better.”

It’s painfully clear that Nie Mingjue has already made up his mind, and Lan Xichen knows better than almost anyone that once he has there’s really no changing it. The best option now is simply to hold on tightly and hope for the best but prepare for the worst, and know that in the end he’ll still have his family and the men he loves.

Nie Mingjue kisses him again, a consolation, and when he tells him to trust him and just go back to sleep to keep recovering, there’s really no better option except to do as he’s told and let the future sort itself out.

–//–

Shanghai is never so quiet.

The wind whistles through the rubble of buildings not yet cleared away after the latest battle. The lonesome cries of the first few seabirds brave enough to return to a place that still reeks of Kaiju viscera echo strangely through the too-open crowded space.

The sounds of construction a few blocks closer to the harbor have ceased, and the crowd waiting beneath the hastily-erected podium in the midst of all of the destruction is eerily still and silent. Lan Xichen would have expected them to be clamoring for information, reporters and civilians alike shouting their questions over each other, trying to get their own answers first and damn anyone else.

He hadn’t expected this…this silent vigil, this watchful waiting that puts his hackles up and makes his skin crawl with the desire to stride up to the microphone and say something — anything — that would slice through the tension. How desperately he wants to say whatever would pacify the masses gathered to hear this first official address from the Shanghai Shatterdome on the shocking events of the last battle that are, by now, common knowledge nearly everywhere in the world.

The basic facts as everyone knows them are thus:

Category 5 Kaiju have arrived.

Jin Guangshan is dead.

Jin Zixuan flew with Jiang Yanli, and they barely survived.

Shanghai has something — many things, important things — that they haven’t disclosed.

A rustling behind Lan Xichen creates an echo of the same in the gathered crowd, a great fluttering of overcoats in the wind, an uneasy shuffling of feet, and a swelling susurrus of whispers as weary footsteps thud on the stairs up to the platform on which Shanghai Shatterdome’s remaining active-duty pilots and (most of the) high-ranking members of staff are already assembled.

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and finds steady comfort in his brother standing at his right hand with Jin Guangyao at his left as, a few paces away at the center of the stage, Jin Zixuan makes his slow, careful way through their ranks to step up to the microphone.

Jin Zixuan clears his throat and visibly squares his shoulders before he leans in ever so slightly to begin.

“First and foremost, the leadership, the pilots, and all ground crew of the Shanghai Shatterdome wish to extend a heartfelt apology to the citizens of Shanghai for the losses of the last battle. You have our every sympathy. Please know that we are working tirelessly to deliver every reparation possible to everyone who suffered damages or loss as quickly as we can.” Jin Zixuan’s amplified voice rings through the silence from speakers haphazardly placed amongst the rubble; all it does is emphasize how worn out he still sounds even a full week after waking in the bittersweet aftermath of his victory.

“Secondly, we would like to thank the citizens of Shanghai and beyond for extending their condolences for the loss of my father and my cousin, and their well-wishes for mine and Pilot Jiang Yanli’s swift recoveries from our injuries.

“There have been many questions since the battle against this latest Kaiju, and many more rumors. We thank you for your patience as we decided on the best course of action to communicate with you going forward, and today we hope that our attempts to do so will be well-received.”

From his spot in the front row just behind the podium, Lan Xichen studies the faces of those closest to the stage and, for perhaps the first time in his life, isn’t entirely sure how to interpret what he finds. He can only hope that Shanghai’s loyalty to their Pilots and their ‘dome will carry them through learning exactly what’s been going on behind closed doors.

“That being said, the first order of business is to announce that I will no longer be serving you as a Pilot in active duty. The injuries I sustained a week ago are too deep to allow me to continue to fly, as are my..my wife’s —” There is a bit of a stir amongst the crowd at that, though it’s much more muted than the reaction of the shatterdome to the same news two days prior. (Jin Zixuan had gotten onto the loudspeakers mere moments after their union was made binding and announced to the entire population of the ‘dome that he and Jiang Yanli had been married under Nie Mingjue’s authority. The [good-natured] uproar throughout the ‘dome had been a sight to see.)

“My former co-pilot has died, while my current co-pilot and I are too injured to serve you in the capacity that we would otherwise wish to. In light of this, I will put aside my armor and my status as a Pilot to take my late father’s place as one of the leaders of Shanghai Shatterdome. I hope you will find me to be an adequate successor.”

Jin Zixuan allows that statement to hang just long enough for a fresh round of whispers — he’d said ‘one of’, after all, and until now no one has known that Shanghai even had more than one. Before the whispers can grow out of hand, though, there comes the telltale heavy thump of footsteps Lan Xichen would recognize anywhere, behind him and to the left as Jin Zixuan’s had been. With an effort, Lan Xichen forces himself not to turn to look at his partner as he makes his own careful way up to the platform.

“This brings me to a second matter of great importance that must be cleared up before any further announcements are made. My father was not, as we claimed, the sole leader of this Shatterdome. He was, in fact, little more than a figurehead for the press and a financial backer to the true martial leader of Shanghai, who has been content — until now — to let his work remain unacknowledged.

“I hope that you all remember the tireless efforts and sacrifices of the Mach 1 pilot Chifeng-Zun, Nie Mingjue —” Jin Zixuan pauses as a gasp, amplified by every mouth, hisses through the crowd. In the expectant hush that follows it, Nie Mingjue’s footsteps on the rickety metal platform sound like the steady pounding of a drum, inexorable as he approaches the podium and appearing to be every inch the soldier he’s always been. Lan Xichen curls his fingers tightly around Jin Guangyao’s when they slip into his palm, the pair of them squeezing each other’s hands tightly enough that Lan Xichen is sure their knuckles are white.

“Nie Mingjue has devoted his life to the protection of Shanghai in the years since his retirement from active duty, and we believed it was time you knew exactly to whom you should continue to look for guidance in the future.”

Jin Zixuan steps aside after accepting a (relatively) gentle shoulder clap from Nie Mingjue that seems to take genuine effort to remain standing upright through. Mo Xuanyu hurries forward to support Jin Zixuan as he steps away from the microphone, and Lan Xichen tries his hardest not to panic at the thought of all of the civilians watching this seeing how weakened he still is.

The uncertain muttering of the audience cuts off abruptly into a reverent hush as Nie Mingjue clears his throat in preparation to speak.

For an endless moment, the world is still and silent again. For the first time in half a decade, Nie Mingjue stands straight and proud at the head of the people who live or die at his word and in front of the people they all live or die for in return.

Nie Mingjue lets the silence linger just long enough to become uncomfortable before he curls his broad hands around the side of the podium and leans forward, closer to the microphone.

“Citizens of Shanghai,” he begins, his words falling like stones into the collective hush. “I won’t insult you by pretending that you don’t have a reason to doubt us. I won’t pretend that everything that has ever happened under our roof has been honest, or fair, or even good. I won’t pretend that I’m perfect, or that anyone in my employ is either. Of course you have reason to doubt us.

“But I will tell you this — your safety and the safety of your friends, your families, anyone you know and everyone you don’t, has been my highest priority since the day I was able to once again take up the work my father and I started out to do. I have never truly retired, or forgotten my responsibility to you.”

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and forces himself to just hold Jin Guangyao’s hand rather than clutch at it like a lifeline. Jin Guangyao rubs a few slow little circles into the back of his palm in silent understanding; they’d both helped Nie Mingjue write this speech, and every single soul in the shatterdome who relies on Nie Mingjue is crucially invested in seeing this press conference turn the tide of public opinion back in their favor after the speculations and fear of the past week. Everyone is waiting on pins and needles to see how this will be received.

Nie Mingjue clears his throat again into the silence.

A lone gull cries overhead, sudden and piercing.

“We’ll be releasing an in-depth statement to the press shortly, but for now, in the interest of transparency, I will tell you what you may already suspect. You now know that Jin Zixuan successfully operated Sparks Amidst Snow with Jiang Yanli — as has already become clear to you, this means that things are changing. The Kaiju are coming faster, and they’re getting bigger, smarter. You’ve seen these changes for yourselves, and you must understand that the way we do battle has to change along with our foe. To that end, we have —”

Lan Xichen’s attempt to not crush his boyfriend’s fingers turns out to have been in vain as Nie Mingjue stops with an irritated sigh that the microphone picks up and amplifies for everyone in attendance to hear.

“Oh fuck this,” Nie Mingjue mutters and Lan Xichen’s heart drops as he glances down at Jin Guangyao to find him already covering his eyes with his free hand, his fakest, most placating smile frozen in place beneath it. Nie Mingjue had promised to let them help him come up with the right things to say if he was going to insist on airing out the ‘dome’s dirty laundry for everyone in Shanghai to see, but they’d known asking him to deliver a lengthy speech that attempts to soften at least some of the blows would be…a tall order. Still, there were at least hopes that he would make it through most of their points before he gave up.

“For god’s sake, he didn’t even make it five minutes,” Jin Guangyao laments, long-suffering but not sounding at all surprised as Nie Mingjue goes so far as to chuck the tablet with his carefully-written speech off the podium so he can’t even see it, the device clunking and clattering against the metal stage to stop at Jin Zixuan’s feet.

Lan Xichen unbends his rigorous posture enough to lean down and put his lips close to Jin Guangyao’s ear to prevent them being read as he says, “We should punish him quite thoroughly for breaking his promise this evening,” and earn himself a playful slap to the hip, below where the cameras are pointed.

“The point is that we’ve shuffled up the pilot teams as an experiment and it was successful, so we’re going to keep doing it,” Nie Mingjue says, short and brusquely efficient in his usual way. “We’re redesigning the jaegers, upgrading weapons, outfitting the old mechs for new teams. We know why we’re facing increased Kaiju attacks but it’s too late to stop it — the damage is done so our job now is to stop it from getting any worse. In his time as the head of this ‘dome, Jin Guangshan funded our operation with black market money and colluded with criminals of all sorts to keep fattening his wallet – I don’t doubt he’s paid plenty of people to keep their mouths shut about it. But I don’t care if they come forward now, I don’t care what anyone says anymore, I only care about what I always have. I care about ending this goddamn war!”

Lan Xichen takes a half-step forward (to restrain his partner or comfort him as he gets more worked up he doesn’t know), but before he can step out of line the silence erupts, the buildings and rubble echoing not with the condemning cry of the crows and gulls but with shouting, cheering, with the rumbling roar of enthusiastic support Lan Xichen would never have expected from a city full of people who’ve just been told they’ve been consistently and comprehensively lied to by the very people they’ve trusted to keep them safe for so long.

“Let it never be said that da-ge isn’t charismatic enough to accomplish feats we mere mortals may only dream of,” Jin Guangyao drawls, dry as a bone, and Lan Xichen finds that all he can do is laugh rather helplessly. He watches in awe as the crowd picks up a chant, not of Nie Mingjue’s name (that would really just be too much), but a much more palatable and generic cry of ‘End the war! End the war!’ that follows them all the way off the platform and through the city as they traipse the few blocks between the wreckage and the phalanx of armored cars waiting to hurry them all back to the shatterdome.

“Don’t start, I already know,” Nie Mingjue says the moment they’re in their own car, Lan Xichen behind the wheel to leave Jin Guangyao free to begin their scolding as soon as possible.

“ONE speech Mingjue!!!” Jin Guangyao cries the second he’s slammed his door shut. “You just had to give one speech!!”

“It was going to be an hour long, minimum!!” Nie Mingjue retorts. “When I said you could write it I didn’t say you could write me a goddamn novel!”

Lan Xichen clicks the blinker on to pull into the middle of the formation and waves genially to Wei Wuxian in the passenger seat of another SUV beside them, Lan Wangji looking entirely at ease behind the wheel and Jiang Wanyin squeezed between the Wen siblings in the backseat.

“I hate you. I’m going to strangle you,” Jin Guangyao announces to the car at large rather matter-of-factly. Lan Xichen sighs as his boyfriend climbs into their partner’s lap to curl his hands around his neck.

“A-Yao darling, save the foreplay for our quarters,” he says over his shoulder, and at least Nie Mingjue snorts a laugh so he must not be getting choked out too hard.

Lan Xichen does his best to ignore their roughhousing that seems to be equal parts genuine frustration with each other and foreplay (of a particular sort that he can admit he doesn’t enjoy nearly as much as they do) and focuses instead on getting them safely through the city so they can back to their jobs. Jin Guangyao will have more to do with the press over the next few days, especially since Nie Mingjue…didn’t actually say anything they’d really planned to take to the public, but perhaps that’s for the best. For now, at least, the public has been addressed, cleanup has begun with a coordinated effort between extra engineers from the ‘dome and the various disaster relief groups in the city, and they can relax for a day or two as everyone recuperates properly and returns to business as usual, as much as they can with a leadership change and a major restructuring of the Pilot assignments.

“Oh my god,” Lan Xichen murmurs as he pulls to a stop at the end of the same courtyard where he and his fellow pilots from Tokyo had been greeted upon arriving in Shanghai.

Much like that day, the press are crowded close to the barriers demarcating the boundary of the shatterdome’s grounds, snapping photos of the returning crew and shouting out questions that will go unanswered. Also in attendance is someone waiting beneath the eaves of the first warehouse’s roof to receive them, but considering Jin Guangyao is currently being crushed under Nie Mingjue’s weight to prevent him from getting too bitey, the welcoming party is…a little different than when Lan Xichen had stepped foot in Shanghai.

“What? What’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue asks over Jin Guangyao’s muffled shouts of, “You fucking lug get off of me!!”

Lan Xichen doesn’t answer, afraid if he doesn’t move quickly they’ll get away, slip off into the crowd to never be seen again. He pops open his door and leaps smoothly down to the ground to stride across the no-man’s land, the shouting of the press hemming him in on every side, though he does his best to ignore it.

“Zewu-Jun. I believe we have some unfinished business.”

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and takes note of the restraining grip Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen have on Xue Yang’s wrists caught between them, though he doesn’t really look capable of escape at the moment. Behind their shoulders is a girl blowing a neon yellow chewing gum bubble between her chomping on it, regarding him with wary suspicion that he must admit he shares — she’s young but she looks sharp in the way of anyone who’s had to fight every single day simply to survive, and if she’s here with the Immortals and Xue Yang there’s no telling which of them she’s more like in the end.

From behind him, Lan Xichen hears several car doors open and slam shut again, the scuffle of boots on the pavement as their entourage joins them with an uneasy murmur for their unexpected guests.

“Yes,” he tells Xiao Xingchen with a gesture for them to head inside ahead of him. “I believe we do.”

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #pacific rim au #background xuanli #background/implied songxuexiao #Lan Xichen #Jin Guangyao #Nie Mingjue #Wen Ning #Wen Qing

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