still let everyone down
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "Their disastrous first meeting is a large part of why Hermann panics when he wakes up alone in the medical bay."
"Good bye," Newton hisses at him, nostrils flaring.
"Newt—!"
"Shut up," Newt shouts, fists clenched, and stomps away.
This feels like a nightmare; it could be, for all intents and purposes, but he's not sleeping; he's standing wide awake, shirt soaked with freezing water and stuck to his skin, left alone in the hallway, Newton's footsteps retreating already; Hermann's illusions of a pleasant friendship shattered irreparably.
Then the footsteps stop; become louder; Hermann, hopeful, raises his head to see the biologist.
"Actually," he says, glaring at Hermann, hands shoved into his pockets, "I do have something to say to you—fuck you, Hermann Gottlieb," and with that, he spins on his heel and disappears down the hallway again.
Hermann sags, shoulders slumping; hand clenching his cane, he blinks rapidly, vision blurring; squares his jaw.
He will not cry. He will not—
He pulls his glasses off angrily and drags his hand across his eyes; lips trembling, pursed tight against the onslaught of emotion, and his teeth ache. He shoves his glasses back on, the nails of his free hand digging into his palm, the dim lighting suddenly too bright; the silence pressing in on him—
Five.
He unclenches his fist; forces his muscles to go lax, loosens his grip on his cane.
Walks.
He has other business to attend to.
The rest of the conference passes in a slurry of motion and sound that Hermann can barely take in, let alone process; suddenly unbearably fatigued.
At the end of it, he's left sitting in the hotel room, staring blankly at the wall, silent as emotions swirl like a hurricane within him, the pressure building rapidly, and all he can think is: Newton.
"I'm sorry," he says to thin air, because he has to, has to apologise but Newton cannot hear, but he has to anyway. "I didn't mean what I said…I—" he cuts himself off; an unexpected shudder wracking his frame, and he folds in on himself. "God, Newton, I'm so sorry—"
His eyes slip shut; cheeks wet already; he hasn't much time left.
He breathes; eyes flicker open.
He begins to pack his bags.
His phone buzzes, unexpected.
One missed call: Newton Geiszler.
His heart leaps into his throat, jackrabbiting, and he presses call back, fingers shaky; it rings for a mere half-beat before it drops.
Hermann lets out an uneven breath.
Life goes on.
They confine him to the medical ward, years later; Newton, somehow, escapes before himself; despite subconjunctival haemorrhaging and two Drifts, the biologist is deemed more fit than Hermann.
He doesn't find out any of this until later.
"Newton?" he croaks, eyes squeezed tight; a headache pressing behind his eyes.
"Doctor Geiszler's gone." Hermann's eyes snap open, and he stares at the nurse; shocked.
"Excuse me—?" but he stops there; knows it's true; Newton's gone.
Tendo is the first person he runs into once he gets out; the man's hair wild, but his eyes shinning—both joy and sadness pained there. When he catches sight of Hermann, he frowns. "Why aren't you happy?" he asks. "We did it!"
"Newton's gone," Hermann says, numbly.
"Newton—"
"Newton's gone," Hermann repeats. "And that's his right, of course, I just—" he swallows. "I don't understand why it was a stranger who told me he had left," he confesses; quiet. "Why—" he stops; unable to form words.
Tendo laughs, suddenly; sending a flash of embarrassment through Hermann, and he draws himself up. "I—"
"Left?" Tendo says, grinning slightly, "nah, brother he went downtown to buy you some tea!" he slaps Hermann's shoulder; too hard; he stumbles, gaping.
"What?" he croaks.
"Yeah!" Tendo nods, smiling still. "He said he wanted to make you a cup for when you woke up."
"…oh," Hermann says. "Oh!" And he beams.
"Hey man," Newton greets him, and holds out a steaming mug of tea. "How're you holding up?"
"Quite well," Hermann replies, and relishes the warmth, both of the cup, and of the biologist, who sits down next to him, leaning into his tide. His gaze catches on Newton's eye, and the other notices; grins.
"Cool, right?" he asks, pulling his lower eyelid down to put the red ring on display. "You've got a matching one, too."
"…'cool' is not the adjective I would've used to describe it," Hermann says. "But, well, I suppose…"
"We saved the fucking world!" Newton completes, bumping Hermann's shoulder. The tea sloshes slightly, but it doesn't spill, so Hermann just scowls at the biologist, but it's without bite, and they both know it.
He sighs, lips turning up into a reluctant smile. "We did indeed, didn't we?"
"We did!" Newt shouts, and then, more quietly, "we did."
We did it, Hermann thinks; happily. His breathing falls in line with Newt's. For a moment, everything is serene; then—
"Hey, man," Newt says, "what if we clone a kaiju to keep as a pet—?"
"Newton!"
