Disclaimer: I don't own Pacific Rim or any of the extended universe that goes along with it.
A/N: This is the first thing I've written in close to a decade, so go easy on me. This work has been cross-posted to Ao3 and can be found there under the same pen name.
Chapter One
The nightmares were relentless. Newt would wake up with loud, shuttering gasps, floundering to catch his breath in the stale air of the Shatterdome. His hair would be matted to his forehead with sweat, the military issue sheets clinging to his half naked body as he tried to gain his bearings. It would take several terrifying seconds to find his glasses, the small comfort of being able to see doing little to calm the thudding drumbeat of his heart. Every night, Newt would wake up to the feeling of dying.
The dream was different each night. It would come to him in the form of Trespasser rampaging through the streets of San Francisco. Other times, it was the face of Kaiceph as hordes of jets rained missiles down upon it. Sometimes, the scenes would shift so dramatically that Newt couldn't keep up. Another kaiju, another agonizing death. Often, the nightmares wouldn't even have a discernible form – just a mass of shockingly powerful emotions bombarding his brain at speeds that made his head spin and his stomach roll. Whatever shape the nightmares took, they always ended with Newt shooting out of bed in a panic, confused and terrified and praying for it all to end.
On most nights, he would be unable to go back to sleep. He had tried before, of course, but each attempt just left him falling right back into the same nightmare all over again. It had been little over a month since the closing of the Breach and Newt had barely logged a hundred hours of sleep. It was starting to wear him down. He began to notice aches in his joints that weren't there before, his concentration began to slip on a regular basis, and he found himself waking from dreamless power-naps in the most uncomfortable positions.
For the most part, all of this went unnoticed by the remaining staff at the 'dome. After Operation Pitfall's success, the world governments went into full-on recovery mode. It wasn't even a week before half of the facility was fully decommissioned and the employees were sent packing. Only a skeleton crew remained to monitor the Breach and prepare any final statements on the events. Newt took full advantage of this. It helped him stay off the radar; the last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded by medical all because of some lousy nightmares.
The thought was nearly laughable to Newt, in a bitter sort of way. Him, with PTSD? That didn't seem fair, really. Bigger men than himself had fought and died in this war. Spilled their blood, sweat, and tears in the ocean trying to protect the world. How weak was he that this had fucked him up so bad? What had he done to warrant such a reaction? It seemed almost disrespectful to those who had every real right to be suffering.
Hermann seemed to be faring much better. Newt was torn between relief and jealousy at the concept. He was grateful that the mathematician hadn't suffered the same crippling side effects of the drift as he had, but at the same time he was painfully envious of the man's seemingly impenetrable psyche. Newt of course rationalized this with the simple fact that Hermann had only participated in the one drift, sharing the neural load with Newt to protect the smaller man from potentially killing himself the second time around. It was obvious, at least to Newt, that it was the first drift that was affecting him so strongly. He had shot himself head-first into the completely foreign mind of a monster from another dimension – it was no wonder he came out of the whole experience a little frazzled. As Herman was so quick to constantly remind him, it was a miracle Newt had survived at all.
Sometimes he wished he hadn't.
It was a Thursday morning when Newt walked into the lab to find Hermann hunched over a scattered pile of paperwork, ink pen gripped in his hands so tightly his knuckles were turning white as he mumbled angrily to himself under his breath. Everything about his body language screamed 'pissed-off.' Hermann's shoulders were taught with tension and his eyes were screwed up at the edges. It wasn't uncommon to find the man in a grumpy mood, but something about the way the Hermann was grumbling put Newt on edge. Cautiously sneaking into the lab, Newt tried to make it to his desk before the mathematician noticed him. It didn't work.
"Where have you been all morning?" Hermann practically growled, not bothering to look up from his desk. "The Marshal wanted our final reports on his desk three hours ago. I've already filed mine, but making sense of the chicken-scratch you call handwriting has been impossible!"
Newt's defenses automatically went up, unaware that hidden beneath that last sentence was Hermann's attempt to actually help the biologist along with his own paperwork. "I slept in a bit! I probably would've had this shit done hours ago if I was able to get more than two hours of sleep; but what would you know about that?"
Hermann finally raised his head to glare at him, and it was then that Newt saw the purple bags under his eyes – no doubt mirroring his own heavy lids. Newt had never seen the man look so worn out, even in the final days leading up to Operation Pitfall. Hermann's voice dropped to something almost resembling sympathy, "I am well aware of how little sleep you are getting, Newton – I can feel your thoughts through the drift every time I close my eyes."
Whatever retort Newt had got caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry as a bone, and scoffed before heading toward the back of the lab and the waiting coffee pot. A small pang of guilt rose in his chest as he saw that the pot was already brewed and waiting. Hermann never drank coffee, so he never bothered to start the pot.
"I assumed you would need it," he called over his shoulder.
Newt tossed him a grateful nod before pouring himself a steaming cup and adding more sugar than was probably healthy. The warmth of the coffee mug kept him grounded as he shuffled over to his cluttered desk. Several notes were scattered over the surface, half of them illegible even to himself. It was amazing that Hermann had managed to sort through them at all. He picked halfheartedly at one of them, looking more for something to keep his hands busy with than anything else. The normally tense silence between them was almost comfortable.
It took Newt a minute to swallow what was left of his pride before he hesitantly said, "Thanks for trying to help me out with all of...this."
He wanted to ask how much more work had to be done, but Hermann seemed to read his mind because he answered before he got the chance. "I have managed to organize what I could of your notes. However, as you know, biology is far from my field of study. It should be easy enough for you to write up your report now, though."
"Thanks, dude. You have no idea how much that helps me-"
"Please, do not even mention it," Hermann cut him off with a slight sigh, already knowing where Newt was going with that sentence.
Newt didn't know what to say after that. This whole situation was entirely foreign to him. A month ago, Hermann would be shouting about this very thing; he'd be waving his cane around and belittling him in that condescending way that seems to just come naturally to the mathematician. Since their shared drift, though, their relationship had morphed into something almost resembling an actual friendship. After years of working beside the eternally grumpy man, Newt had become accustomed to their routine. He even secretly enjoyed the shouting matches a bit – it did surprisingly great things to help his work along. Newt wasn't unhappy with the change (he had been hoping for years that Hermann would open up a bit), but it came on so suddenly that Newt was having a bit of a hard time adjusting.
He nodded his thanks again and made his way over to Hermann's desk to go through the paperwork needed to finish his final report. As he picked up the stack of papers, Newt couldn't help but notice what appeared to be a handwritten letter penned in Herman's delicate cursive. It was addressed to Vanessa. Not wanting to pry, he pretended not to see the letter and made his way back to his own desk on the other side of the lab.
"I'll just get started on this, then." Newt grinned tiredly, watching as Herman rose to his feet and grabbed the cane that was perched against his desk. "I should be able to have it done within the hour."
"I am sure the Marshall will not mind too much; after all, he is accustomed to your perpetual procrastination by now." There was the Hermann that Newt was used to. Rather than taking it as an offense, Newt couldn't help but smile. "I'm heading down to the mess hall for a quick bite. Is there anything you would like me to bring back?"
"Nah, dude, I'm good with just coffee."
"Suit yourself."
And with that, Hermann was gone. Newt couldn't tell if it was just his imagination, but the lab seemed to grow just a bit colder without the man's presence. He rubbed his tired eyes and with a low groan got to work.
Newt stood examining himself in front of the dingy mirror in the small bathroom of his dorm. The lights were dim; he was too afraid to see his reflection in proper lighting. He looked tired – more than that, he almost looked like the walking dead. His skin was pale to the point of looking sickly and his hair was damp from sweat. Yet another nightmare had woken him just moments previously. He pulled gently at his left eyelid, peering at the still hemorrhaged eyeball beneath. Hermann's had faded almost completely, but Newt's was still just as bloodshot as ever. The deep, nearly bruised bags under his eyes didn't help, either.
He reached into the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Adderall that he had bought from one of the J-Techs a few months back. At the time, he only used them to power through his all-night work sessions, but recently Newt found himself needing the pep just to get through the day. Coffee and over-the-counter stimulants just weren't cutting it anymore. The next bottle he reached for was his prescription of Lamictal which he begrudgingly took. He swallowed both pills dry before splashing water on his face and heading back into his room.
Newt's normally cluttered room looked like a tornado had run through it. Dirty clothes covered most of the floor, a few articles even thrown about on his desk chair. The desk itself was blanketed with more sloppy notes and a handful of drawings that he had sketched up what felt like a lifetime ago. His bed hadn't been redressed in days.
Picking a shirt and pair of pants off the floor that didn't smell too horribly, he quickly dressed and headed out to face the day. Or, at least, he was going to – but there was a frantic banging on his door before he got the chance to open it.
Newt opened the door to find a frazzled Tendo bracing himself lightly in the jamb. He was panting a bit, as though he had just run the whole way to Newt's room. "Jesus, brother, where have you been? The Marshal is having a mandatory meeting up in LOCCENT right now. Didn't you get the memo?"
It was clear by the biologist's face that he had no idea what Tendo was talking about. The J-Tech Chief continued, "Well, c'mon man, let's go."
Before Newt could respond, Tendo grabbed him by the arm and began to drag him down the hallway. As they rounded the corner into the Jeager Bay Newt, struggling to keep up with the lithe man's pace in his exhausted state, finally asked, "What's going on? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing too serious, I think. All I know is that it involves all of us, and apparently it's very important that we're all in attendance."
LOCCENT was packed to capacity with the remaining Shatterdome staff, all of them forming a circle around the newly appointed Marshall Hansen. Newt spotted Raleigh and Mako standing toward the front, both wearing concerned faces. Off to the side, practically hidden in the sea of people, he saw Hermann standing alone. Newt shuffled his way over to his lab partner and they shared a quick look before turning their attention to the Marshal.
"Now that everyone's finally here, we can actually get started." He began in an authoritative voice. "As I'm sure all of you know, the PPDC have declared that our job here at the Shatterdome is complete. They have cut the majority of the funding already, leaving just enough to keep the power running until we're packed up and out of here. They're only giving us another two weeks."
A rumble of groans and gasps spread about the room. Of course they all knew their time here was over, but nobody was prepared for it to happen so quickly. Hermann felt a pang of anxiety course down his spine and when he glanced at Newt he saw that the shorter man was trembling slightly.
The Marshal went on to explain the details of what needed to be accomplished before the final closing of the Shatterdome but Newt had already tuned the man out. A strange sort of static seemed to fill his ears and he felt his heart-rate speed up. By the time the speech was done, the corner of Newt's vision had begun to turn black. Years of experience had taught Newt that he was quickly heading toward a panic attack.
The room cleared out quickly, only the two remaining Jeager pilots and the heads of the K-Science Department remained. After a moment Mako walked over to Newt and Hermann, offering up a slight bow in condolence. Hermann returned the gesture but Newt just stood there, still shaking slightly and staring straight ahead as if his mind was elsewhere.
"We'll all have to go out for drinks before they ship us out," Raleigh offered up, trying to break the thick moment with a bit of humor.
"Yes, we must," Hermann answered. Still very much aware of his partner's apparent distress, he hooked his arm through Newt's loosely. "I am terribly sorry for taking leave so early, but I believe we have some work to attend to down in the lab."
Newt wasn't even aware as Hermann began to guide him gently out of the room. By the time they got halfway down the hall, Newt's breath began to come in short, panic stricken puffs. The lingering connection from the drift was causing Herman to feel a minor panic himself, so he quickly sat Newt down on a nearby bench. "Do you need me to get you some of your diazepam?"
All Newt could do was nod his head anxiously, his eyes still glossy as he struggled to focus on anything. In a pace that would seem impossible given his limp, Hermann quickly made his way down the hall and toward Newt's room.
Immediately Newt's anxiety rose tenfold. Something about having Hermann so close was comforting, and with him now gone Newt found himself slipping into a full-blown panic attack. His thoughts were racing so fast he could barely hold on to one long enough to process them. What was he going to do now? With the Jaeger Program officially done with, the crushing weight of the future that Newt had been trying so desperately to bury deep in the back of his mind was rearing its ugly head. He suddenly felt very lost. It felt as if his entire world was being ripped out from under his feet.
Thankfully, it didn't take Hermann too long to return with a single blue pill and a Styrofoam cup of water. He passed both of them to his panic-stricken partner but Newt choose to swallow the Xanax dry, pulling a face as the bitter, chalky taste ran across his tongue and down his throat. His fingers gripped his knees tightly as he waited for the medication to take affect. In an uncharacteristic display of compassion, Hermann gingerly sat down on the bench beside Newt and pried his fingers away, threading his own spindly digits through them. It was the coolness of Herman's hand against his burning one that pulled Newt out of himself and he turned toward the mathematician with a grateful half-smile. After a few short minutes, he felt the benzo begin to kick in and his entire body seemed to physically relax just a bit.
Beyond just seeing it, Hermann could mentally feel the man's anxiety begin to decrease.
"Better?" he ventured to ask. Newt, still feeling shaken up, managed a tense nod. "Let's go find you someplace a bit more quiet."
They made their way back to the lab (the only place he knew for sure would be empty), Hermann practically holding the biologist up. As soon as they walked through the door, Newt shuffled over to his desk chair and plopped limply down into it. He swiveled around lazily until he was staring up at the now dead kaiju brain that had set this whole miserable experience into motion. The organ seemed to loom over him and Newt couldn't help but feel that it was taunting him for his stupidity.
"Would...you like to talk about it?" Hermann asked tentatively.
Mesmerized, Newt dragged his eyes away from the tank. The anxiety had since faded, only to be replaced with a smoldering frustration that was quickly turning into anger. "No." he cleared his throat. "No, I'm good."
As poor as his social skills may be, Hermann knew when to not push a certain matter. Just as he turned to retreat back to his own desk, he was stopped by a strangled, near sob from Newt. Herman turned around quickly to face his partner, jarring his hip with the sudden motion. Newt was still slouched in his chair but now his eyes were welling with tears. Hermann practically gaped at the lost look in Newt's eyes.
"I'm sorry," Newt choked suddenly. It was taking all of his strength to keep from breaking down completely. "It's...it's just that I don't know what's going to happen from here. I don't know what to do. I can't just stop the research that I've dedicated my life to! There's so much more work to be done! So much more we can learn from this! Just think of the possibilities! Then there's the question of the Breach! What caused it in the first place? Can we harvest that sort of technology ourselves? Or...Or what if the Precursors decided to open up a second Breach? They did it once, it seems pretty likely to me that they'd do it again! I mean, wouldn't you?"
As he spoke, the volume of his voice began to rise and the words began to spill from his mouth a mile a minute. Then, almost like switching channels, Newt's voice dropped to a near whisper. "This has been my entire life for so many years now. I can't...I can't just let it be over. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now. Especially when...when I haven't even had the chance to really accomplish..."
Newt stopped without finishing the sentence, heaving in a hiccuped breath. The tears he had tried so hard to hide finally began to stream down his face. He scrubbed angrily at his eyes with the palms of his hands, pushing his now smudged glasses up into his hair.
Hermann could sense the despair flowing off Newt in waves, it was like being washed away in a warm current. He took a few unsure steps toward his partner, respectably leaving enough space between them while still managing to be close. "Newton, you have accomplished more in the last year than most people will in three lifetimes. And, yes, this wretched war is finally over, but that doesn't mean that you are. There is so much left to do – that you can do – to continue changing the world."
Newt looked up, his lip quirked up slightly at the corner in something almost resembling a smile. That smile didn't reach his eyes, though. Of course his life wouldn't be over. He could do just about anything he wanted at this point. Teaching job with tenure? Easy. Head a biological testing lab? No problem. Hell, he could probably kick back and spend the rest of his life drinking daiquiris on a beach somewhere. That wasn't what had Newt so concerned. It was the intrusive thoughts that invaded his mind every waking hour. It was the nightmares that haunted him in his sleep. It was the sick, disturbing thoughts and urges that he tried so desperately to ignore. He knew these thoughts were not his own, but they were yelling in such a high frequency in his mind it was getting harder and harder to focus on much else.
"That's not all it is, though, is it?" Newt hated it when Herman seemed to read his mind. It had been going on for years but had become increasingly more common since the drift.
"No, it's not," Newt confessed but refused to elaborate. How could he possibly explain that there was a voice in the back of his head telling him that this whole thing really wasn't over? That something even bigger was coming? That it was coming for him? No. Newt could never tell him about that. It's not as though the world's top physicist was going to actually listen to paranoid delusions of a madman. Newt couldn't blame him, really. He knew he was being delusional. And that made it so much worse.
They had fought back the monsters from the Breach; but how do you fight the monsters in your own mind?
Hermann let the silence between them linger for a bit. After a moment, he plucked Newt's glasses from where they rested on top of his head and wiped them off gently with the handkerchief he always seemed to keep in his pocket. Handing them back to his partner, he said, "The world, it seems, has finally been given the chance to rest. Perhaps you should as well."
Newt huffed out a heavy sigh. As if being given permission, his shoulders seemed to slump slightly as all of the stress and tension faded from his body. He rolled his neck, grimacing as the joints popped and clicked in a way that they never had before, and tried to relax into his chair. The massive weight that had been pressing down on his body for so long now seemed to lift, if only slightly. It could have been the sedative effect of the Xanax starting to kick in, but Newt felt as though for the first time in months he could finally shut his eyes in peace.
"Yeah, ya'know, I think I'm gonna try laying down for a bit," he bit back the urge to yawn.
"If the Marshall or anyone else comes looking for you, I'll make sure to come up with an adequate excuse for your absence." Hermann smiled. "Perhaps I'll tell them you're currently neck-deep in a pile of Kaiju excrement."
For the first time in days, Newt cast a genuine smile. He dragged himself dramatically from his chair. "Thanks, Herms."
As soon as Newt walked through the heavy steel door of his quarters his body collapsed boneless on the bed. He followed the cracks in his ceiling for a while, willing his heavy eyes to close; but his mind would grant him no such peace. Already, he could hear the distant rumbling from the deepest corners of the ocean. It was building steadily, drowning out everything else until it was washing over his entire being in waves. He couldn't tune it out no matter how hard he tried. The Kaiju were angry with him. He could feel the weight of their anger pressing down on his chest, suffocating and crushing. In the dim light of his room Newt could have sworn he saw something move, writhing in the shadows just out of view. There was a quick flash of luminescent blue. An eyelid rolled open in the dark, a glowing, monstrous eye glaring down at him.
Newt opened his mouth to scream; or, at least, he tried to. It took every ounce of his physical strength to try and work his jaw open but in the end he only managed a single centimeter. His whole body, everything except his eyes, was paralyzed with fear, forcing him to lock eyes with the monster in front of him. The creature seemed to be judging him, the rumbling in the room now a deafening roar. Newt's heart began to hammer as he began hyperventilating, still unable to open his mouth and get more air. This thing was going to kill him! Somehow the Precursors had re-opened the Breach and sent this ugly bastard to find him! Just like Otachi, it was going to eat him alive!
Suddenly, like a rush of freezing water, the air rushed back into Newt's lungs and he literally shot up in bed, half-bent and grasping desperately at his knees. The darkness seemed to swirl around him, his head spinning right along with it. No matter how deeply he tried to breathe he couldn't seem to draw enough air into his lungs. He rolled over and clawed at the bed for his glasses, which had been thrown from his head when he regained the ability to move. The panic was still coursing through every muscle in his body. He wasn't even aware that the room had grown quiet.
He felt the strong need to move and after finally grabbing his glasses Newt practically jumped out of the bed. He spun around several times, searching for the monster he could have sworn was there just a second ago. Grabbing his chest and willing his heart to settle, Newt flicked on the small lamp beside his bed. The room was completely empty.
After taking several shuttering breaths, he grumbled, "Jesus, what the fuck was that?"