come up for air and find you breathing
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "Hermann wakes up after a nightmare"
The dreams don't come often anymore—not to Hermann, and not to Newton, either, he knows. It's been ten years, almost, since Newton finally got free, so it makes sense.
In the past, he would have laid silently in his own bed and thought about what he'd spent his life doing—now, though, he lays in their bed, Newton curled against him.
His head is tucked just under Hermann's chin, and as he breathes, it flutters, soft and light, across the skin of Hermann's neck; Newton's nose nuzzled into the hollow of it every so often, rhythmically, chilled as Newton exhales.
Hermann smiles; soft and slow; curls his arm more securely around Newton.
There's a soft hum; Newton's eyes crack open a sliver. "Morning, Herms," he murmurs, words half-slurred, still. It takes a moment, but he shifts, finally, so he can meet Hermann's gaze. "You had a nightmare."
It's a statement, not a question—they both know the answer to it, even if Hermann would like to pretend that they don't; pretend that it never happened, that nothing's changed.
He sighs. "Yes," he admits, finally; not grudging, never grudging, but slightly on guard. After all these years, he still can't quite escape that instinctive expectation of a stinging retaliation; that showing weakness will only come back to hurt him.
No—this isn't weakness, he reminds himself. Newton cares. That's why he's here, that's why he's asking.
Newton gives a hum. "Wanna tell me about it?" he asks.
"I…" Hermann trails off. What is he supposed to say? Every time he's confronted by this, by Newton's willingness to help, the words dry up in his throat. "It wasn't a real one," he says, instead.
Not an Anteverse one, exactly, anyway, he means—but related, that goes unsaid.
"Okay," Newton says, "but it still was enough to wake you up. Talk to me, Hermann. Please?"
Hermann swallows thickly; tries to find the words.
"Them?" Newton prompts, and Hermann almost laughs. It always is, isn't it?
"Yes." He stops. "Yes, it…it was, ah, about them. Well. About you and them. About the…" he goes silent. All these years, and he still can't bring himself to say it out loud: that Newton was imprisoned by the PPDC.
The biologist knows what he means, though, and he hums. "Okay," he says, "so what was wrong?"
"It was just you and I," Hermann starts; that was the first thing he had noticed. In the memory of it, there's guards and medical staff. In the dream, it had just been him and Newton. "They were—God," he laughs. "They were taunting me."
He remembers it clearly; standing there, Newton in front of him, trapped, trying so hard, he could tell, but all that was coming of it was the Precursors' gleeful premonitions of doom.
Newton had tried, he had done everything in his power, he was trying, and he was being utterly squashed down in return. Nothing made Hermann angrier than that. And now the ones responsible for it were right here in front of him.
"I…I may have slapped you," Hermann admits.
Newton raises a brow. "Backtrack," he says, "you what?"
"I wanted to—to do something to them," Hermann says, "and I wasn't exactly thinking clearly, given it was a dream and all…"
There's a soft laugh. "Herms, no, don't," Newton says, and he's smiling crookedly. "That's—I just can't believe of all things, you woke up because you slapped me in a dream and felt guilty."
"Shut up," Hermann grumbles, but he's smiling a bit, too, now. In the light of the morning, and of Newton's smile, it's not nearly as alarming as it was when he first woke up. In fact, it seems a bit silly.
Newton's smiling, still, at him, and he says, "You're such a dork," and shifts to wrap an arm around Hermann; warm skin brushing against Hermann's own with the motion. "Have I said I love you?"
"You have now," Hermann huffs; but it's without any bite; shifts a bit to better fit in the other's embrace, and then, says, "I love you too, Newton."
"I know," Newton says, because of course he would. Hermann rolls his eyes. "Hey! You married me," Newton protests. "If you don't love me, then we might have a bit of a problem."
"I'm pretty sure we married each other," Hermann says, drily, "unless there was something I missed."
"…fair point," Newton concedes, "we married each other because we love each other very much." He punctuates the words with a kiss to Hermann's cheek, and then the tip of his nose, and then his lips.
Hermann hums. "We do, don't we," he says, when Newton breaks away.
Newton smiles; slips his hand into Hermann's, intertwines their fingers. "Yeah," he agrees, settling his head onto Hermann's shoulder, "we really do."
Hermann smiles; soft and easy; closes his eyes and lets himself drift, knowing that, with Newton here, by his side, he'll always be able to come back to himself.
