maskormenacelogs | [Closed]

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?"

Hermann swallowed, feeling defeat and derision roll through him like they were his own. Much as he wished to, staying angry was an uphill battle he couldn't win. Instead, his shoulders set and he tightened his jaw, eyes lowering as Newton's voice softened in a way that was at painful odds with how all this started. Didn't they usually walk away long before this? Stalking away in mutual offense before they could ever get to this discomforting deceleration. Everything between them had changed.

He didn't know how to answer this.

"I... am a cold-hearted person, Newton.” Nerves fluttered around this painful self-evident truth, and his gaze dropped to the hands gripping his cane. “When the double event I predicted rose from the Breach, I made an argument to sacrifice the entire population of Hong Kong in order to preserve the Jaegers for Operation Pitfall-- for the sake of the world. We lost two Jaegers, I believed my caution justified, if no longer quite relevant. If this had happened then, I probably would've left you." He shifted his weight, distinctly uncomfortable. "However.. it's not something I truly believe I'm capable of now. Not since the Drift."

He wasn't entirely sure that was a fair self-assessment. Hermann was no colder than the military men like Hansen and Pentecost who had to make the hard decisions. Like chess. Sometimes that meant sacrificing other pieces to win, sometimes that meant sacrificing yourself. That was why Hermann drifted, why Pentecost piloted, why Chuck died, why San Francisco was nuked...because the greater good was at stake.

He knew he was a sacrificial piece when he was asked to drift again. Newt had just let the drift color his memory rosy. The proverbial honeymoon was over.

"We're not Drift Partners, Herms. You don't owe me that. You don't really owe me anything." This was a little more real than he'd signed on for when he planned to come to De Chima. Newt took off his glasses and wiped them off on his shirt. "Hey, before the Drift, I would have left you, too." He would have picked himself over Hermann easily. Or rubbed his face in Newt's death by drift. And yet he had selfishly, hypocritically wanted it to be different from Hermann. Now, in retrospect. Maybe even then. "So, don't worry about it."

It didn't sting as much as he'd expected it to, only managing a short, jerky nod in response. But he wondered if they weren't both lying to themselves as well as each other. Wishful thinking perhaps, now that there was an ugly truth to face.

"Then what is this, Newton?" Hermann hated just how tired the words came out and immediately straightened, shaking his head like snapping out of a dream. "Nevermind, we should just focus on getting out of here. I imagine it must be close to check-out."

Newt cast a tired look up and shrugged. What was this? An exercise in futility? They were scientists, they should want to chase answers, but sometimes--right now--he wanted the answer to just present itself. What was this? What were they, what were they doing? Was there a simple answer (yes/no, please check one) or were they one of Hermann's complicated equations that ran off the boards and included too many variables? Why couldn't they be a dissect-able creature? Newt could cut in, split them in pieces, run their DNA, get to the heart of the matter.

He looked into Hermann, Hermann looked back into him. But they weren't philosophers. Maybe this was beyond the scope of their knowledge.

Maybe Newt just needed a seventh degree.

"Yeah, it's 10:25 now." He did up his tie haphazardly and stepped around Hermann to grab his boots, feeling cowardly and full of self preservation. "You want me to call a taxi while you check out?"

Hermann's shoulders slumped, leaning against his cane for a bracing moment after Newton had moved past him. Profound relief and a twinge of disappointment washed through him as their relationship resisted definition once again. But there would be time for that later.

Hermann buttoned up the rest of his jacket and pulled on his oxfords . "I'll call the other hotel in transit," he say in way of agreement. "With luck, they'll be willing to cooperate with us.."

Us. Wasn't that something drift partners did- pluralize themselves like it was as natural as breathing? Feeling unnecessarily awkward about it, he shuffled out the door and went straight for the elevator.

He checked them out at the counter, partly relieved a different receptionist was behind it, and was already on the phone with the hotel in De Chima by the time Newton made it down to the lobby.

"Okay." They had been an Us for five years, if not longer. Or maybe that had been in Newt's mind. It was a little bit of Us Against the World when they were pen-pals and it seemed like they could push each other forward, when Hermann's letters were both inspiration and motivation. Then when they were K-Science, Us was implied, and when they were all that was left of K-Science... Wasn't that Us definite? Or was that line a clear marker: You, Me...no Us.

Newt lingered, checking that they had everything as he placed the call for a taxi. He spotted Hermann's glasses, and though it was tempting to leave them, just to spite him...I don't want to listen to him bitch and he prefers text messages over voice...

Out of habit, he took the elevator, though it made him impatient without Hermann to talk to and he fidgeted the whole way, staring at the numbers overhead restlessly. It was only one floor.

"So, taxi is on its way, we get our stuff and then hit up a teleporter back to the apartment?" He didn't know what to say to Hermann; he hated that, and wordlessly shoved the glasses at him.

Hermann had been watching the stairs for Newton, and it came as something of a surprise to see him leave the elevator instead. He didn't know why this bit of knowledge stuck with him, but he didn't interrupt the call for Newton, rather accepting his glasses (how could he have forgotten them?) with a raised brow and a brief nod.

After a few more minutes of the kind of polite double-talk he despised with a sincere passion, he thanked the person on the other end and hung up. "It seems we won't be getting out of a late fee," he lamented with a brief scowl to the device, and there was that we again, now that he was more aware of it. But no less able to stop using it, apparently. They'd been stuck together too long, he reasoned.

He tucked the phone away and turned his attention back to Newton's proposal.

"That's the general plan. I have little desire to see much more of De Chima at the moment." Even if he'd half-planned on scoping the apartment complex before they left. Not that they had to pay for government housing, but he liked being aware of all options. "And we have no further side trips to take, as far as I'm aware?"

Newt shrugged, a clear 'what can you do' expression at the late fee comment, and despite their tension a few minutes ago, he had the amusing thought of Hermann writing a few rather detailed and highly critical complaints to the hotel once he was feeling better. No, maybe while he was feeling like crap, because complaining was totally Hermann's kind of therapy. Hell, Newt would find him the links to their Yelp pages while in the taxi. He was completely behind this.

He peered out the glass lobby doors, keeping an eye out for their taxi.

"Side quest for food, probably take-out to go back with us." Honestly? He wasn't too terribly keen on sitting in a restaurant and he was pretty sure Hermann would appreciate not being in public for a while, too. Not that it really mattered what Hermann wanted, of course. But, you know. Less bitching to listen to. "Or maybe we can call for delivery." Ugh, there was that we, that Us that didn't exist. Or you can call for delivery and I can call for delivery, totally separately, but since this argument was sort of about logical choices, wouldn't it be logical to place one order for food together? "What do you want to eat?"

Ah yes, food. After he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten the night before, it was probably a wise (if not particularly appealing) course of action. Newton's own feelings seemed strangely vehement for reasons he didn't care to look at too closely.

"Something light," he said in answer with a mild shrug, leaving that particular decision to Newton, as he held no strong feelings on the subject. "There was a cafe near the hotel in De Chima, if I recall.." With coffee Newton liked, if that was any recommendation. His stomach wasn't so keen on the idea.

A taxi pulled up to the front of the building, and Hermann made for the doors. Normally Newton might hold it for him, but he had no tolerance for such things today. He could however, get in on the side of the street, because Newton's legs weren't threatening to collapse from underneath him.

"De Chima Center, please." The cab driver gave them a surprised look through the rear-view mirror, and Hermann pretended not to see it. If the universe was merciful (it never was, it seemed), it would be a relatively peaceful ride.

"Yeah, since it's on the way." The place with the good coffee. Maybe caffeine would improve his mood, or at least keep him awake and keep his thoughts buzzing enough to not bother thinking about this morning or last night, or the last two weeks.

He had to actively slow his pace to stay behind Hermann; it was weird to let his lab partner open the door himself, not because he couldn't--of course he could, easily enough even with the cane--but because it was part of the routine, it was natural. Shorter though Newt was, he walked fast: step ahead, open the door, and let Hermann go through, all without breaking their conversation. Easy, simple... Whatever, man. Tired of holding the door anyway, he thought, dropping his coat onto the middle of the bench seat and shut the door behind him.

Newt leaned back into the corner of his seat, not bothering with a seat-belt and slumping a little, drumming on his thighs to a empty tune. Drive faster, he thought at the back of the cabbie's head. Normally now he would prattle on, enjoying the sound of his own voice, killing time, trying to engage Hermann in some sort of conversation or debate and usually succeeding. He could ask him what he thought of the cars here, how they flew, if he had looked into the mechanics of that. Maybe ponder what their lives would be like now had they been born into this universe. Debate chalk versus white-boards. Discuss the future of their employment.

He stared out the window, keeping to his side of the car, and the boring scenery did not fly by fast enough.

Silence wasn't peaceful with Newton, Hermann decided roughly ten minutes into their ride. It might have been under normal circumstances, but without any verbal distraction, he was keenly attuned to his emotions. And the man was, for lack of a better term, sulking inside his own head.

What a child, he thought irritably, shooting a look over at Newton's profile, who was staring out the window of all things. How maudlin.

Apparently, the driver was intuitive enough to pick up on the silence, because he cast another look back at them and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Whenever he looked on the verge of saying something, Hermann glared at him until he thought better of it.

I'll never get used to this.

Good.

He didn't really need the connection; intuition and familiarity that told him exactly what Hermann was thinking of him. Newt shifted uncomfortably, then crossed his legs away from Hermann and finally, with a loud huff and a bit of theatrics that involved dragging his coat over with him as he crossed his arms, Newt flop-rolled onto his side, giving his co-passenger his back.

Childish? You want childish, dude, you can have childish! The driver could think whatever he wanted.

Glaring a hole into the side of the door, he tried to will Hermann to tell him off.

It was really hard to gauge just how much was being transferred between them. Thoughts that weren't exactly words came together to form impressions, and a natural familiarity with one another expanded on each cue effortlessly.

Petulance, he sneered over at Newton's turned back. How fitting.

He was being baited, could feel the taunt waiting in the wings, only it wasn't coming and Newton was waiting for him to walk into it. Hermann toyed with the end of his cane and huffed.

"Really Newton, it's a wonder you can't turn into a child at will."

Fuck yeah. Come on, let's duke it out. He grinned, smug and bitterly pleased, proudly flipping Hermann off as he rolled back over. We, Us could at least go out in a blaze of glory like a proper rock band, with the band-mates at each others throats and irrevocable things being said, a supernova and then a black hole. If Hermann hated and detested him even half as much as he said he did, and Newt stupidly wanted to test the limits, it would be exactly that.

Bring it. There was more resignation than fight in that thought.

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes, not at all subtle with his taunts now and never had been. Then again, if Newt had a secret power, it wasn't turning himself into a child at will. It was turning Hermann into a child with him. "You've got a Ph.D. and the best you can come with is calling me a child? You know how many times I've heard that from people with half your IQ? At least show a little effort, Herm, if not for me than out of respect for yourself--you used to have much better insults in your arsenal...I know. And we both know there's no practical, logical reason left to box with kid-gloves on anymore. So lay into me." He wished he had some Kaiju entrails to throw to seal the deal and really provoke him, but maybe he looked like a tempting enough target without them. "Go ahead. No one's holding you back anymore."

"I imagine that's because you've never stopped acting like one!" He snapped, nettled.

He didn't like this. Newton had goaded him into arguments before, but never like this. This was personal and threatened to break everything. He knew exactly where those lines were- they'd drawn them years ago, all without saying a word. Each of them knew how to cross them, and so far, they never had. There were just certain things that could never be taken back, apologies that would eternally fall on deaf ears, and he'd already come very, very close to that line not even an hour ago.

Hermann knew exactly how to irreparably break whatever this was, had ever been, or ever would be, but now that he was toeing that line and the words to razor-winged insults alighted on his tongue, poised to undermine and attack everything Newton was, he could only stare at the man he shared his mind with and hesitate. Anxiety twisted into an almost physical sensation and the words were sour as he swallowed them back down, tasting much like the bile he'd thrown up earlier.

"Is that what you want, Newton?" he asked, voice low and waspish in its intensity. "To pin the blame on someone else, so that you feel justified when you turn the tables back onto me?"

He was just a little bit terrified of all the ammunition Newton would have to throw at him in such a scenario. More terrified of Newton turning the tables now, and lashing out where he’d hesitated.

Newt was so sure Hermann would rise to his bait, would gut him thoroughly and watch him bleed out, take such pleasure in using every stored insult and weakness that, when he didn't, Newt was livid. He wanted so badly to throw something at Hermann and clock him in the head. Or kick him (no, that's his left leg, wouldn't do that). Smother him with a pillow--but we left those at the hotel--and god damnit, Hermann! Why couldn't he just do it already? Why was he such an asshole? Why was he prolonging this? Give a guy his coup de grace already!

"Yes! I mean, no, I--" He grasped at the air with a gesture that was indecisive and desperate for answers and gave a frustrated screech, startling their driver, who shot them a frightened glare. "Sorry, sorry--" He ducked his head. Was this what they had become? Were they just hording insults and barbs to sling at each other? Worse than that, because insults were par for the course--they could handle insults. What they had on each other was pure and utter annihilation. End of the world. Apocalypse. Even without the Drift, he knew Hermann to his core, he knew his weaknesses, knew how to execute with a calculated precision a Jaeger would be envious of. He could dismantle Hermann. But he never wanted to.

He didn't even want to now. He just... Newt didn't know what he wanted. He just didn't want to get safe again, to think they were almost fond of each other, and then to have Hermann pull the rug out from under him. It'd be easier if someone just ended it.

"What happened, Hermann? To us?" Newt dragged his hand through his hair hastily and fixed his glasses, hands shaky. "Overnight we've started our own Cold War and--I don't know-- ...Just--if it's going to be nuclear, I'd rather you get it over with. Please."

Hermann's shoulders hunched, cane gripped tighter to his body as Newton's emotions rolled through him. Fury, aggression, frustration, uncertainty.. For a moment, he was braced for the very real possibility of retaliation. It would be cruel, merciless, and nothing he hadn't heard before, but coming from Newton, the words would flay him to the core. It was truly a terrible power they held over each other.

This conversation was far too charged to be held in a taxi, and Hermann prayed the city would be in sight soon. Dread pitted his stomach like a hollow void, hands trembling in the wake of the desperation in Newton's voice.

"I.. I don't. ..Newton." He stopped, swallowing. What could he say? What was the source of all this? How could it be fixed? "I don't want this to end in a nuclear assault." The sentiment both felt and sounded like it had been dragged from his throat.

He winced and forced himself to continue, albeit haltingly. "..This morning.. I'd realized our boundaries had shifted. I suppose I believed I could.. force them back into place."

Only he'd set them at each other's throats instead. His eyes dropped to his lap. "I don't exactly know.. what else to do."

Sometimes Newt hated himself for the way he feared being abandoned. He thought he wanted it to end, pushed at it, but was so relieved each time Hermann backed down. He knew the bridge between them could give out any second, but he kept waiting on it in the hopes that, yeah, maybe Hermann would keep sitting there with him, keep Newt clinging to offers of friendship like the Drift, like the nuclear disarmament, so he would just keep hoping and forget that Hermann might blow up the bridge at any time or that Newt might make some really dumb move and blow it up under himself. They were back in a holding pattern--circling each other, now disarmed--and it was so uncertain. They were skittish, scared of each other, of this between them, caged in the backseat of the taxi.

"I don't know either, man. I don't want it to be war either."

He fiddled with his glasses, staring at the back of the driver's seat with blurred vision, not looking at Hermann.

"But... You want it back like it was?" His voice was edged with disappointment he didn't fully understand and he was probably making promises he couldn't hold to, but Newt pressed on, babbling, nervous laughter slipping into his tone. "We can go back!" How? Hermann, on the floor as the room filled up with gas; the nebulous realization that Newt would hack off one of his own hands for scientific curiosity, but leaving Hermann there was like leaving a piece of himself. How could they go back? He wasn't the man who left that pre-Drift message on his Dictaphone anymore. He wasn't even sure what they were before--screaming matches in the lab and an exhaustively distant orbit?

"No problem. Ha. Actually, maybe that would be best. I mean, if it's not broke, don't fix it, right? What we had worked, yeah, totally put that back where we had it. Not going to touch it again--" He slid back on the glasses and looked over at Hermann. "For the record, though, it wasn't pity. I didn't stay because of pity." Already he screwed that up. Whatever they were had shifted a quadrant over. There was no going back even if he tried to pretend.

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