"You were convulsing!" Hannibal bellows, baring his teeth. His hand flutters towards his pocket but he halts the movement halfway; if he could stand the last three years without slitting Geizsler open from balls to tits, he can survive one more day. "Twitching like a goddamn fish out of water and you expect me to believe that you're fine!"
"Yes?" He can tell by the wince that Newt hadn't meant it to sound so meek, but it's out now and he visibly steels himself, fists curling and eyes flashing behind cracked lenses. "It's not any of your business anyways, I mean -"
"Not any of my business?" Hannibal demands. He pauses, a moment of weakness in which he despairs over this kid's lack of sense, before continuing in a an almost neutral tone that ends up coming out coldly venomous: a direct expression of how he feels. "My people have been watching you, punk, and what they're telling me ain't good. Eight days, they said, and you hardly left that table long enough to take a piss and grab more coffee. When was the last time you slept, huh? How can I trust you not to fuck up my last reserves of kaiju liver when this is the shit you're pulling?"
"I've been doing fine!" Newt retorts, bristling with indignant fury. "I've played by your rules -"
"Except when you haven't."
"- only taking what you've been giving, and I helped. I swear I helped, am still helping, I just, it's, it's," he stammers, running dirty fingers through his messy hair. Probably never seen a brush in his life, Hannibal thinks, so maybe that'll do it good. But it doesn't, and the unwashed mess stands up in ragged clumps after the impromptu combing. With this, the rumpled clothing, and the dark bags under his eyes, it's safe to say this isn't just a creative kick. "I'm a genius?" Newt tries. His fingers are twitching minutely.
"You're a moron," Hannibal says flatly, anger leeching out of him as he puts the pieces together. How to word this without pissing him off more? "Look, kid. I know nightmares when I see them, you could've just said something. To me, or my second-in-command, whoever it is this week, I dunno, they kill each other off all the time and the new one hasn't reported to me yet."
"Said something!" Newt repeats shrilly, and oh. Wrong thing to say. "To one of you? You just, just proved my point for me! This place is gang territory, a black market hotspot filled with tough-guy types like you and, what? I'm supposed to walk up to you and say, 'hey, Chau, so I just had a dream about getting torn to pieces by kaiju on an alien bug's command, can I take you aside from your illegal dealings and talk about it?' Are you trying to tell me that's how it works?"
He reminds himself again that he doesn't need his knife. "Alien bug?" he prompts. "The hell're you talking about?"
Newt squints and gives a strangled scream. Hannibal waits until he's done, forcibly reminding himself that a blade to the throat doesn't shut the kid up anymore.
"Are you kidding me?" Newt asks finally, tossing aside his notebook and pen; the two collide with a set of scalpels delicately laid out on a tray and the whole thing tumbles to the floor. Neither of them move, but Newt's eyes are about to pop out of his head.
"I'm offering my time," Hannibal points out reasonably, teeth gritted in a display of his endless irritation, "of which I don't have much, so talk."
Clearly Newt wasn't expecting this. Hannibal himself wasn't expecting it, either, but he rolls with it and takes a seat in the plush chair opposite Newt's wooden one. After a moment of awkward silence, he gives the order to sit and Newt obeys immediately.
"I uh, are you sure?" the younger man asks cautiously. He's trying not to fidget, but the nervous tension borne of caffeinated exhaustion gives life to tapping heels all the same. Normally Hannibal gets satisfaction from making others squirm, but it was never the same with his little pet scientist.
"I could just kick you out and make it easier on myself," Chau says lightly.
"Right," Newt agrees, "and that would suck. For both of us, cuz y'know, you've got the kaiju parts and I've got the kaiju smarts so -"
"Nightmares," Hannibal reminds him, and he can see Newt latch onto the hint of annoyance.
"Yeah. Uh." Newt swallows, throat clicking audibly. "Are we really doing this? Yes?" he adds at Hannibal's scowl. "Yes okay, we're doing this, that's cool."
"The point."
"Well it's not that big a deal?" he says, awkwardly. His hand goes up to the cuff of his rolled-up sleeves: a nervous habit, maybe, considering the various kaiju-reminiscient colors staining the fabric there. Hannibal raises an eyebrow and he coughs. "It was uh, the kaiju. I got a look at how they're made," he explains, "when I drifted with Otachi's baby. Which, did she ever get a name?"
"Yeah," Hannibal says, "Eguana."
"That's stupid," Newt replies automatically. "They couldn't have picked something cuter? Plus, you know, iguanas don't have wings so okay, uh, the point.
"Kaiju aren't really born, like Otachi's baby. They're built, constructed with parts of other dead kaiju. The masters, the guys in charge, they sort of pit them against each other and whichever one comes out on top gets locked in a cage until they want to send it through a Breach. The other guy, uh, if it's still in big enough pieces gets, recycled? So the masters gather up the chunks and sew them on to new kaiju.
"It's horrific, seriously, and I keep seeing it, except it's people I know being built out of other people and," he swallows, stares at the floor. "Humans weren't made to do that, y'know? Normally it'd be kind of a cool concept, all frankenstein, but seeing it is different. Being a part of it's worse, and I'm the one who's stitching these monsters back together, and the worst part?" He giggles, on the edge of hysteria. "The worst part is I don't, I don't even care about these guys! I get irritated, when one dies, because it wasn't strong enough, and then I collect it and take out my frustration on the new one I'm putting together and it's screaming but I - and I'm getting blood everywhere but it doesn't matter and it's your face, or Mako's, and I realize I've got Hermann's arm in my hands, still holding his cane and - shit!" Blood spatters the desk and Hannibal looks up to see Newt's left hand fly up to his nose while the other blindly scrabbles across the desk in search of the kerchief next to his pinky. Eventually he gets it up his nostril, showing off the other brown splotches of old bloodstains. Clearly, this has happened before, at this desk. Probably within the last eight days.
Thus, Hannibal thinks, the coffee and desperation.
"Look, kid," and Newt's head pops up, his quiet cursing coming to an abrupt halt, "this seems to be taking a lot outta you." He waits for Newt's cautious nod before continuing, "I think you need a break."
"A break?" the scientist squeaks, alarmed. "Nonono, I can totally handle this, don't fire me or throw me in a ditch or whatever it is you do -"
"No one's going to throw you anywhere," Hannibal says, exasperated, "but you need to back up a few steps. You're obsessing. Over dead monsters. I'm thinking maybe all this close up examination is too much. No one ever looked you over after the Breach closed, did they?"
"No," Newt says miserably, "and Hermann left with his wife as soon as he could."
"You're not still ghost drifting with him?" Hannibal checks. "Okay. Take a week and go visit him. Or not, take a trip to Canada. See the Statue of Liberty, go play poker or - something." He leans back, waving a dismissive hand. "Something that has nothing to do with kaiju, seven days. Come back with your head on straight, got it?"
"But my work," Newt tries to protest, only to fall silent when Hannibal tips his glasses down to glare. "Right," he says miserably. "I'll just, pack a bag and find a place to stay."
Now Hannibal takes out his knife, flicking it open and stabbing straight through a corner of Newt's notepad before the kid can pick it up. He takes immense satisfaction in the unhappy noise that results. "No kaiju," he growls.
"Fine."
At least he listens better, he thinks, watching Newt stagger off to the door. He doesn't actually believe he'll be able to stay away from kaiju long enough to make a difference and maybe help ease some of the stress, take the edge off those creepy nightmares the way he wants.
Maybe this is my fault, he reflects. After all, who dropped him in front of a pile of fresh kaiju the day after the Breach closed?
It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, though? The last thing he wants is to be there for the kid's final breakdown.
**8**
It's almost comforting, almost mindless, going through the motions of getting on the PPDC base. The Hong Kong shatterdome is probably not what Chau had in mind when he said to take a vacation, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go. Newt's not sure where the magical pay he's supposedly getting is stored, but it must be on too high a shelf for him to reach because his personal account is depressingly empty. It's not like he got paid those last few years before the Breach closed.
The security guard hands him his old ID, which he takes with a nod of thanks. Hey look, it's still got the little alligator clip he attached so he could pin it on a belt loop all those years ago. Hermann had always said it was "impractical, especially in our line of work. Have some sense, Newton."
He thinks he might miss the verbal abuse. Maybe Hermann does, too. Or maybe not. Hey, calling his old friend (colleague?) sounds like a great idea... maybe when he gets settled in his old room.
Without all the people and tech, the shatterdome seems cavernous, haunted. Empty, except not, because every dozen feet he recalls a memory and it becomes stifling.
Newt hadn't realized it'd be so hard to walk these halls again.
The few people he passes don't talk to him; most of them are strangers, and the rest never liked them. He tosses out quips and bright greetings, but he doesn't blame them. He wouldn't talk to him either.
Newt's room is just as he left it: half torn posters, shredded books, bloody sheets from two AM nightmares. Nobody bothered to clean up, he observes. Once he was gone, that was that and the 'dome washed its hands of him.
Not that they have much in the way of cleaning staff anymore. The PPDC is, on record, dead. Obsolete, since the Breach closed. Herc Hansen dragged his feet for two years and finally ran out of time to stall. The last of the Jaeger parts are being prepped for shipment to Oblivion Bay, and all the workers are being sent home. The last shatterdome, meeting its end.
Why is Newt here, again? Oh yeah, because he's homeless. Thanks, Hannibal! Was his dismissal just that, a dismissal? A 'we don't need you anymore and we don't feel like cleaning up the paper trail a body makes'? He and Chau were never close, but he thought he ranked higher than the boot.
Tendo still likes him, maybe. Yeah, he'll go see Tendo.
**8**
Ooookay, no Tendo. The man's got security guards blocking the doors to the control room while he takes apart the Breach equipment.
"'S'top secret," one of them had said gravely, hefting his ancient M16 rifle and glowering.
"Excuse you, helped design that!" Newt protested. "What the hell do you have that I'm not familiar with?"
"Sorry," the other guy said. "Marshall's orders. You been to see him yet?"
"Does he at least still have that stupid haircut?" he asked, but they didn't feel like answering. They didn't feel like playing Hermann, either, his playful jibes and attempts at conversation astonishingly like talking to the closed door behind them.
So Newt went to Hansen, who seemed surprised that he'd come back.
"Good to see you again, doctor," the Marshall said. "You just missed the final packout from the lab. Never thought I'd see the place without all the guts and chalk." He sort of chuckled at his own joke, but sobered quickly. Newt's own gut twisted at the thought of bare walls and clean blackboards. One more place he won't be visiting. "Listen, I can give you a week here, provided you help us figure out how to properly decommission some of the consoles in LOCCENT. The whole 'dome closes in eleven days, though, so don't get cozy."
Now he's back in his quarters, staring at the aged tape on the ceiling, clinging haplessly to the metal surface as paper shreds weigh it down. He kind of misses that poster.
"God," he says out loud, "this is depressing." He pauses, thinking over his own statement. "Hermie wouldn't want to hear about this." Also true. "He's got a kid, anyways." Very true.
Okay, so he won't call Hermann.
"You're on vacation, Geizsler," he scolds himself. "Get some rest, find someone to chat with tomorrow. Maybe those assholes guarding the LOCCENT will let you in." Or maybe they won't. "It's worth a shot."
Get some rest. t.
He's got sleeping pills, maybe.
**8**
He hadn't seen the outside of the cage in a long while. The sun casts a strange shadow over the barren waste that is their newest accommodation: a useless planet, he knows, with exhausted resources. It won't support the Masters much longer. He supposes that's why he was brought back to the surface, but it's been too long; his flesh is weak, his armor thin, and his overgrown claws make staggering over the rocky surface difficult. The sun glares, rays reflecting off the dying particles of useless soldiers into his eyes. He is no longer useful, unable to fight and the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He's rotted away in the caves the Masters stored him and his comrades in, and they're being removed to clear space for newer kaiju. Better weapons. He is bitter.
Even knowing this, he keeps his head lowered and gaze locked on the ragged tips of his claws. It wouldn't do to cause a scene, have the dishonor of being the first to die.
"Hear me." The Ambassador speaks and they all hold their breath, completely silent as they wait. His head is bowed low, tip of his nose tracing a line in the dirt so he cannot see, but he dares not lift his head. There is a shuffling sound, the Master's stilted legs digging furrows as it balances itself on the rocky outcropping above them. "You are all weak."
Though he is well aware, the words still sting. He wasn't made to be weak.
"We have obtained the means to defeat our newest enemy," the Ambassador announces. "They were so foolish as to leave their world's secrets with us. However, they left only small pieces. Your brethren will be receiving changes in the form of this new technology. Some of you will join them. In the mean time," and the pause here is worrying, "many of you will re-establish who deserves these changes."
These words bring a cold rush of fear to everyone in the crowd - he can feel it in the stiffening of spines, the grate of contracting claws on stone, the wire-taut tension in the air. Many of them will lose their lives before the new sun rises. Perhaps he will be one of them.
"One of you," it continues, "will play fetch for your Masters. You." The weight of the Master's decision is that of the stares all around on his back. He keeps his tail still, his limbs stiff.
"I, Master?" he asks after a quiet moment. His voice is grating dust, terrible to listen to after the period of disuse.
"You," the Ambassador confirms. Still he doesn't rise. "You will find more parts. Search out these, the Jaegers -" his senses flood with hivemind snapshots of glowing metal beasts, of fire and pain and vicious punch after punch after -
"Parts, kaiju," the Ambassador says. "You will leave shortly."
"Yes, Master," he says, and already he can feel the spike in energy, excitement, electric adrenaline in his veins as the Masters ensure he won't die before he gets what they want. He fidgets. A twitch of a wing, a shiver down his spine, the perk of an ear. He can't sit still, and it earns him more than a few hisses of disapproval.
When they step back, he spreads his wings and takes to the air like it's his first time.
Jaeger parts, the hivemind choruses, and it's on this that he focuses. Jaeger. Monster. Metal kaiju with human shapes and firey cannons of death.
Through the Breach, kaiju. Let the guards record your code as you fly.
It's an impossible thing in the sky, a glowing gold tear forever away and right before him, and Newt
reaches
**8**
In the LOCCENT Mission Control, the half-dissembled Breach scanner starts to beep.
**8**
So obviously, this is not another chapter of rustfic. I'm sorry about that, truly I am, but this had to come out else I'd never get around to what I'm supposed to be doing (RUSTFIC).
Uh so. This is a shitstorm in the making. Gotta thank Steeb for helping me out and confusedkayt for the SCIENCE! I borrowed lots from her and she seems okay with it. XD
anyway, so I live on reviews. My stories are built on reader feedback and I can't begin to express how much I appreciate even just a few words; if there's no response I get paranoid and stop writing because I must be doing something wrong. So, please?
