reflect
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "In the end, it comes down to the fact that Hermann hates that he can't hate him."
"You should leave," Newt hisses at him, scarlet; the image of it, of Newton's indignance boils his blood; the hand on his arm not comforting, but warning as it grips tight enough to be uncomfortable.
Hermann sets his jaw and glares at Newt. "No," he says, coldly, "I was invited to this conference as well, Doctor Geiszler, and I will not let you—bully me into leaving because you hate me."
He jerks his arm from the other's grip, ignores the way his eyes widen, something almost—
No.
It settles back into annoyance, smoothes over, a second later, into indifference. "Fine," says Newton, "fine." He drops his hand, the other coming up to muss his hair, casts Hermann one last, side-long glance, and pushes past him.
Hermann bites back the instinct to say something. Instead, he closes his eyes, draws in a breath, and runs through the contents of his presentation yet again; refuses to acknowledge the shakiness of his hand as it grips the cane, white-knuckled.
The memory of a younger Newton flashes in his mind; crow's feet as he grins, hair wild—the way he lights up when he sees Hermann, then, in that second before Hermann opened his mouth and brought crashing to the ground what was, quite possibly, his deepest and most meaningful relationship to date.
His eyes snap open; followed, moments later, by a sharp exhalation.
People around him are beginning to stare; he can feel their prying gazes; wants to, in turns, shout and rage and recoil from the attention.
He strides down the hall in the opposite direction.
It doesn't go well.
This time, Hermann's red-faced, shouting at Newton in front of a panel of colleagues—spitting words he'd never otherwise say.
Newton incenses him.
Newton, he realises later, an ocean away from him, in a terrifying moment of clarity, makes his blood race in a way no one else ever has.
Newton invigorates him.
"I'll never see him again," he says to his reflection—wonders if he's trying to convince himself of it more than just making a statement.
(I want to, he doesn't dare voice aloud.)
They're in Lima when Hermann makes a mistake—sleep deprivation and the looming knowledge that there'll be another attack and he doesn't know when,and—
The klaxon goes off; sends him crashing down from his tenuous perch on the ladder; hits his head on the concrete and sees white.
"—ann? Hermann!"
He tries to move his head, crack his eyes open and see where—who—is shaking his shoulder—
Gasps.
"Hermann!" A hand on his shoulder, now—Newton.
He grasps blindly, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the material of the biologist's shirt.
His head is pounding, exacerbated by the wail of the kaiju-alert siren, and Newton's voice barely manages to pierce through the fog descending on his mind.
"Hermann," Newton says, again, once he finally manages to open his eyes; his gaze frighteningly soft. "Hermann, can you stand? We gotta get you to medical—"
"N—no," Hermann manages, "I'm not leaving. I don't want you to leave either. My work—" he stops, nearly knocked unconscious by a bolt of pain in his leg. "My work—Newton, I'm not—my calculations aren't—"
"I don't care," Newton snaps. "Hermann, you just fell—"
"This is my job! People might die, Geiszler, do you understand that? It's not up to me!—"
"I. Don't. Care!"
The force of the words stuns Hermann into silence for a moment—not long, but just long enough that Newton scoops him up, inelegant, ignoring Hermann's weak protests.
The next day, Hermann, still confined to a bed in medical, demands a damage report.
He doesn't speak to Newton for three weeks.
He understands why Newton did it seven years later when he walks in on him seizing on the floor of the Hong Kong Shatterdome
