maskormenacelogs | [Closed]

The taxi deposited them in front of a small hotel and Newt collected what they still had with them, paid, then offered Hermann his arm to help him out of the car. They managed to stumble into the lobby, register for a single-bed room (who really cared at this point? All they needed was a bed. Their luggage was at their hotel in De Chima, but they wouldn't go back until the gas and chaos had cleared) and then find their way to the room.

Newt helped Hermann through the door, kicking it closed with the intention to lock it later. He eased his lab partner down onto the edge of the bed, awkwardly accounting for the height difference. "Be right back. Don't sleep on me yet, buddy." And disappeared into the bathroom.

He returned a moment later with a cup full of warm water and a washcloth and sat down beside Hermann.

"It's an imperfect solution," he admitted, wiping the washcloth over Hermann's face, taking particular care and attention around the hollows of his eyes and around his mouth and nostrils, then wiped down his hands, "but I don't know if the gas leaves a residue and I don't want to find out the hard way."

Hermann was moderately aware of how drunk he must look, practically hanging off of Newton while his legs still fought his control. It wasn't too far off, only he was more paranoid and disabled than drunk. The fresh air had helped some, and Newton was able to reaffirm reality whenever his own began to waver.

He sat heavily on the bed and nodded an affirmative despite how much he really wanted to just fall back and sleep, wake up and have the entire night feel like something that happened in a dream. Not that it didn't quite feel that way already. His hands shook, and he curled them into fists against the bed sheets, fought the irrational urge to turn around and make sure he couldn't see a Kaiju out the window somewhere.

Newton returned before paranoia forced him into turning around, and grunted something of a protest against the cloth on his face.

"I can.. do this myself, Newton." But it was too late by then, and he simply sighed and shrugged out of his suit jacket- the most he could really do without a change of clothes. Hermann inspected the grass stains with a frown, certain his trousers had hardly fared any better. "We'll need new clothes before we go back to De Chima tomorrow."

It was far from a priority in the grand scheme of things, but he didn't really want to think of any of that right then, either.

"I know." He sighed at the protest but finished his task. "Dude, no one is going to care that you look like you lived through the apocalypse. They all did too." At least they lived, thanks entirely to Qubit and Captain Shield. Newt wasn't much help at all. "You're absolutely entitled to look like Hell tomorrow." He scooted off the bed to crouch down and untie Hermann's shoes, fumbling with the laces as his hands refused to hold steady and ignoring any further protests, then he slipped the Oxfords off before untying his boots and arranging both pairs at the end of the bed.

Newt cast a glance up at Hermann and then looked away, unsure what to do, what comforts to offer, if any were even welcome. He loosened his own tie. "You need a glass of water?"

The apocalypse. He'd hardly gotten over the first one.

Hermann stared down at Newton, biting the inside of his cheek against voicing any other indignities. He'd been subjected to a number of them tonight by necessity, his pride a worn down thing by now, and Newton wasn't likely to listen anyway. But by god, he hated his own uselessness.

By the time Newton was standing, all he felt was tired. "I'm fine." He wasn't. "I just want to sleep."

Newt nodded, having expected as much. Hermann looked beat and frankly, Newt was as drained as if he had Drifted with the Kaiju again. All he wanted to do was sleep, too. He went to lock the door and on his return, set Hermann's glasses on the bedside table, then made a trip to the bathroom to wash his own face, shutting the door behind him.

When are we going to cut a break? Why do we always have to keep running, keep fighting? Is it always going to be like this? Why can't we just LIVE?

Leaning over the sink, toweling off his face, he took a few deep, wavering breathes into the soft terrycloth, muffling sobs. He could still hear them, the screams, the terror--humans, Precursors--his mind imprinted with Hermann's horror at being unable to use his legs, their hero's grim determination, Qubit's now-familiar face haunted, the helplessness of feeling small... There weren't any Kaiju, but there didn't have to be. The memory of the reality was as frightening as the hallucinations.

He huddled down on the floor, curling against the cabinets under the sink, knees pulled up to his chest. Newt hoped Hermann would go to sleep and leave him to this. Neither of them were in any condition to talk right now, not that they would likely speak on this anyway. They hadn't even talked about their Drift yet, or about Newt's solo Drift, even. What was there even to discuss. Just need a moment, he told himself, trying to steady his breathing into the towel. Just pull it together, Geiszler.

Hermann stared after his partner, watched him close the door and waited for the run of the faucet to strip down to his boxer shorts. He folded the trousers and set them aside, then levered himself up and under the covers with some difficulty. His cane was set carefully against the nightstand in easy reach, and he decided Newton could get the light when he came back in rather than stumble through the dark.

But despite his exhaustion, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, distress permeating the sort of numbness that he'd settled into. Newton, he thought without feeling, like some simple fact, his eyes drawn to the bathroom door and hand paused on the corner of the blanket in a half-formed thought to get back up again. But Hermann slumped back down to the mattress and closed his eyes in an effort to shut it out. He was too tired for this, didn't have the strength to go to Newton even if he wished to, and turned over toward the window in a final concession to the prickle of paranoia.

No Kaiju.

Resigned to the inability to sleep until Newton returned, Hermann reached across their connection in hopes of imparting some measure of steadiness, even if it came across more weary than comforting.

We're alive. To say nothing of those that weren’t of course, but that could all come later.

After a moment, he raised his eyes to look at the door, surprised in that instant to not find Hermann standing there when it felt like a very weary presence was nearby, like Hermann was sighing at him, but almost smiling...like he was just there as he always was. It was another minute or two before he finally plied himself from the floor, unsteady but thinking Yeah, we made it. Newt sniffled and blew his nose, deposited the towel into a corner, and exited back into the main room.

The light was still on. He bit his lip and looked away from the bed, tugging off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, draping them both over the bedside lamp, doing everything to not acknowledge what happened in the bathroom, even if it was conveyed through their connection. Really didn't need to think about that, or make Hermann think about that. Ever. He shut off the light and unbuttoned his skinny jeans, dropping them off at the end of the bed without care before he climbed in under the covers, glasses set aside for safe keeping.

"...Night, Hermann."

Newton returned looking a little worse for wear, but they'd both had an emotional night. Hermann relaxed into the mattress, closing his eyes while Newton undressed and decided not to think about how easy it was to settle in together. The light switched off behind his eyelids and he hummed an affirmative on the breath of a sigh.

"Good night, Newton."

When he awoke, there was a blissful moment of ignorance wherein nothing had happened and the sun peeking through the window promised nothing more than a pleasant day. No nightmares had followed him in sleep, but the memories more than made up for it. Terror, helplessness, the certainty that they were going to die. Hermann swallowed it down and forced himself into stillness, to relax and breathe and remind himself that it was over and they'd survived.

Next to him, Newton was still asleep, and he was grateful for it, because his stomach turned despite his best efforts and the flight to the bathroom was anything but dignified or painless. Once there, he threw up whatever it was he'd eaten the night before and hovered there for several minutes. With no toothbrush to speak of, he rinsed his mouth out the old fashioned way and spared a contemplative look at the shower- or tub, rather.

A bath it was.

He woke up with fading nauseousness.

The only comfort to finding Hermann not in bed the next morning was the clear sounds of running water that indicated a bath and the connection mostly free of immediate distress. Newt rolled over, drawing back the covers, automatically searching out his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He climbed out of bed and turned on the little television on low volume. The news station was covering the events last night, of course. The reports were incomplete, the tally of injuries and possible deaths uncertain, but it looked like they had escaped just before the ceiling came down.

It only frustrated and scared him more, like the Trespasser report in 2013, but unlike with Trespasser, Newt was not riveted--he had been there last night, he had seen it first hand, and reliving it through the sensationalist and repetitive news offered no satisfaction for his morbid curiosity or relief for his utter helplessness. They couldn't yet tell him what he needed to know, and some of those answers were things he would have to find himself anyway. Newt promptly turned it off, opting instead to burn his restless morning energy pacing, straightening his clothes, making the bed, fluffing the pillows they probably wouldn't sleep on again.

Fuck. They came so close to not being alive. There were so many things he should have done differently, so many things he wanted to do NOW to prevent it from happening again--like how not to be helpless, how to get Hermann out without relying on help, and to slowly dismember the people who did this...

Eventually his pacing put him in front of the bathroom door, and Newt turned the knob, just enough to crack the door open, not enough to see in and encroach too much on Hermann's privacy. He pressed his forehead to the cool, beige-painted wood and listened to the sound of sloshing water. "Herm, you okay in there?"

He felt Newton's aggravation and restlessness, and after a slice of time where all his thoughts and feelings were his own, it felt a little jarring again. To think he'd gotten relatively used to this. Hermann wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but Newton's emotions felt closer to the surface than they had been before. Almost like he could reach out and take them for his own. It was alarming on some level, but it was something to examine further later.

He glanced up with a sharp look when the bathroom door cracked open- unlocked in case of emergency only- but Newton didn't push any further and he let it go upon glimpsing some of stress in his lab partner's face. He was almost finished anyway.

"I'm alright, Newton. ..You were watching the news?"

A guilty silence followed the question. "Not for long. They don't know much yet. ...Why? You could hear it?"

He thought it was low enough not to bother Hermann, but maybe his own hearing was dulled by too much loud music. Newt shifted, rubbed his foot against the back of his bare calf, and waited there, not making any attempt to leave. Standing on the other side of the bathroom door while your lab partner of five years bathed probably should have been more awkward than it was, but Newt had both no shame and found it mildly comforting, like their connection was buoyed by the lack of closed doors.

Hermann gave a half shrug, though he doubted Newton could really see it. "Not particularly, just a low hum of electricity. It's on the other side of this wall." The flux in Newton's emotions had pointed toward something more than the weather, so that bit was educated guesswork. But if the reporters didn't know much, it likely wasn't worth pursuing.

"Now close the door, I'm getting out." Hermann pulled the drain and once the door was closed, began the difficult process of levering himself up and out. He could've asked Newton for assistance, but he hadn't fallen so far as to need help with bathing of all things. He didn't like asking period, but relying on Newton had become strangely normal lately.

..When did that happen?

Hermann puzzled over this as he dried off and pulled his sleepwear back on. Sometime after the Drift, perhaps- Newton had pulled him through the halls of the Shatterdome..

Stretching his right leg and relieved to find it more responsive, Hermann grabbed his cane and made his way out of the bathroom.

"Do we know where we are?" All he knew was that it wasn't De Chima, and they were fortunate to have been able to call a taxi to a hotel.

"Oh, okay." At least it wasn't something with the connection, Newt thought.

He obliged Hermann and closed the door, standing nearby to listen in case Hermann wasn't as steady on his feet as the man's ego wanted him to believe. Not that he could carry Hermann very well or very far, but he could at least help move him a little and tend to him and call for help and--Newt didn't want to think about that. He was getting himself relatively worked up over the idea of it all that he was so relieved when Hermann stepped out of the bathroom all on his own and gave Newt something else to think about, something with answers he could figure out.

"I think it's, like, the next county over," he said, pulling out his phone from his discarded pants to check again. "South-west of De Chima, I think? I sort of checked when we were in the taxi last night, but I don't remember the specifics now." His phone caught up with him, the gps placing them in a neighboring county, a substantial distance within its border. "Yeah, to the south-west. Qubit put us far enough away from the action, it seems. We're going to end up owing him a lot, at this rate." Not that Qubit seemed to ask for anything in exchange for his portals, but it seemed like the guy always seemed to be there to get them out of a bind.

Hermann nodded and made his way to the bed where the rest of his clothing was and set about getting dressed properly. Much as it pained him to pull on grass-stained articles, they didn't really have a choice at the moment. His abilities weren't a fix-all.

"Mr. Qubit and the man that rescued us, it seems." Had they gotten a name? He didn't recall, but it hadn't exactly been a time to make introductions. They'd just have to thank him if they ever happened to see him again.

Somewhere down the hall, someone slammed a door, and Hermann's hands slipped in buttoning his jacket and fled to clutch at his lapel instead. And there it was, that spike of panic that proved he wasn't fully recovered after all. He sat down and willed himself to relax. Newton was still there and the window just as bright and cheery as it was a moment ago.

"..Anything about the effects of the gas?" The words came a little fast, but relatively even. Because if this new penchant for anxiety was a lasting condition, he was going to make absolutely certain someone answered for it.

"Yeah." Because Newt couldn't rescue them himself. It still was salt in his wounds, but he was grateful to them for their help.

...Newt flinched with him.

"Nothing so far." It was totally unfair that this seemed to be hitting Hermann harder, when he was usually the one with his shit together and Newt was the one running around like a headless chicken. Could it...be Newt's healing power? Could it have reduced how this affected him, or did Newt just burn it off faster than Hermann? Shield-guy seemed to tough it out okay, relatively, but Newt wasn't really a tough-it-out kind of guy. "The news is full of the usual meaningless buzzwords and guesswork and I never trust their guests unless I know their background myself--so the network will probably be more useful. Someone there will have actual information, and it'll be as damn close to peer-reviewed as I think we'll get."

He tucked a leg under him and sat down on the corner of the bed, picking at the bedding, casting looks over at Hermann. Tempting as it was to leave well-enough (was it well-enough, though?) alone, it was harder not to examine the emotions floating around in their shared head-space when they were as complete as if they were Newt's own. They might as well have been his own, and he was really not a tough-it-out kind of guy.

"It's not going to be permanent, though, Herms."

Well at least he wasn't the only one. It was that more than Newton's reassurance that convinced him. Much as he didn't wholly appreciate the man picking up on his thoughts, either. But it was difficult not to. He wasn't sure half of his thoughts were his own anymore. It was the Drift, now a 'superpower' that was behind this mutual connection to one another. If they hadn't drifted, would it still be there? Hermann wasn't inclined to think so.

"...Newton." Were they really going to talk about this now? He didn't feel ready, was relatively certain he never really would. "It's not your job to look after me, and I don't want you to do so."

Oh. Somehow it felt like a line had been crossed, perhaps a little more dramatically than the one in their lab. Maybe it was Hermann who crossed the line just now; or maybe, it scared him to consider, it was Newt last night, somewhere in the middle of the mess of gas and fear.

Newt shrugged and gave an indignant sniff, taking the opportunity to shake out his pants and decide he was going to forego a shower and just start getting dressed because if this became too much of an argument, maybe maybe he wanted to be dressed enough to storm out and not look too foolish about it. Not that Newt was totally against storming out in his underwear, or having a shouting match in his underwear. They were sinking to new lows every day.

"Okay," he said, casting a glare over at Hermann. He shoved a leg irritably into his pants. "Fine! Let's figure out what the hell my job description is, and I'll stick to it!"

And just like that, there's nothing to think about. After an evening spent in varying degrees of helplessness, and a morning full of limited success at self-efficiency followed by an uncomfortable revelation, he was on the defensive immediately.

"Your job description was never meant to be anything more than nuisance!" he snapped. "I may have drifted with you, but I did not, under any circumstance, invite you into my head anymore than I've asked for you to take on the role of caretaker!"

He shoved the other leg in, giving a hop to get the skinny jeans on, seriously not regretting his choice to get dressed because Fuck you, Hermann. That hurt. That was a slap in the face if Newt ever felt one. If he didn't have to cross Hermann's side of the room, he would totally be out that door. Except that meant leaving the last word to Hermann and Newt could never do that.

"BULLSHIT, Hermann. You invited yourself, you asshole. That's your job description: asshole." He raised his hands, panning them over like a marquee. He snatched up his shirt, tie falling to the floor and the lamp they were both draped over swaying precariously. "I didn't need you--I don't need you--I drifted just fine by myself, but NOOO you wanted to be a part of that, and you know what? That was cool, that was fine, I was just fine sharing my head-space with you--" He had gotten off track and took a moment to put his arms through his sleeves. "Point is, Hermann, a Drift goes two ways. You chose to drift with me, and you chose to pick me up off the damn floor--and if you didn't want it to go both ways, you should have left me where you found me."

With a bitter huff, he grabbed his tie ungracefully from the floor. "I never asked for a fucking caretaker either!"

Hermann wasn't sure if that pang came from him or Newton, but he fed on it all the same, used the flicker of pain to fuel his ire. He reached for his cane and pushed himself to his feet.

"Don't be ridiculous. I saw what was on that screen, and I ran those numbers, Newton. You would've died, and the world would have ended. I only did what was necessary to ensure our survival. All of this," he waved a hand between them, and then the window to the foreign world outside. "Was never meant to happen. And now I couldn't be rid of your incessant chatter and godforsaken pity if I went halfway across the world!"

Twist the knife why don't you.

Was it all just numbers? Just survival? What about that smile, that sense of exhilaration, of togetherness? Five years had to amount to something, right? Concern for Newt's 'ducks' had been nothing to do with world survival. ...Right? Or was he just some nuisance Hermann tolerated all this time and just didn't want to see die out of some...ridiculous sense of obligation? Out of pity, even.

You should have left me with Mutavore's brain.

"Pity?! If you want pity, you're barking up the wrong tree. Ask someone a lot nicer, dude--" Newt turned up his nose in disgust, turning up some of the bravado. "Pity is for people beneath me, and I don't have time for those." He wished he could quit Hermann. They'd hated each other after they met and he had finally thought they maybe MAYBE had recaptured the tentative friendship from their pen-pal days. But maybe it was all a lie. Maybe he was just a nuisance, but smart enough to be useful and Hermann put up with him for the sake of humanity. God, what a fucking martyr. "And you're no peach to be stuck with either!" But he was stuck with him and the words of that shrink, Chilton, rang back at him. Is Hermann your only friend? Yeah, maybe he was. And Newt was such a fuck-up. He'd known Hermann over a decade and in all those years, all he'd managed to do was be a nuisance.

"Look, look, okay? I did not bring us here, so don't act like it's my fault we're sharing head-space. Once we settle in at--once I--" The 'we' that snuck in so naturally had to be banished. "--Once I have a steady lab job, I'll work on a neutralizer."

Hermann stared hard at Newton, working his jaw while unwanted feelings of self-deprecation and worthlessness washed over him. Nauseating, hopeless creatures he wanted to banish immediately and never feel again. It had never been clearer that he was hurting Newton, cruel words hitting their mark with unerring accuracy. Contrary to what he'd believed, he drew no satisfaction from it. Guilt flashed through his mind, but he went straight for self-righteous fury instead.

"Beneath you now, am I?" he snarled, stepping around the edge of the bed. "I wasn't the one that forced you to stay behind out of some misguided sense of noble self-sacrifice when you should have run!"

You're not beneath me, that wasn't what I said, I-- He mentally flailed and tried to backpedal. It was hard to have, no... It was hard to show respect for him right now, but pity was not what he felt for Hermann. They were equals and Hermann had long since cemented Newt's sincere respect. He hated him for it. It would be so much easier if he didn't actually respect his mind, his thoughts, his feelings. Newt wished he knew how to give up, too.

The guilt was twofold, but Newt's lingered longer before being replaced with anger

"Noble self-sacrifice?!?! Ha! That's rich coming from you, Hermann." He stepped up to an imaginary line between them, standing straight and tall to claim whatever inches he could in height. "You'd have liked me to run, huh? Well, suck it! Maybe I stuck around just to be a nuisance. Apparently that's my job."

As ever, just as if they were arguing back in their lab, the end of Hermann's cane dropped between his feet as he drew himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at Newton.

From nowhere came the absolutely insane urge to laugh of all things. Like some windfall of giddy relief that had no place between them here and now-- a promise he had no business believing in.

"You should have," he reasserted with less heat despite everything. "It was the practical choice." And it was here he felt his arguments falling apart, the tight hold he had on his cane wavering. "Losing two lives for one is meaningless."

"You forget who you're talking to! You're the practical one--I'm..." A shrug, defeat settled between his shoulders. What were they even doing anymore. Why did they do this to themselves, drag this out? If it was over, it was over. Why did they have to fight to be the last one to put the nail in the coffin. "The rockstar."

Newt sighed. "You don't get it, man. You never will. I mean, I thought you did, there was really a time when, but--" Newt looked down and shook his head. God, was he really that big of a masochist? Yeah. He was. Newt's voice softened and he shifted, betraying his discomfort, looking down at his hands. "You're telling me you would have left me? I don't want to know what logically should have been done, I know what should have been done by the numbers--I get it--and I don't want to know what you think I want to hear or what society or some other bullshit expects you to say... I mean, what I want to know is...straight up, no hard feelings, dude," Not that he imagined Hermann cared about his feelings that much, or no, he liked to imagine it, but his proof and justification were steadily disappearing. His gaze dropped from Hermann to button up the front of Newt's own shirt and roll up the sleeves. "If the roles were reversed, if I was...out of my mind with hallucinations and unable to walk and you could get out... What would you have done?"

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