can't dwell on the past if you can't remember it
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "one moment, Newt's about to Drift with the piece of Mutavore's secondary brain; the next, he's restrained and his glasses are gone"
"Hermann," he says, and then stops to brush a strand of hair out of his face—he needs, like, god, he needs a haircut but the world is literally going to shit and that is, yeah, that's the last of his concerns right now. Right now his main concerns are, a. prove he's right (he totally is, man, he's a genius, he's been studying the kaiju over a decade), and b. become a rockstar.
Anyway.
"Hermann," Newt says; again; gripping the tape tightly in his hand, "if you're listening to this, that means I'm alive, and I was, uh, I was right, so I won—" If Hermann were here, he'd probably take Newt by the shoulders and shake him and scream Newton this is not a game you fool! but, like. Hermann's not here. Which. Which is sort of the point, right, that's why he's doing this.
He clears his throat. "Anyway. Um, yeah, I just wanted to say…it's all your fault, you know, you drove me to this. So, yeah. I was right. I'm calling it, by the way, man, I'm right. Or…or I'm dead. In which case, hah, I…won. Sort of."
Don't think about that, Newt, he hisses to himself, oh my god you idiot. Whatever. This isn't the, like, the ideal circumstances, he hasn't slept in like a day and a half, he hasn't eaten in fifteen hours, whatever, man, it's for, it's for science. He nods to himself; clicks the tape off; still holds it, though.
The control is cold against his hand—probably 'cause it's, you know, metal.
Newt licks his lips; suddenly feeling a bit parched. God—parched. Hermann's grown on him. Well—that's not surprising, but.
In a fit of—something, he clicks the recorder back on again.
"Initiating neural handshake in…five…four…three…two…one—"
"Newton? Newton?!"
Newt blinks; or tries to, anyway. He's not, like, exactly in control of his body. Seizure? No—well, maybe, but he doesn't think so given he doesn't seem to be slamming around.
Oh. He's strapped down. Okay, well that…that explains that.
That also raises, like, a whole new slew of questions—how long has he been out? Why is he strapped to a…a medical bed? Also, why is Hermann brushing hair away from his face—he assumes it's Hermann, anyway; he's not wearing his glasses. They must have fallen off after…the Drift…
He tries to bolt upright, which, right, restraints. Oops.
"Can I get a pair of glasses?" he croaks. It sounds like it's the first thing he's said in years, what the fuck. He licks his lips; squints really hard. "Uh. Hermann? That's, um, that's you, right, Herms?"
"Yes," says Hermann; and the word is a little strained, like he's holding back tears. Newt gets the distinct impression he's not looking at him.
Newt frowns. "Herms…?" he says, tentatively. The other doesn't protest the nickname—jesus, how long was he out for? Was he in a…a coma, or something? "You okay there, man?"
"Here," says Hermann; undoes the restraints, one by one; he passes him—oh, yeah, right. Glasses. Newt slips them on; frowns a bit. They're definitely not his—the prescription is a bit off. Still, it's better than nothing.
There's a beat; and then Newt looks at—
"Hermann?" he asks; or squeaks, more, because, um, yeah, okay, that's definitely Hermann, but he's got, like, fucking—grey at his temples, which, like, is a good look for him, but, um, "what the fuck?"
Hermann sighs. "I knew this would happen," he murmurs, "I just didn't expect…" he trails off.
"Dude," Newt says, trying his very, very, very hardest not to freak the fuck out, "what—what the fuck?"
Hermann's gaze meets his for a brief second before darting down. "I…Newton," he says, "how much—what do you remember?"
"The—being in the lab," Newt snaps, "look, man, I get that Drifting with the kaiju brain wasn't the best idea, but what the fuck is going on?"
"Ah," Hermann says; like that explains anything. "Well," he says; and then stops; "well," he says, again, "the…yes, I suppose it all did begin with the Drift. You, ah, you…Drifted, and then, when that didn't give you enough information, you—we—Drifted again…" he trails off.
Newt wants to ask—a lot of things, but he gets the general vibe that Hermann's not probably really in the best mood to answer most of them, right now; so instead he just stays quiet and waits for the physicist to continue.
After a few moments, he does. "You were taken over," he says; near-whispering, now, and his lip twitches like he's not far from crying. "By the kaiju masters—by the Precursors. They…they tried to take over the world again, ah…two years ago? It's been…it's been twelve years since you first Drifted with the kaiju—"
"Right," Newt says; a bit faintly, and lays back down.
Neither of them say anything. Newt's not sure he know what to say, at this point—hell, he knows what Hermann's told him is only the condensed version of the story, and, god, he doesn't…he doesn't know if he wants to hear the full version right now.
Twelve years…he's lost twelve fucking years.
The thought rises something hot and ugly in his chest; makes tears prick, angry, at the corners of his eyes. "You didn't notice?" he hisses; sharply—probably not very fair towards Hermann, but—fuck! He just said, he just said he Drifted with Newt—he should have, should have noticed!
Hermann flinches. "No," he says; softly. "No—God. Well. Yes, I did, but I didn't think…I thought you were just—" he licks his lips; looks away. "Growing responsible," he murmurs; and there's an edge to it—he's thought this over, before, Newt realises with a start. He's had this conversation with himself before. "I…Newton, I'm so, so sorry. It doesn't—it doesn't change things, I know, but I—I want you to know that I'm sorry."
"Yeah," Newt says; quietly. "It doesn't—it doesn't change anything, but I…I appreciate it."
Hermann looks up; worries his lip, for a moment, and then reaches out, hand hovering over Newt's shoulder. Newt nods.
"I'm sorry," Hermann says; again, and pulls him up into a hug; arms tightening around him. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry…I love you, I'm sorry, Newton, I'm sorry…"
"I know," Newt whispers; and closes his eyes. "I…I know." He does; he realises, the thought easing the tightness in his chest a bit. Hermann does feel sorry, and he does love him. Newt does, too—feel sorry, and love Hermann. "Just—just stay. Please?"
"Of course," Hermann says; and grips him tighter.
