in which the precursors' plan is foiled, mostly by accident
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: what it says on the tin
"…what," Newt says, flatly.
Across from him, Hermann gives a slight grimace. "Well," he says, "I'm not exactly sure what's happening here exactly either."
"I definitely didn't hire you," Newt says. "Dude, you're a physicist, not a private detective."
"Well," Hermann's gaze flicks away from him for a moment. "I've…had to turn to more unorthodox means for funding, as of late—the PPDC hardly appreciates the importance of my work, even now."
Irritation briefly flashes across his expression before it smooths out again.
Newt huffs a breath. "Private detective?"
"I always did have a love for Conan-Doyle's Holmes," Hermann says. "Regardless, my point is, you did, indeed, hire me, and I'm afraid that I've…uncovered some rather disturbing issues."
Holmes, Newt thinks, with a silent hysteria. God. Here Hermann is, after three years, and acting like they barely know each other. Well—that's hardly unfair; Newt's not sure if they've ever really known each other.
The point is—
The point is—
"This is batshit insane," Newt says, flatly. "I don't even remember hiring you! And anyway, why would I need a private detective?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Hermann replies, "however, you contacted me ten days ago through email, and asked me to take a look into your person; while it is certainly…" he pauses. "Unorthodox for clients to ask me to investigate themselves, the—well, frankly, the monetary reward was…"
"Hefty?" Newt guesses.
Hermann nods. "Indeed."
Newt sighs. "Okay, then," he says, "hit me, dude."
Hermann pulls out a file-folder. "Here is what I have found," he says. "See—here," he pulls out a paper and slides it over to Newt. "At first, I found nothing—well, nothing out of the ordinary, that is. You are, in all appearances, nothing more than a pompous, reckless—"
"—hey—!"
"if, admittedly, brilliant," and here, he stops; makes a vaguely pained expression before continuing, "employee of Shao Industries, specifically, its head of Research and Development Department."
"I'm sensing a but here," Newt says.
Hermann's fingers drum the table between them; a nervous habit he must have developed since Newt left, probably Drift-bleed induced. "To put it bluntly, Newton, I'm afraid you've been dealing with the black market."
"I've been what?" Newt chokes.
"I would have expected you'd be aware of the fact," Hermann says drily. "In addition to that, you have also been gathering materials for what I believe to be an attempt to clone kaiju."
"I've been what!?"
"I'm frankly not surprised," Hermann says, "I always did think you were a bit of a—"
"Kaiju groupie?" Newt offers, and sags in his chair. "Yeah, dude, but like—not like that." At least, not anymore, he doesn't add. "If I've been…secretly trying to clone kaiju or whatever, though, I don't remember it at all."
Hermann rises from his seat. "I thought not," he says, and though he's turned away from Newt, the relief slips into his tone; Newt doesn't need to see his face to know.
"I think I need a drink," Newt says; faintly, "preferably something with a shit-ton of caffeine."
When Hermann turns around, there's a faint hint of a smile on his face. "There's a place down the street," he says, "I'll pay."
A strong cup of coffee later, Newt finds himself and Hermann sitting in the lobby of the new and improved Shatterdome.
"This is crazy," he says, "you know this is crazy, right?"
"We saved the world on crazy," Hermann says, "crazy is hardly something we're strangers to."
"Jesus," Newt says; blows out a sharp exhale. "Okay. Hah. Fuck. Okay, yeah, I'll do it. "Let's…let's get this over with."
Hermann nods. "Alright," he says, "I shall request the paperwork."
"Time to go see what the fuck is going on," Newt murmurs, "PPDC medbay, here I come."
"That's odd," the doctor says; with a frown, "you're…you're definitely human, but those brain-scans…something's really not human in your brain."
"Kaiju Drift?" Newt suggests, leaning over her shoulder to take a look, "I mean, that was almost five years ago, but—"
She shakes her head. "No—far more recent than that; residual effects from that Drift would have abated much more than—this. This is recent, Doctor Geiszler—two weeks, maybe three."
Hermann pales. "Are you saying he's Drifted that recently?" he asks.
"I'm afraid that's the only option," the doctor says, grimly. "Kaiju-human Drifting should be impossible, given that the last kaiju were destroyed shortly after the War, but…" she trails off.
Newt's eyes widen. "Hermann," he says, "you said something about cloning kaiju—are you sure that I was only trying? What if I succeeded?"
"Oh dear," Hermann says, and sits heavily in one of the chairs. "Oh dear—that is very, very possible, I'm afraid."
"Fuck," Newt says, succinctly.
"A kaiju brain?" Newt practically screeches, when the PPDC go through his apartment. "I've been living there—how the hell would I not have noticed that!?"
Hermann opens his bag. "For that," he says, grimly, "I may have an explanation. Audio logs—recordings, that is, of the Drifts you engaged in; there's…" he hesitates. "Well." He presses play.
Finally…a hosssssssst, voices hiss, and Newt flinches back at the harsh sounds. That's—that's his voice, at the start, and then—
"Precursors," Hermann says. "They're not strong, not very, at least; not yet, but they've got enough hold on you to block out your memories of the Drifts."
"Oh, lovely!" Newt says, and hopes he doesn't sound hysterical. He probably does anyway. "Just what I wanted—alien parasites in my head! And genocidal conquerors to boot!"
Hermann gives a tight smile. "The good news," he says, "is that medical believes that simply isolating you—that is, not allowing another Drift to occur—will be enough to weaken, and then fully destroy, their hold in your mind."
"Well that's good to know," Newt says, and closes his eyes with a sigh. "Fuck," he says, emphatically. "I…I must've found out, or something, and sent you an email before they mindwiped me. I…you could've ignored it. I mean I'm grateful you didn't, but…why didn't you?"
"Mindwiped is hardly an accurate term," Hermann points out.
"Shut up, asshole, and answer the question," Newt snaps; without much bite.
"I…" Hermann hesitates. "As I said, my funding…and, well, it was six figures…"
Newt's heart sinks. "Oh," he says, and musters up a feeble grin, "yeah, just—just business."
Hermann's lips tighten. "And…" he sighs. "I still considered you a dear friend, Newton—I still do. I thought…perhaps it would allow me to see you again."
For a moment; silence. Then Newt's breaths fill the air; the side effect, he thinks, of shock; the acute attunement to one's own bodily functions. "Oh," Newt says, after a moment. "I…"
"You needn't feel like you need to respond," Hermann reassures. "I'm—I'm aware that that is a loaded confession on my part."
"No, no, Hermann, I…" he swallows thickly. "I didn't…know you still felt that way. I thought I was the only one…"
"I'm glad of that," Hermann says, "truly; however, considering the lateness of the hour, perhaps we ought to resume this conversation at a later point."
"Yeah, maybe," Newt says. "It's like…late? Isn't it?"
"Past eleven," Hermann confirms. "What do you say?"
"…you're right," Newt says, "as much as I hate to admit it. Once we get this shit solved, you and I should have a long conversation."
"Good," says Hermann, "over dinner, perhaps?"
"Dinner," Newt says, "that sounds great."
