Archive of Our Own ^beta

Six months to the day after the attack on MegaTokyo, Newt's neurologist calls Hermann to her office. In soothing tones, she tells him that they can't undo the damage the Precursors have done to Newt's mind. The Newt he knew is gone. He is never coming back.

Well, Herman thinks. Bugger that.

Hermann Gottlieb has been called many things by both friend and foe: stubborn, arrogant, brilliant, prudish, stodgy, dramatic, calculating. Newt has called him all of those things half a dozen times over the years. But one thing no one would ever dare to say is that he is a quitter. From the moment that Ranger Lambert informed Hermann of Newt's capture, Hermann has been hard at work, attempting to formulate a way to bring his former lab partner, friend, and oft-longed for life partner back from the grip of the hivemind.

They let him have contact with Newt -- or what was left of Newt -- in the beginning, but all Hermann got out of that was a lot of painful emotions and giving the Precursors a person to gloat to. So, he decided there must be a better way to go about all this. In between coordinating with Ranger Pentecost on the tactical plans moving forwards to enter the Anteverse, Hermann has been spending long nights awake, staring up at the ceiling, working out theories, possibilities; fantastical plans that have no chance of working, but he needs to do something to keep himself occupied. He'll come up with wild ideas while the neurologists and psychologists do what they need to, help Newt slowly come out of this brainwashing, help him regain normal functioning, get him to a place where Hermann can step in and be everything he needs; friend, support, caretaker, emotional punching bag -- well, that last one's unhealthy, but he's desperate -- and they can regain some of what they've lost the last decade apart. Hermann can be braver, can be stronger, can be the person Newt needs him to be.

The chance of that happening falls apart in the kind words of a woman who's had to probably break bad news to many family members over her career. Practiced, calm, acceptably empathetic. Hermann doubts she's ever had to tell a patient's loved ones that their family member has been fully subsumed by an alien hivemind and no longer exists as their whole self in their mind. Not a lot of precedent for this kind of thing.

There's a moment when she says it, when he considers collapsing into grief, abandoning all hope. Leaving his old life behind, becoming a hermit somewhere in the woods, living out his last days with only his memories to keep him company. Really, he's not the type to do something so dramatic but in the moment, that fateful moment when he knows all hope is lost, he really considers it.

I'm sorry Hermann. They're in my head. The last thing Newt -- the real Newt -- ever said to him. Hermann knows that was Newt, believes without a shadow of a doubt that before that moment, Newt was still there, somewhere, and he could've stopped this. Could've saved them both the heartache, the pain of betrayal and losing one another.

So, the only thing to do is to find a way to change the outcome.

Hermann's the leading physicist of his generation. He's studied the quantum mechanics of the Anteverse for a decade, and the knowledge he's gained has given him a better understanding of the working of space time than any one before him. Using the data from the Anteverse, he's confirmed the capacity for reality to hold to the creation of an Einstein-Rosenberg bridge both interdimensionally and intradimensionally. Extraterrestrial travel would revolutionize human society, bringing about a new age of exploration. Colonization of the stars (hopefully with far less genocide than the previous ages).

So, if Hermann can bend space to his will, who's to say he can't bend time? If the Precursors can bridge from their dimensional plane to humanity's, then who's to say that the other half of the space-time entanglement can't be altered?

Newt used to give him no end of grief for these theories.You're talking about time travel, dude. Like, you know H.G. Wells was a fiction author, right? That shit's impossible.

Maybe it is. Maybe Hermann is grasping for straws, too grief stricken to admit the truth. But bloody hell, he's got to try. If he gained anything from his drift with Newt, it's a Geiszlerian knack for risk-taking and brash, insane ideas bound to fail. If his bloody rocket boosters could work, then why not this?

The first thing to figure out is how to generate a field of effect for a time altering device, lest every person in the modern era be transported back ten years. He settles on something simple: a watch that generates a field around the wearer, affecting only them. Of course, it takes months to work up a prototype that doesn't rearrange the molecules of the object being transferred into a random order. He sends quite a few apples across the lab that appear as piles of mush or entire other chemical compounds entirely before he manages to create a transportation field that doesn't alter the object.

Next, he moves to the time angle of space-time, the harder part of the nut to crack. This proves far more difficult. He doesn't need to merely bend the fabric of the plane of space now. He needs to bend the secondary plane in tandem. The energy input required is far higher, and realistically, any man-made fuel source would require thousands of pounds of the stuff to make even one jump. That just isn't feasible for what he has planned.

The solution hits him in a fit of insomniac brilliance. Man-made fuel is out of the question. However, he's utilized another form of fuel in the recent past: Kaiju blood. The stuff is volatile but a mere drop contains the energy output of a thousand gallons of gasoline. With a few ounces, he'd have enough energy to attempt a single jump (theoretically. And unlike people, his calculations have yet to fail him).

With this solution comes a problem. Any remaining Kaiju blood is locked away in PPDC custody, and while he is an employee and one of the premiere scientists of the organization, that does not mean he'll be granted access to large quantities willy-nilly. Maybe before the events of MegaTokyo, but not now, not after seeing what sort of damage a weapon that utilizes the blood is capable of doing.

Hermann also suspects his position in the organization has come into question ever since Newt's possession and corruption by the Precursors had been revealed. After all, he's the only other person to ever drift with a Kaiju brain. Even if he assisted with preventing the world's destruction this time, there's a precedent for world-saving scientists who turn around and "betray" the human race later on (every time someone accuses Newt of betrayal, Hermann's blood boils. Newt betrayed no one. Newt was corrupted against his own will. All the Precursor's talk of Newt feeling ignored, belittled, is likely true, as much as Hermann hates to admit it). So, if he's going to power any sort of device, he's going to have to do some extrajudicial obtaining of the required fuel.

The problem with this is that he won't be able to test the device's abilities until he gets the Kaiju blood, so he must fine tune the coding and hardware as best he can and hope for the best. He doubts he'll have much time once he breaks into the storage facility; everything must be planned out before he makes his move.

One year after the MegaTokyo attack, Hermann gets a phone call in the middle of the night. It's one of the physicians at the facility where they've been housing Newt. The strain of the Precursor's possession has been slowly wearing Newt's body down, and despite the best efforts of his doctors, the physician is sorry to tell Hermann that a few hours ago...

Hermann doesn't let the speaker finish, chucking his phone across the room to slam into the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. He presses his palms into his eyes, taking a shuddering breath and forcing back tears.

No, he thinks. It doesn't end here.

He rises and dresses quickly. Phone, keys, and watch. All he needs, he isn't coming back here. Either the device will work, or he'll be facing years of imprisonment for what he's about to do.

Hermann hacked the security database of the PPDC storage facility at Moyulan a few months ago. A few changes to his security clearances would go unnoticed until he attempted to access higher security areas of the base. Tonight, he simply swipes the badge into the storage area, no one in the hallway outside to notice he's going somewhere he shouldn't be. The security desk will be alerted to his access, and they'll send someone down as soon as they realize it's Hermann, but hopefully if all goes according to plan, he'll be done before they have a chance to stop him. As an extra measure of security, he swipes a secondary card on the inner door mechanism, and it uploads a miniature virus to the locking mechanism that will add a layer of code corruption they'll have to get through before they can open the door.

The inside of the facility glows an ethereal blue as Hermann's footsteps clack against the metal grating on the floor. It's mostly used to house old Jaeger tech, but a small section contains the remaining Kaiju biological matter that they've managed to collect from the MegaKaiju, and a few rare bits from during the war. This is where the glow comes from, Hermann realizes, as he turns a corner and spies a small glass vat, swirling with a familiar organic liquid.

Hermann works quickly now. He's calculated that once a guard reaches the door, the virus will keep them occupied for about five minutes, which is enough time for Hermann to carefully untwist the top of his cane and remove the glass vial he's secreted away inside the handle. He's brought a syringe that he can press through the rubber seal around the blood vat to get access to the blood, and carefully draws up a full vial of the acidic liquid, swallowing as a spare drop hits the floor and hisses as it eats through the metal. Careful, very careful, he thinks, pushing the syringe into the top of the glass vial and depositing the liquid, filling about a sixth of the vial.

A loud bang against the door almost makes him drop the vial and syringe, but he's had steady hands and a steadier sense of determination for years, so he recovers and repeats the process as shouts and bangs continue outside. He counts the seconds down in his head, an uncanny ability to tell time that always had him winning any bets Newt made with him where time was the deciding factor. He pauses as he withdraws the syringe for the fourth time, because he's though of Newt again, and Newt, he's.... no. Stop it. Concentrate. If he lets this overwhelm him, then it will remain the truth. He mustn't let these thoughts win.

Twenty seconds left, and he plunges the syringe into the vial, depositing a fifth quantity of blood inside. Blast it, no time to finish. He's got to secure the vial back into his cane, tug the connective cords out from the side of the watch and plug them into the two small connectors he's built into the cane. Ten seconds as the blood drains from the vial into the device, slowly powering on the mechanism, and Hermann's heart races as the time ticks down- and the outer door crashes to the ground. Five seconds early. No more time. Hermann hears running steps as he twists the dial on the device, sends a quick prayer upwards, and presses the button.

Hermann cannot physically put into words what happens next, but when he thinks of it later, this is how he will try: the world is as it has been, and then it is not, the fibers of it unweaving around him, and he himself is unweaving, torn from the plane of existence like a thread being yanked out of the whole cloth, coming loose across the point it holds together, fraying from a singular thread into fibers of being. All his calculations couldn't tell him how the machine would react, how time being torn asunder for the first time -- although perhaps not the first now, since he is unraveling the timeline; ho does that work? -- and he does not know how to control it, does not know how to stop himself from unraveling all the way back to nothing, to a non-existence. He can feel his body changing, every bit of skin tightening, the ache in his hip that is now constant receding to the duller pain he felt as a younger man. His thoughts are screaming in reverse, and in desperation, he hooks onto the one thought he's been unable to get out of his head for the past year: There must have been one moment, one moment where I could've changed it all.

Reality slams back into him like a brick wall, sending him sprawling to the concrete floor, hands flying out to catch himself as his cane goes clattering across the ground. He lands on his arms, and the damage is lessened by the brown blazer that keeps his arms from being scratched up- and wait, hadn't he gotten rid of this thing ages ago? And since when was the storage room this bright on the inside? And concrete floors?

These thoughts happen in rapid succession, faster than the blink of an eye, before his eyes can process the scene in front of him, which has drastically changed since the moment where he'd last been able to comprehend the world around him. He's sprawled on the ground of a Shatterdome hallway, one far grimier and filthier than the modern sleek construction at Moyulan. The lights above cast a sickly yellow glow on the concrete, and the world is sharper than it was- his vision, he realizes. It's improved from reversing the natural degradation of aging.

"Dr. Gottlieb," a deep voice says, pinging his neurons in a way both ancient and familiar. Hermann blinks and lifts his head, looking up the long line of leg dressed in blue slacks, farther up the wall of a chest hardened by years of physical exertion and discipline, all the way to the face: dark-skinned, hair immaculately kept, betraying only a hint of surprise and slight concern.

"Are you alright?" Stacker Pentecost, in the flesh, asks him.

"Quite so," Hermann hears himself say, barely betraying the shock he feels, which is when he realizes that he's not saying this. Well, sort of. Hermann Gottlieb is saying these words, but it's the Hermann of the past, the one whose body he's somehow hitched a ride in.

This is how it works? Future Hermann thinks. I'm simply an observer of the timeline? No, god damn it, I need to change it!

Past Hermann picks himself up, brushing off his blazer. "You're sure you're alright, Doctor?" Marshall Pentecost asks, and the Past Hermann thinks he's made quite the fool of himself in front of this man, his face heating up into a flush.

"Nothing to worry about," Past Hermann says, and Future Hermann remembers this now, remembers himself tripping over absolutely nothing. So then, he's already experienced the effects of his time meddling. Unless this is merely a coincidence. But it doesn't feel as though it is? Does this mean that he's already affected the future? Is his own timeline the future that he's created? Oh, this is all too bloody confusing. He isn't going to get hung up on time paradoxes. He needs to figure out a way to affect what happens next, because he's remembering now what happened next.

"The laboratory is small in this 'dome," Pentecost is saying as Past Hermann limps along beside him. He did bang his hip a little on the fall, and the pain is aching, pulling away his focus, but he's not about to let on anything that would make this man think him incapable of the task he's being asked to do. "All of K-Science is crammed in there, sorry to say. You'll have to make due."

"It's no trouble," Past Hermann replies. "As long as my chalkboards and computers have a place, I'll manage."

"I asked the head of our Kaiju research division to be there to greet us," Pentecost explains. "He's at an officer rank here, same as you. I'm not certain if you'll get along with him. He's somewhat... excitable. Brilliant though. You won't be hurting for interesting discussions."

"Wonderful," Hermann says, which is a feeling he will carry for the next ten seconds until they walk into the lab and he's greeted with a face he hasn't seen in three years and, frankly, had hoped to never see again.

It's strange, the dissonant emotions going on in Hermann's head in this moment, a divide between past and future pains, both for different reasons. Past Hermann hears Newt say, "Hermann? You're the new head of Jaeger system tech? You've got to be fucking kidding me," and is immediately filled with the same anger, embarrassment and hurt he felt during their disastrous meeting in 2017. Future Hermann hears it and swells with excitement, relief, and a desperate urge to throw himself across the room and pull Newt into an embrace. He could cry, really, seeing this youthful version of Newt, scowling at Hermann, but a light and energy in his eyes that hasn't been there in years. But wait- didn't he feel this confused mix of emotions originally? The rush of excitement, the buried fondness attributed to the idealized image Hermann had created of this man, far different than the reality he was faced with at their meeting.

"Doctor Geiszler," Past Hermann says, keeping his voice as emotionless as possible, lest he embarrass himself further in front of the Marshall. "I thought you abhorred the military in every capacity. If I remember correctly, you told me that you could never work for an organization that made its business in warfare and death."

Future Hermann sees the color rising in Newt's cheeks and knows that he's embarrassed. Remembers how their second meeting went almost as badly as the first, brusque and dripping with spite, confirmation that their friendship was effectively over. And now he's being made to watch it all over again? No, he came here for a reason, he can't let this just occur as it had. It has to change!

"Yeah, well, sometimes we have to compromise on our ideals when giant fucking space aliens are trying to destroy the planet," Newt says. "Sorry to keep disappointing you. I seem to be great at that."

"Are we going to have a problem, gentlemen?" Pentecost asks, though his tone suggest the answer had better be no. "I presume you two have had past interaction."

"That's up to my esteemed colleague," Newt answers, turning away and snapping the protective face mask he's wearing back down. He was arms deep in a Kaiju specimen when they walked in. "You know me, sir. I can work in any kind of environment. The good doctor over here might not be so flexible."

Past Hermann bristles, because how very dare Newton imply him incapable of cooperation, in front of their superior officer, no less? He's smart enough to bite back his retort, simply saying, "It's fine, sir. I'm here to do the task that was asked of me. Unlike other professionals, I don't allow emotional entanglements to affect my work."

Newt audibly snorts but doesn't look up from the Kaiju bits. Future Hermann finds himself agreeing with that assessment; how bloody arrogant was he at this age, thinking himself capable of ignoring his history with Newt? That it wouldn't become a looming cloud over their every interaction, slow to heal, stagnating their ability to create a new relationship? That the past pain wouldn't affect Hermann's conceptualization of his own feelings, making him ignore them, downplay them, until it was too late?

Pentecost leaves, and Past Hermann stands at the edge of the lab, silently watching Newt dig into his samples with a little more aggression than is strictly necessary. He's trying to sort through all of his conflicted emotions, trying to slot them back into the little pockets of his mind, where he left them three years past. Apparently he's staring too long, because Newt slaps his scalpel down into onto the dissection tray and whirls around, scowling.

"What," Newt snaps.

"What?" Hermann asks, thrown off.

"Why are you staring at me? Don't you have shit to do? Did Stacker hire you to stand around and silently judge me all day?" Newt spits out.

Future Hermann can feel his past self closing down, throwing up the walls he used to, ready to snap back at Newt with something he thought clever, something to cement how clearly superior and mature he thought himself; what he needed to believe so the hurt wouldn't hurt quite so much. He can feel that roiling pain in his gut, and he wants to beat down the walls of his own brain, wants to yell at his younger, stupider self, wants to find a way to break free- is this how Newt felt? With the Precursors, and the hivemind, trapped in his own head, watching himself play out his destruction? Helpless, unable to change a thing-

I'm sorry Hermann. They're in in my head.

No. No, at the end. He found a way through. Even if only for a moment. Enough to let Hermann know this wasn't what he wanted. To let Hermann know he was still there, and still worth fighting for. If Newt can do this, than so can he.

Past Hermann opens his mouth. And somehow, Future Hermann speaks through it.

"I'm sorry," Hermann says, and both he and Newt freeze as the fight that's been building up to explode comes screeching to a halt. Hermann doesn't know why he's said it, where it's come from. What's he sorry for, even?

"You're... you're sorry?" Newt says, blinking. "Sorry for what, exactly?"

"I- I wanted it to go differently," Hermann says, shocked at his own audacity. What's even gotten into him? Some sort of odd sentiment, how mortifying. He pushes away that niggling voice in his brain, smothering it, though it feels wrong to do so. "Just, never mind." He turns away to leave and go find out if his things have arrived at his bunk.

"Wait! I did too." Hermann freezes, glancing back at Newt, whose snapped off his gloves, looking everywhere but Hermann. "You think I wanted it to turn out like that?"

"I don't know what you expected, Newton," Hermann says, sighing.

"Yeah, well... I don't know who you expected," Newt replies. "I never lied about who I was, dude."

"You didn't," Hermann acknowledges. "I suppose I'd built up some idea of you in my head and when the expectation did not meet reality I reacted... badly."

Newt snorts again. "That's saying something."

"Can you honestly say you didn't do the same?" Hermann retorts. "I wasn't the only one making presumptions."

Newt mumbles to himself, and then shrugs. "Accurate. So, uh. Sorry."

Hermann presses three fingers against the arch of his brow and sighs again. "Accepted. Look, I'm willing to try for a peace of sorts if you are. We might never be amicable, but certainly we can share the space?"

"Not like we've got a choice, dude," Newt says, but there's no malice to it. Just resignation. "Okay. Maybe I won't cover your work space in Kaiju liver bile like I was planning on. Not unless you really piss me off."

"I don't see how I'll manage that, considering I doubt we'll have much interaction. Your team can collaborate with my team, and we'll get everything done that way."

"Mmmm. Sure we will." Newt sounds doubtful, and he'll be accurate in that doubt as their team numbers dwindle over the years, harder and harder to ignore one another. But for now, it seems the best way to move forwards.

They're both silent for a moment, because now that they've agreed upon this, there's nothing more to speak on. Or maybe there is, but neither of them know how to proceed. Newt fidgets and goes to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but stops himself, hands still gloved and covered in Kaiju guts. Hermann wants to leave, but something inside is pushing him to stay a moment more.

Hermann's mind flails for something to talk about, landing on the first thing he can remember them talking about. "How's your uncle?" he asks. "Is he still, ah..." Oh, this may have been the wrong topic.

Thankfully, Newt nods his head. "In remission for two years. Geiszlers don't get beat that easy."

"Yes, well... good," Hermann responds.

"What about your, uh, your mom?" Newt asks.

"Still with my father," Hermann says. "Though who knows for how much longer... Did you ever complete your fifth PhD?"

"Yup, and added another one on to that. You ever publish that paper on theoretical dimensional manipulation?"

"Mmmm," Hermann says. "Added a bit at the end about exploring the temporal aspect."

Newt snorts. "Of course you did. Knew you weren't gonna listen to me about that as an impossibility."

"I'm the theoretical physicist here," Hermann retorts. "Your breadth of knowledge doesn't compare to my focus on one discipline."

He rubs the back of his neck, swallows down the sudden yearning in his throat. This almost feels normal: asking after one another's families, one another's education and research, arguing over scientific theories. Like an echo of how they wrote to one another before. This is how it was supposed to go. This is the easy back and forth that should've resulted from their push to take the relationship from page to in-person. Alas, Hermann can't change the past. Perhaps the future might not be quite as bleak.

"I need to see to my things," Hermann says, motioning towards the door. "Good day to you, Newton."

"See ya later, Hermann," Newt replies, nodding and turning back to the Kaiju.

Hermann turns to go, except the turn sends him right into a rip in spacetime that pulls him bodily out into the dimensional void once more, Past and Future tearing apart as Future hurdles yelling, unwoven from this moment in time and restitched into his own, gasping and stumbling into his own body once more.

The world is frozen around him. Time is at a standstill. He is the only thing that moves. There's a beam of light shining around the corner of the storage container to his right, and Hermann can see a hand gripping a flashlight, a foot shot out from behind the structure, frozen in the air. Someone coming around the corner, to stop him, to put his hard won plan to bed. But the limbs don't move, and nothing else does anything else. The condensation on the Kaiju blood tank doesn't drop down the side, the usual thrum of electric undercurrent that he hears in the Shatterdome isn't there. How is this even possible?

Hermann looks down at the watch around his wrist, finds the face piece glowing blue, the minute and hour hands spinning impossibly fast inside of it. There's a small indicator screen that he constructed on the inner face of the watch that tells him how much fuel remains. He's calculated the power output vs. fuel efficiency as best he can, and he's happy to see that he's correct in his hypothesis for how much he'd need for each jump. According to the meter, the vial can hold up to six activation's worth of fuel, but he wasn't able to fill it to capacity. He's short one. Which means he's got four chances left.

Nothing's changed, Hermann thinks, looking around the storage room. If he's still here, still dressed like this, that probably means... he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks his call record. The forty-five second call from Newt's hospital is still listed. He hasn't fixed anything.

So, that first meeting at the Shatterdome wasn't the right moment to change, was it? Or he hasn't done what he's supposed to. He must need affect another moment of their lives, then. He's got to try again.

Four moments left. Four chances to change the future. Now that he knows how the machine works -- throwing him back into his body but only giving him partial control -- he's got to be extremely thoughtful about when he goes to next. He'd barely managed to influence the outcome of that first jump. Those few words, just enough to turn the tide, and then control had been ripped away, his past self swatting him back into the recesses of his mind. He'd fought so hard for that moment, and he's returned to the present with an ache in his hip and his head. The transition to the past isn't just affecting his mind, it's affecting his body too. How long can he last?

It doesn't matter, Hermann thinks. He twists the power module knob on the watch, letting a second shot of the blood fuel flow up into the device. This version of me, it won't exist if this plan works. Newt will never become corrupted by the hivemind. I'll never have the need to save him. So whatever happens to my body or my mind now, I don't really need to care, do I?

That's a terrifying notion, non-existence. The kind that philosophers better than he have spent thousands of years contemplating. But is an existence without Newt any better? He isn't willing to spend the next four decades alone, dying of old age, always wondering what he could've done to change things. He has to try. And if this doesn't work? If all his opportunities fail, if the device doesn't work, if nothing changes, and he finds himself staring down the Shatterdome security team, a lonely, disgraced future ahead of him...?

Best not contemplate that for now.

The blue glow of the watch face switches to green, and Hermann knows it's ready to make another jump. Steady now, he should take a moment. Think about what needs to change. Moments he regrets, moments he wishes he'd acted differently, like the better version of himself that Newt deserved.

Newt should've been able to count on him to see what was wrong. Years of correspondence, years working side by side to save the world, literally being inside one another's minds, and he didn't see it. In those few moments in Sydney, when he was practically begging Newt to join him in a risky experiment, the kind he used to love, and Newt dismissed him, how had he not seen it? The wrongness of it all. Twenty years- and yes, people change, certainly. But not like this. And yes, they hadn't seen each other for years, but that meeting in Sydney should've felt like coming home.

How had he been so blind?

I wasn't there when you were hurting, Hermann thinks, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration blown out through a sharp exhale. I've never been very good at that kind of support. But it was what you needed more often than I wanted to admit. The whole of that war took a toll on us, and it twisted you up so badly that you almost destroyed the world. I should've seen it. I should've done something.

What if I had?

That thought is on his mind as he presses the button and the world dissolves and he dissolves into the nothingness of the universe, slips across the boundaries of dark matter into the past, a shorter thread being unwoven this time. He is beyond time, no, he is time. The summary of a life built up in decaying atoms, in could'ves, should'ves and would'ves made settled. It's a bit like dying, if he should know what that's like. Maybe he does. Hands around his neck, features twisted in anger but eyes screaming across the space where their gazes connected: NO. PLEASE NO. END IT ALL, BURN IT ALL BUT NOT HIM, PLEASE NOT HIM-

"Hermann? You still listening, brother?"

Hermann lifts his head up from the cafeteria table, blinking and squinting across at Tendo, who's paused a fry midway to his mouth, frowning at Hermann. There's a lancing pain through his forehead, like something's burrowed its way in there and is setting up camp. Hermann shakes his head, blinking hard a few times; the pain fades.

"Yes, sorry," Hermann says, nodding at Tendo. "Bit of a headache coming on. You were saying?"

"I was asking if you knew anyone in Tokyo," Tendo replies, completing the journey of the fry from plate to mouth, crunching down with a concerning over-crispness. "And if you know if they're ok."

"Ah, yes. Well, thankfully the research department was on base when the attack occurred, and they were able to bunker down, so none of my regular contacts were harmed." Hermann pushes his plate away half eaten. The headache has faded but he's still lost his appetite. "I won't lose any efficiency in my research."

"I meant, like, personal," Tendo says, frowning. "Y'know. Friends? Family?"

"Oh." Hermann shakes his head. "No. My family is all fairly safely ensconced on the mainland or an ocean other than the Pacific. As for friends... I've a few acquaintances I correspond with, but no one I'm concerned enough with to reach out to."

"Okay," Tendo says, looking cross-eyed at Hermann. "Well, I'm glad at least one half of the dynamic K-Science duo isn't gonna be out of commission the next few days. I need to consult with you on some of the response time issues we dealt with in the Jaeger software during the battle."

"Half? Is... has something occurred with Dr. Geiszler?" Hermann leans forward as Tendo raises an eyebrow, like he expects Hermann to know what he's referring to. Which is absurd, because it isn't as if he's Newton's keeper, for god's sake. Sure, their relationship has improved overall the last two years working with one another -- nothing like their letters, though Hermann still gets a thrill when Newt validates his research -- but certainly, there's still a chill between them, old wounds yet to completely vanish.

"You don't know?" Tendo shrugs, glancing around the semi-crowded cafeteria. Silly, really. There's plenty of distance between them and the next table over, and Hermann doubts they're the subject of much gossip. Tendo continues, voice lowering to a murmur. "He took a few bereavement days. Only reason I know is because I saw him on the way out of the Marshall's office. He wouldn't tell me anything else though, but brother, he looked a hot mess. Just... no energy, and you know how he usually is."

"Really?" This is... concerning. Of all the attacks to occur during their period working for K-Science, Newt's rarely spent more than a few hours acting depressed after one before he's right back to work, trying to figure out how the new evidence he's gained can lessen the damage of future attacks. Every breakthrough is measured in lives saved. Hermann knows Newt takes pride in that, which is quite an admirable quality in someone Hermann used to think was completely reckless -- now he only thinks Newt is mostly reckless.

Tendo nods, popping the last French Fry into his mouth, crunching and wincing. "Damn, gonna lose a tooth on these things. So, anyway, I don't think you'll be seeing him around the lab for a few days. Might wanna check his side to see if anything hazardous hasn't been cleaned up."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermann replies. "Thank you for letting me know."

If the headache wasn't enough to make Hermann lose his appetite, then Tendo's news has sealed the deal. Hermann abandons his meal to the garbage bin and heads towards the living quarters, determined to scrounge up a bit of paracetamol from his remaining reserves. The blasted headache is only getting worse as he moves towards his room, but instead of thinking what he should -- about how badly he wants a lie in -- his mind keeps swirling back to Newt, and to the insistent feeling that Hermann needs to seek out his lab partner.

Newt's room is down the same hallway as Hermann's, which used to house all of the K-Science unit before budget cuts made them the only two remaining members. The lack of personnel milling about the halls makes it eerily quiet compared to the rest of the clanging and clamor of the base. Several times, Hermann has heard Newt pass by his room late in the evening, giggling or speaking with whomever he's asked to join him -- thank god that Newt's room is far enough away that Hermann never hears anything else, how mortifying -- and he generally knows about Newt's comings and goings thanks to the quiet.

Hermann wasn't really surprised that Newt hadn't been in the lab this morning, as he likes to sleep in on occasion. But as Hermann approaches the room, the silence is distracting. Unnerving. If he's not in the lab, he should be in his room, correct? And yet Hermann hears nothing. No voices, no movement, nothing. Is he asleep?

It really isn't Hermann's business. He should just keep walking, leave the other man be to whatever state he's currently in. Yet, the thought of doing that only makes his head pound harder, and curdles a nauseous worry in his gut. It's odd, because he isn't prone to unnecessary anxiety in the way Newt is. Certainly, nothing awful will happen if Hermann leaves Newt be. Right?

I'll just have a quick chat, Hermann thinks, and as soon as he knocks on Newt's door, his headache begins to fade, as if his body is relieved at the choice he's made. He listens intently for noise, and hears the sound of rustling sheets, creaking metal, heavy footsteps on the floor. Slow, deliberate, but firmly alive. The door creaks open a crack, and Hermann sees a sliver of face, one blinking eye veiled by the shadows of the room.

"Hermann," Newt says, uncomfortably monotone in his delivery. "What do you want."

"I, ah... I heard you were taking a few days off," Hermann says, twisting the head of his cane under his hands. He didn't think past the part where he knocked on the door, and Newt seems to expect something else besides a declaration of the obvious. "Well, I just- wanted to see for myself, I suppose."

"So you've seen," Newt replies. "Satisfied? Cool. See you later."

Hermann wedges the bottom of his cane in the door when Newt moves to shut it. "Wait, please. I, er, well that is to say... I was just..."

Newt sighs. "Hermann. I didn't open the door to get a lecture about when it's appropriate to take time off, or whatever you're annoyed with me for today. So could you do me a favor and just leave me alone?"

He bangs the door against Hermann's cane to emphasize his point, except when he opens the door farther to do so, Hermann gets more of a look at him. He sees the way Newt's face is drawn tight to keep anything painful from bursting forth. He sees Newt's eyes, rimmed a deep red that only comes from long periods of crying. He sees the bedclothes that Newt hasn't changed out of at two in the afternoon. He sees Newt's hair, normally spiked up and styled with gel, without its usual volume, lying soft and messy against his forehead.

Newt looks an utter wreck, so completely lost, and Hermann's frightened for him in a way he didn't think he could feel about the other man.

"No," Hermann says, shocking himself with his own brazenness. "I don't think you should be alone right now."

Newt edges the door back open, eyes wide, and his mouth curls into a sneer. "Fuck off, dude. You're not my fucking therapist."

"Maybe not, but I'm your-"

"You're my what, Hermann? You're not family, and you've made it really clear we're not friends at this point. We've got three years of letters, one disastrous meeting and two years of semi-awkward cohabitation in a shithole Shatterdome at the end of the world between us, so what does that make you to me now?"

Hermann could say a lot of things right now, and normally, he'd have no problem having a spat with Newt, but there's a weariness to Newt's anger that belies something deeper going on under the bluster. So he doesn't lash out. He keeps as calm as he can, and speaks low and soft. "I don't know, Newton. What do you need me to be?"

Newt says nothing. His gaze moves up and down Hermann, as if he's sizing the man up, calculating whether he's worthwhile to trust. Finally, after a silence that stretches uncomfortably long, Newt opens the door farther, stepping to the side.

"I need you to listen," Newt says. "Just be a guy who listens. You think you can do that?"

Hermann nods. He steps into the room, moving slowly, taking in the sight of rumpled bedsheets, clothes tossed akimbo across the floor, empty soda and candy wrappers flowing out of the garbage can in the corner. Nothing out of the ordinary; Newt hasn't had time to make a real mess of everything.

Newt shuts the door and drops heavily onto the edge of the bed, hands curled in his lap, staring at the floor. Hermann moves a pile of shirts off the wooden desk chair and seats himself there. More silence. He watches as Newt flexes and relaxes his hands, mouth twisting with the beginnings of unspoken sentences that pass in an instant, like he's trying to figure out where to start. Hermann wants to prompt him, but Newt asked him to listen. So he's going to take that direction very seriously.

"An ex of mine got caught in that attack," Newt says finally, breaking the suffocating quiet. "He died."

"I'm sorry," Hermann says. It slips out, even though he meant to stay quiet. Long ingrained manners prevent him from not addressing the revelation of someone's pain.

Newt nods, not looking at him. "Yeah, figured you'd say that." Hermann wants to ask what else he could possibly say, but he bites his lip, and waits. Soon Newt starts up again: "Thing of it is, so am I, but I feel like I'm not supposed to." He finally looks at Hermann, and when he catches sight of the way Hermann is practically eating his lower lip to keep quiet, he rolls his eyes, smiling just a little. "You don't have to be completely silent, dude. Not looking to chat with a mime here."

"Alright. Why shouldn't you feel sad? You had a romantic relationship with this individual and now they've died. I assume you cared about them in some capacity?"

"Yeah, duh. I cared about him a lot, and he took advantage of it. That's the problem."

"Took advantage... Newton, what exactly did he...?"

"Dude, not as bad as you're thinking," Newt says, holding up a hand. "Just, like. Emotional manipulation. Making me feel shitty about myself and like nobody else would want me. It was a really shitty year and then he left me for someone else who was 'less complicated.'" Newt mimes air quotes, snorting. "Asshole."

"That's terrible. I'm sorry," Hermann says. "This was sometime after we stopped writing to each other, I presume?"

"Before, actually," Newt replies, shrugging when Hermann raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"You never mentioned him. You told me about your bloody pet iguana that you had from third through sixth grade but you didn't tell me about him."

"Yeah, well, I don't like talking about my shitty romantic decisions. Especially with someone I'm interested in- in having a high opinion of me," Newt finishes. He sighs, rubbing his face. "Fucking hell, this is my problem. He was a garbage fire of a person but I only saw that with some time and distance. It's just... It still hurts so damn much." Newt goes quiet again. His hands have moved to grip the side of the bed, and Hermann can see them shaking with the force of an emotional tailspin waiting to explode.

Newt is right, in that Hermann isn't a counselor. But he's wrong, in some other respects.

"I'm not very good at this sort of thing," Hermann says. The distance between the bed and his chair seems to widen as Newt curls into himself, and impulsively -- recklessly, one might say -- Hermann finds himself sliding off the chair and shifting to sit next to Newt, who looks up and regards him with surprise. Hermann clears his throat, fidgeting with the handle of his cane. "I'm not very good with people. Friendships and the like."

"I didn't get that impression when we were writing," Newt replies. "Then again, you seemed really eager to talk. Almost like you had nobody else to bounce your crazy scientific theories off of."

"You were... different. Maybe because for every ounce of passion for scientific investigation I had, you seemed to have twice that." Hermann smiles. "And most of the people around me were decades older. You weren't. You made me feel youthful."

"No one has ever described you as youthful, Hermann."

"Oh, sod off. I'm trying to make a point."

"And that point is...?"

"You're far too reckless with everything, including your emotions. You shouldn't be wasting your feelings on someone who didn't treat you well. But I suppose you will anyway. And I suppose, well, that's the only reason we're still speaking. So, er, yes. That's all I have to say."

Newt stares at him for a long, awkward moment. "I think you were trying to be profound, but boy I can't find the point in there."

Hermann scowls "I was only trying to comfort you in some way. Forgive me for even attempting."

"Hey." Newt leans into Hermann slightly, the warmth of his arm pleasantly shocking, intimate, and foreign. Few people outside of Hermann's rarely seen family attempt to show him any sort of physical affection. Fewer still does he allow. But Hermann willingly invaded Newt's space just moments ago, so he supposes it's only fair that the reverse is to occur.

"Yes?" Hermann asks, half of him wanting to jerk back, and half wanting to increase the contact: let their hands brush, make their knees bump.

"Thanks," Newt says. "I know you're trying. You suck at it but the fact you're even trying is... thanks."

"Of course." Hermann nods, glancing at Newt. He still looks awful, but his expression is a little less sallow, a little less pained. "And, Newton, I do consider you a friend. Perhaps my most exhausting, most argumentative one. But still a friend."

"Yeah? Cool. The sentiment's returned, buddy. Does this mean we're gonna exchange BFF necklaces now?" Newt replies, smirking when Hermann rolls his eyes. "Hey, you called me exhausting, I'm just living up to the description."

Hermann feels the beginning of a smile on his lips, and he opens his mouth to answer, but everything dissolves in cerulean and he doesn't have a mouth, or a face, or a singular body (he is everything and nothing all at once because he is part of everything and nothing), and this goes on for eternity until it is no longer eternity but instead, it returns to metal grating under his feet, a blueish glow against his face, a clock-face spinning on his wrist, and frozen figures coming around the corner to put an end to this desperate chance at redemption.

Hermann breathes deep, shaking in his sensible shoes while he tries to make sense of what's happened. The world seems the same as before, no sudden, timeline shattering changes. He gathers from this that his present hasn't changed, the present still firmly as it was.

Yet he can't be quite sure about the past. It's hard to discern his exact mental state from fourteen years prior. From what he can remember, Newt and he were barely beginning to rekindle their acquaintanceship when the Tokyo attack occurred. Would he have considered Newt a friend at that point? Certainly, this time he was able to affect himself enough to at least check on Newt, but would the conversation have gone this route without Hermann's meddling with the first moment?

Then there's the question of timeline paradoxes. Hermann can remember those moments in their original incarnation, which means they never happened in the way he's altered them. Is he affecting some sort of alternative timeline, then? Is this a gambit destined to fail? He saves another version of Newt, another version of himself, and then when the device turns off, he's right back where he began. Or, perhaps, the time device is holding him in a suspended state -- like a save file for a video game, where the player's gone and murdered everyone in town, but once corrected by returning to previous files, will be written over with the new, positive state. Lord, that's a thought, isn't it? Chalk one up to those bloody theorists who hypothesize the world is just a digital facade.

Hermann considers what he's learned from these two jumps. He has yet to figure out how to control which moment he lands in. He's stuck in his own previous body, but able to affect his consciousness enough to alter the outcome of certain moments. Even after altering the past, the present seems just the same as it was, except for the worsening ache of his body, like he's run a marathon or gone a few rounds in a boxing ring. He feels as though he can barely stand, hand shaking as it clutches the grip of his cane. Is it the traveling itself wearing him down, or the energy he has to exert to change the future? Really, it doesn't matter, he supposes. It isn't as if he plans on stopping.

Hermann coughs hard as he fiddles with the button on the watch face, sending the next dose of fuel into the device. Three jumps left, no real control over where he ends up. Or does he? The device seems to respond to his thought patterns right before the jumps, sending him to moments related to those ideas, like a genie vaguely granting his wishes.

What else needs to change between us to ensure this future never occurs? He's pushed himself twice to be proactive, to push past the walls they built to keep one another out. Cracks are forming, ready to chip away, but Hermann can't be the only one pushing. Newt must feel comfortable enough to make a move and have it validated. So then, perhaps next time, I need to be the one who is in need of a friend. Plenty of moments in my life where that was true.

He hasn't admitted to himself how scared he is until now. Or how badly he could use that friendship. I wish you were here, even though if you were, this would be pointless, Hermann thinks, swallowing and wiping his eyes. I refuse to let this be how it ends.

The third jump hurts less and more. Easier to slip into the timestream, but harder wear on his mind. He comes tumbling out into himself, slamming his fist into the top of his work desk. Angry, he is angry, flailing about like this, but is it his fault, when his awful day is ending with the appearance of the man he despises the most in the world?

"Get out," Hermann seethes, whipping around to meet eyes with his father, Lars Gottlieb, who stands ten feet away, arms folded, wearing a look that someone who didn't know him would call flat -- emotionless -- but Hermann can only see disappointment written in the dip of his eyebrows, the curve of his mouth.

"Hermann--"

"I'm not joining you, father," Hermann spits, leaning over to pick up his cane from where it's fallen to the ground His head is pounding with anger, but as he learned to do as a child, he buries the majority of it. "For the last time, this isn't your decision."

"This is foolishness. You are squandering your talents here with jingoists and mad scientists," Lars replies, toeing a sample jar that contained a kaiju spleen -- on Hermann's side of the lab, of course -- and looking disgusted at its presence. "I did not pay for a good education for you to waste it here."

"I am an adult!" Hermann snaps, feeling very much the opposite. "I am not required to adhere to your wishes just because you fulfilled your required duties as a parent. And might I remind you that after primary school, it was my own merit that brought the money for my education. You and mother didn't need to pay a single red cent for it."

"Your mother is as concerned as I am," Lars says. Oh, of course he'd go for that low blow, of course. His voice dips when speaking of her, like she's already a ghost they are wary of summoning, and not a woman slowly being lost to terminal illness. "All she wants is her children to be near her. You are the only one who refuses to come home."

It isn't as if Hermann hasn't been thinking about how his job keeps him far away from his loved ones. It's not as if he doesn't know that he's running out of time. But as he's explained to this windbag over and over, if he doesn't stay, there won't be a world left for them all to exist in.

"You aren't winning this argument," Hermann responds, turning around to face his desk. He perks his head up when he hears footsteps, and sees Newt ambling into the lab, bubble tea in a plastic cup in one hand, sucking little pearls of tapioca up through the straw. "Ah, Newton."

"Oy," Newt says, nodding towards Lars. "This your dad?"

"Fantastisch. Der Zirkus ist für eine weitere Vorstellung zurückgekehrt, ," Lars responds, and it nearly boils Hermann's blood. It doesn't matter how many times he himself has mocked Newt's ridiculous ideas or outlandish behavior; they have... they have an understanding. Lars just means to tear his lab partner down, to show how little he thinks of the other man. "Was für eine Show hat er denn heute für uns parat, Hermann?"

"You realize that Newton speaks German, father?" Hermann grumbles. "Surely you've forgotten your manners." A comment like that towards one of Lars' colleagues would've gotten him boxed behind the ears and sent to bed without supper. He gives Newt a look that says I'm sorry, just ignore him, he'll be gone soon.

Either Newt doesn't get the hint or ignores it, because he makes a beeline to come stand beside Hermann, eyes locked to Lars. "Not the first time I've been called a freak, Herms. No big deal. He's just mad that you decided to hang out with the freaks instead of his stuffy, stick-up-their-ass buddies with their shit opinions and shittier ideas for stopping the Kaiju."

Lars has always been quite adept at hiding his feelings, which is why Hermann is so surprised that Newt's comment leaves him turning crimson and making a rather undignified sound, almost a squawk. "This is who you've chosen to align yourself with? I'd always heard he was a nightmare but I could have never imagined how much."

Hermann turns around and opens his mouth to -- and he can't believe he's doing this -- actually defend Newt, but apparently the man is eager and willing to be his own defense. "Hermann and I get along just great," Newt replies. He drapes an arm over Hermann's shoulder, very casually and very much setting off Hermann's alarm bells about personal space and Newt's willingness to invade it. "We've got this neato yin-yang thing going on where we argue about everything until we either end up on the same page or the arguing helps us figure shit out. It's kind of like you guys except I actually respect him enough to take his opinions seriously. You should try it, you might remember how much of a genius your kid is."

"How dare you-" Lars begins, but Newt's eyes are on fire, he's got a wicked grin streaked a mile wide and Hermann can tell he's looking for a fight. Bloody hell, this won't turn out well. Even if Hermann has mixed feelings about his father, he expected their first meeting would be less hostile. That their own worst habits -- Newt's tendency to come out swinging against anyone who shows him the slightest bit of disdain, and Lars' tendency to treat all of Hermann's acquaintances as intellectually inferior -- wouldn't come out to play.

"Father, you have a meeting to attend, yes?" Hermann cuts in, pulling away from Newt's friendly embrace and motioning for the door. "I suggest you not arrive late."

"But Herms, he's such a well respected academic," Newt snarks. "If he's not there, I'm sure they'll wait. The conversation was getting really enlightening."

"What a disappointment you must be to your father," Lars says. "Parading yourself about like a fool. Six doctorates and none of them in common sense."

"This coming from the expert on being a disappointment," Newt shoots back, and it's only Hermann's hand reaching out to grip his shoulder that keeps Newt from getting up in Lars' face. "Why'd you bother to stop by, anyway? Clearly you're not welcome."

"Newton," Hermann hisses, digging his nails into Newt's shoulder as a warning. He's very quickly overstepping himself.

"My relationship with my son is none of your business, Doctor Geiszler," Lars snaps. "You'd do best to remember that."

Hermann slaps his hand over Newt's mouth before he can retaliate with some new snappy remark. "Father, the meeting," Hermann insists desperately. He's worried now that things are about to come to blows. He's never seen his father raise a hand to another adult, but he knows Newt has a history of scuffles with the occasional smart-mouthed colleague, his brilliance usually the only thing keeping him from getting kicked out of a conference or fired from his job.

Lars sniffs and casts a disapproving look over the pair of them, which Hermann thinks is vastly unfair. He's trying to head off this whole confrontation business! Honestly. "We will continue this conversation later, Hermann," Lars says. "You will join me for dinner this evening."

Hermann feels Newt saying something muffled against his hand as Lars strides out of the lab. His lips are soft and ticklish, and Hermann yanks his hand back like it's been burned. "What?" Hermann asks.

"I said, where does he get off, ordering you around like he's your fucking boss?" Newt yelps, flexing his fists. "Man, that guy is such an asshole!"

"That 'asshole' is my father, Newton, and I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from antagonizing him in the future," Hermann says. Newt gives him a wide-eyed, incredulous stare. Hermann sighs, shrugging. "He's right. Our relationship is our relationship. Not your concern."

"Bullshit, dude," Newt counters. "Of course it's my concern. You know who's there, listening along when you go off on a tear about how much of a dick he is? Me. When you get back from family trips and need to drink and bitch about your latest blowout, whose room do you show up at? Mine. And now with this 'Wall of Life' bullcrap, he's just here to hold it over your head, isn't he? Tell me I'm wrong."

"My apologies, Doctor Geiszler. I've clearly involved you too deeply in my family concerns," Hermann grumbles. "I'll keep my troubles to myself from now on."

"That's not what I'm saying," Newt replies. "Why do you let him push you around?"

"We were having a disagreement, Newton." Hermann's eyebrow twitches, and he presses a hand to his forehead, feeling the edges of sharp pain as his headache only grows worse. He doesn't have the energy for this right now: first his father coming in to try and guilt him into coming back to Berlin to work on more 'promising' solutions to the Kaiju, and now Newt's refusal to leave well enough alone. He turns to try and leave the lab, lie down and have a rest, but Newt blocks his way with folded arms and a determined expression.

"He's arrogant. And smug. And constantly driving you up the wall," Newt points out. "So why do you put up with him?"

"The same reasons I put up with you," Hermann snaps. "You fit all those qualifiers on any given day, and yet, for some reason, I still want you in my life. Now would you move? I've about as much desire to continue this conversation as I did the one with him."

Hermann takes three steps forward, brushing past Newt, who catches his arm, which is surprise enough for Hermann to pause and get a good look at him. Newt's teeth are grit, his hand is twitching and he's looking everywhere but Hermann's face. How strange.

"You shouldn't-" Newt starts, then sighs. "Never mind."

He turns away, and in another world, another time, that would be that. Hermann would shrug him off, leave the room, and they would continue on as normal. Hermann would see his father for dinner, leave the restaurant after a screaming argument, and spend the next week snapping at any little thing Newt did that rubbed him the wrong way. Except there's a voice telling him to stay, to look, to see. A feeling, an urge that makes him rest a hand on Newt's shoulder, a connective link that travels from flesh to gaze as Newt finally looks at him, and Hermann sees the hint of something that might float to the surface with a little push.

"You've obviously got something on your mind," Hermann says. "What is it?"

"You're gonna be pissed if I say it," Newt retorts. He looks like he wants to slither out of his skin and slide across the floor, out of this conversation, so Hermann keeps his grip firm.

"You infuriate me half a dozen times a day, Newton," Hermann sighs. "About your hygiene, your reckless disdain for proper safety protocols, your violations of noise codes. How is this any different?"

"It's family. Family's always different."

"You've already called my father an asshole. I think we're past the point where you get to claim some holy reverence for my feelings concerning my family. So, what is it you really want to say?"

"...His being your dad doesn't mean squat if he doesn't act like it, dude," Newt says. "A parent is supposed to, like, support you. Be somebody you can go to with your questions about life. They shouldn't make you feel... less than." Newt shrugs. "Disagreements are one thing. But has that guy ever not acted disappointed in you? Did he ever tell you he was proud of you?"

"First biology, now psychology. I knew you'd be steadily devolving into the soft sciences," Hermann says, but there's nothing bitter to his tone, just a heaviness with the realization that this isn't just about his own father. It isn't just about himself. Newt is projecting. A classic Freudian denial mechanism. "My father is a complicated individual. He's never been very good at, ah, vulnerability, I suppose you'd call it. he has a stubborn, perfectionist streak that makes it very hard for him to admit when he's wrong. Something we share in common."

"But he is wrong," Newt insists. "We've both read the reports, seen the models. The Wall is going to fail. It's the equivalent of constructing the Titanic while the iceberg is already hurtling towards the build site." His tone is urgent, his eyebrow curved up in a taut tension. Hermann sighs. Clearly it's going to take a little more explaining.

"Yes, he is wrong," Hermann agrees. He slips his hand off Newt's shoulder and turns to face him full on, address him for a conversation rather than an aside. "I don't disagree with you. The thing of it is, Newton, somewhere in that thick head of his, I think he knows he's wrong. That's why he keeps trying with me. Don't you see? If he knew he was right, he wouldn't bother coming to me. What can I do that the famous, well-respected Lars Gottlieb can't? And yes, before you say it, of course I've made some important contributions. But he's always seen those in the light of his tutelage."

"So, what are you saying?" Newt asks, frowning. "He's in denial?"

"Not exactly. More... he's probing. Testing. Trying to understand why I'm insistent on continuing in a program that seems like a fool's errand to the rest of the world." Hermann shrugs, giving Newt a weary smile. He figured this out about his father a long time ago, but he supposes to an outsider, it's nonsensical. "I suppose it's his own way of showing he respects my intellect. Do you think he flies halfway around the world to argue over anti-Kaiju defenses with any old hack scientist? I'm his son. What I say carries more weight because of that."

Newt chews on his lip, arms folded, clearly thinking over what Hermann's said. Hermann supposes half of what he's said must seem utterly ludicrous, but does anyone's family seem normal or sane to an outsider? Perhaps Newton is right. Perhaps a 'good' father acts quite differently than Lars ever did, but Hermann has never had any other father. So can it be helped that he's accepted their relationship for what it is, and what it will never be?

Finally, Newt makes a frustrated sound and swipes a hand down his face. "I don't get it. I don't think I can. I don't keep people in my life who've fucked me over like he does with you. Every time I hear you talk about him, it's just angry and painful. And then he shows up here and just..." He sighs. "Fuck. He doesn't deserve having a kid like you."

"That is possibly the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Hermann jokes, though it's really only half a joke. "I'll remember to remind you of that the next time you're furious with me."

Newt rolls his eyes, giving Hermann's shoulder a gentle shove. "Don't get a big head over it. Fuck I probably really pissed off your dad, huh. Well, if you need an easy out, just bring up what I said during dinner and you'll get some good father-son bonding time talking about how 'gauche' I am or some shit like that."

Hermann makes an agreeable noise, even as he considers Newt's proposition and realizes he's much more likely to end up fiercely defending his lab partner, and not just out of spite. "Not to worry, Newton. I'm sure I'll be knocking on your door this evening, whiskey in hand, ready to unload all of my frustrations about my old man... er, if that's still agreeable to you, that is."

Newt smiles, and there's a genuine depth to it, a warmth peeking through the crinkles around his eyes. "Course I am. I'll never say no to you-"

Whatever Newt says next is lost to the fog of memory, as Hermann feels himself being pulls back, falling out of his own skin, separating his past and his present, plunging back into the timestream. A distant echo reverberates as he falls: I'll never say no to you. I'll never say no to you. I'll never-

And then he's on his feet once more, but only for a moment before his legs give out and he drops to the metal grating, hissing as his knee cracks against the ground.

"Bloody Christ," Hermann gasps, gripping the floor and panting. His eyes adjust once more to the blue glow of the Kaiju blood tank. He's trembling with an unearned exhaustion. The third jump has left him breathless, no energy to stay on his feet. His body jerks as he coughs, hard, enough to expel spittle. When he wipes the side of his mouth, his sleeve comes back a stained red.

Hermann stares at the red mark, dawning realization of what it implies. Being ripped apart at this fundamental of a level and reassembled in the past is destroying him. If he keeps going, it will only get worse. He can already feel alarming new pains in parts of his body that have never hurt before. Really, it doesn't matter though, does it? It isn't as if Hermann is going to stop. Newt is dead here, in this time and place. That hasn't changed, if the therapist's text is anything to go by. Therefore, the only prescient move is to press on.

The problem is the level of control he has over the past. Despite these three jumps, he is still barely capable of changing anything. Hell, a small part of him worries that each time he has less control. Will it come to a point where he'll be able to change nothing? Forced to watch the past play out exactly the same, screaming inside his own head, helpless to stop it?

He looks down at the watch, the screen showing enough fuel for two more jumps. There's only one moment that makes sense to jump to next. Not that he's had exact control over any of the jumps, but if he really focuses, he can be pretty sure he'll end there. If Hermann is honest with himself, he's been avoiding it, because it feels too... Volatile. What if he's too overwhelmed by seeing it again? A moment frozen in his peripheral memory, seared into his neurons, as vivid now as the moment it happened. Hermann feels his breath speed up as he remembers, the anxiety pressing into the wall of his chest, squeezing. He forces out a deeper breath, rubbing his eyes and then pressing the watch button to release more fuel. 

The world outside the bubble is getting hazier, or maybe that's just Hermann's vision. The figures coming around the corner are fuzzier, less firm in their existence. Is he changing things, truly? Is the world dissolving because of his efforts, and is that even a good thing? What if he makes it worse? For the first time, Hermann considers... What might the cost of changing the past be? He mustn't change the drifting. No, that's a necessary certainty. Without the drifting, they'll never learn what it takes to stop the Kaiju. But if the Precursors lose Newt as a host, what might they attempt instead? What if it's even worse? 

Hermann looks down at the watch, glowing with the signal of its readiness. Two jumps left. Push the button. Don't consider the what ifs. Damn the consequences. The Precursors took Newt from him, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do whatever he can to bring Newt back.

He activates the jump, screaming into a painful drop, because it hurts oh it hurts this time like never before, like his very atoms are close to shattering apart and never reforming. Pulled through the time stream far too many times at this point, he floats for a while, though since time doesn't exist where he is, he can't give an estimate. If he had the time, the equipment, the resources, this would be fascinating, and an experience to be done slowly safely. Perhaps the rest of his life's work. But Hermann only has one concern, and he exists back in some narrow passage Hermann fights to access. A sliver of time, a singular moment, a needle in an infinite haystack.

The first thing Hermann feels is terror- no, not the first thing, since what does that mean? First would imply the beginning of a portion of time, except he was in the middle of a time, halfway down this hallway, having spoken to the Marshall moments earlier about... he tries to remember, but the feeling of fear is so palpable, like water pouring out of his skull, splattering and flowing across his shoulders, down his spine, growing sharp and cold in the base of his gut. the lab go to the lab, he thinks in the past and the present which is the past, scrambling in a jerky motion forwards. Everything was fine -- or about as fine as it can be with the threat of a triple event nipping at their heels -- and now it just isn't and he doesn't know how to name it, how to define that wrongness but he knows he needs to find it.

People stare wide-eyed looks as Hermann rushes forwards, man on a mission, nearly taking his head off on a piece of machinery he almost runs into rounding a corner. But no time, no time to berate those hapless mechanics. He can hear a low, dreadful thrum of electricity that is different from the normal operations of the lab (he knows those noises, five years and they mean certainty and stability and all as it should be). He smells something familiar but slightly off... and realizes it's the scent of Newt's regular hair gel, but laced with smoke. Burning.

Hermann doesn't understand what he's looking at when he bursts into the lab; it's large and a mishmash of a thousand different components that can't possibly have been properly requisitioned. It sparks, wires tumbling and twisting across the floor like a Lovecraftian horror, though the true horror comes when he realizes those wires lead to the sample tank. It's hooked to the machine. What is it doing?

That's when he sees the twitching foot. Just the edge of a black boot, the scuff across the top one he's seen a thousand times before.

"Newton!" Hermann shouts, every version of him shouts, because even though his future self knows Newt will survive this, that doesn't make it hurt any less. It's a broken hope, a desperate wish: maybe this time, he'll tell me before he makes this choice. Maybe this time, he'll trust me.

Maybe this time, I'll be there for him through it all.

The pain in Hermann's hip is overridden by the pain in his heart as he lunges across the room. More of Newt's shaking form comes into view: slumped against the contraption, hair singed, eyes shut, face slack, unresponsive. 

"No, no, no," Hermann's whispering, he's pleading, he's begging to a God he might not believe in. He drops to his knees, the pain driven downwards by the hard landing, and fumbles with the headset. Newt's sharp wince as Hermann slaps the top of it brings a flood of relief. He's alive, oh god, he's alive! Please let him be more than just that.

The moment the headset is off, Newt's hands shoot out, grabbing Hermann's shirt, and Hermann reaches in return, clutching at Newt. Newt is gasping, eyes dazed as he comes back to himself. Hermann's shoe is half off his foot, and his heart is halfway up his throat.

They say nothing for quite some time. Newt is still shaking, twitching, his fine motor control blasted to hell and back from the power of the drift. The drift, Hermann realizes. Newt just drifted with a Kaiju. He willingly just hooked his small, fragile human mind up to a creature from another dimension.

"Tell me your name," Hermann pants, shifting slightly so he can take in the appearance of the other man. Shaken, but Newt's eyes have focus -- bloodshot to hell, but there's recognition of Hermann, a cognizant matching of his gaze. "Tell me your full name."

"N-Newton.  Newton Geizler," Newt gasps. His hands haven't lost their grip on Hermann's shirt the whole time.

"What city are we in. And the year, what's the year?" Hermann insists.

"It's uh, Hong Kong." Newt swallows, wincing again as his body spasms. "Fuck. Year's, year's Twenty Twenty-Five."

"Why are you in Hong Kong, Newt?" Hermann can't believe he's doing bloody memory testing right now but he needs to know, he needs to be sure.

"S-studying Kaiju. For the PPDC." Newt closes his eyes, and Hermann almost barks at him to open them, but the wincing has gone on, and he realizes that Newt must have a bloody massive headache after that experience.

"Name... name your family members," Hermann demands. Come on, keep going, work more of that memory, make sure it's all still functioning.

"Fuck," Newt hisses, digging his nails into Hermann's skin. "Okay, uh. Jacob Geiszler. Illia Geiszler. Hermann Gottlieb."

"What- no, I'm your friend. Your mother, Newton. What's your mother's name?" the Hermann of the past insists, even as the Hermann of the future reels through a moment of recognition because that, that can't have been an accident. That was the truth. It was there. The whole time, it was there and he missed it, bloody hell...

"M-Monica," Newt sighs, making a pained noise in the back of his throat. "Herms, I get what you're trying here but just shut up for a fucking second..."

"I'm calling medical," Hermann says, letting of of Newt's shirt to grab for his cell phone. In a surprisingly deft move for a man half seizing, Newt snatches his wrist and holds it firm.

"I'm fine," Newt says. "Don't call them."

"You just drifted with a bloody Kaiju!" Hermann hisses. "You need medical attention immediately!"

"No!" Newt snaps, wincing again. "If you get me put in the med bay, today, of all fucking days, Hermann, I'll never forgive you. I can't be out of commission."

"You already are, you damned reckless idiot!" Hermann snaps back. "You're useless right now."

"Let Pentecost decide that," Newt says, shaking his head. "You wanna call anyone, call him. I need to tell him what I discovered."

"Discovered?" Hermann frowns. "What are you on about?"

Newt blinks his eyes open, mouth curling in a pained but tenacious grin. "It worked, dude. I was right. It's a motherfucking hivemind."

Hermann gapes at him. "Preposterous. I'm not calling the Marshall; you're clearly cracked. You need-"

"I need Pentecost!" Newt yells, angry and harsh. In a swift move, he shoves Hermann off, pressing both of his hands over his eyes, pushing the palms up against the sockets. "If you can't get him, you're useless to me."

"Fine," Hermann snaps, exasperated. Clearly Newt is mentally cognizant enough to act like his usual, bratty self, so Hermann isn't as worried about brain damage. If Newt needs the Marshall, he'll get the damned Marshall.

What happens next doesn't change. Hermann gets the chair, gets Newt water, and then calls Pentecost down to the lab. There's bickering, there's Newt's wild-yet-uncomfortably-close-to-being-verified theory, there's Pentecost's bloody ridiculous pronouncement that he might be able to provide Newt another brain.

By the time the Marshall leaves, Past Hermann is ready to storm out. In Future Hermann's timeline, he did, leaving to cool off for a few hours. Enough time for him to compose his volatile emotions. But if there's one thing Future Hermann knows, it's that he can't leave well enough alone. And there are some things he never got to say. It's far too easy to nudge himself to turn on Newt, who's futilely attempting to drink the rest of the water, spilling half of it down his shirt.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Hermann is still furious, and raring to go at this preposterous plan that the Marshall and Newt have cooked up.

Newt snorts, rolling his eyes. "What, Pentecost is gone so now you're gonna unload on me? Real brave of you, dude."

Hermann waves his hand towards the drift contraption Newt built. "May I remind you that I found you on the floor over there, seizing, after the first drift. You're a biologist, you know the likelihood-"

"Hermann. I'm not doing this with you." Newt sighs. "It's the end of the world, dude. We've got giant space aliens banging down our dimension. We ran out of time. I need to find out more about what's causing these Kaiju to come across the Breach, and now we've found a way to potentially get that information. Besides, you're just pissed that Pentecost chose my knowledge over yours." The bastard has the audacity to look smug.

"That's not why I'm mad!" Hermann shouts. "Are you even capable of taking this seriously? You could die, Newton. One more drift will fry your neural processing."

"Then what do you suggest, my esteemed colleague?" Newt's tone does not suggest esteem. Not in the slightest. More annoyance. "Come on, hit me with that sexy variety of options we've got."

Hermann flails for something. "Pull one of the pilots to do it! They're used to drifting, they'll be able to take to it more easily." 

Newt rolls his eyes. "We don't even have the brain in our possession, dude. The pilots need to be on call for the next attack, and we're low on manpower as it is. Besides, they won't be able to interpret the neural signals like I will. I'm the fucking world expert on these creatures, Hermann. Look, if it makes you feel better, I'll rewire the interface to absorb more of the neural signals, give my brain a little break."

"This is preposterous," Hermann insists, "I'm not agreeing to this ludicrous plan," and isn't it always his job to keep Newt in line, hasn't it always fallen on him to point out when Newt isn't thinking clearly? He's borne this burden both for Newt's sake and for the sake of this organization, and in a moment the Marshall's told him to throw the whole bloody thing away. Like it's meant nothing. Like Newt means nothing in the long run.

"Guess it's good that this isn't your call, Hermann." Newt lifts the water glass and takes another shaky sip. "Go back to work, you've got your responsibilities and I've got mine."

The flare of overwhelming anger is a shock to Future Hermann, and he tries to calm himself. Urging himself to take a breath, talk to Newt rationally. This won't get them anywhere. He's come to this moment to fix things, not make them worse.

The problem is, this isn't what happened before, and he doesn't remember himself feeling so angry last time, but this version of himself is. And there's only so much Hermann's been able to do to influence his past self's actions. This is what he fails to do now.

"Listen to me, you arrogant little fool," Hermann shouts, stalking over to Newt and looming over him, wide-eyed and twitching in the chair. "You're going to go running off on some reckless longshot, and you're going to die, and you'll achieve nothing while doing it."

Newt scowls, letting the glass of water clatter onto the desk next to him. "So what do you suggest I do? Just hunker down in this lab like we always do, letting the muscleheads take pot shots and praying that the Breach closes by itself before your predictions come true -- and I'll remind you, as much as I hate to admit it, but they always fucking happen, Hermann!"

"I know they do! You don't think I know that? But if you go now, if you strain your mind so soon after this first drift..." Hermann won't say it again. He can't say it again. He doesn't need to.

"Hermann, if I don't do this, we're all going to die," Newt says. He swallows as he grips the arms of the chair, working the thought through his teeth.

"We're all going to die anyway, Newton," Hermann says. The anger in his voice has strained away to something sadder, more final. "What do you think you could possibly learn from one more drift that would change that?"

Newt meets his despair with angry defiance. "So that's it. We just wait around to die? Since when did you turn into such a damned coward, dude? What happened to the guy who told his old man to fuck off back to his wall?"

Hermann shrugs. "There was only so long I could ignore the odds. Look at it this way. You can either die out there, alone... or you can be with people who care about you at the end."

He reaches down to rest a hand on Newt's shoulder, but Newt slaps it away and staggers to his feet, hissing with pain, coiled with fury. "Fuck you, dude. That's not who either of us are. I don't know what the hell's gotten into you, but I'm not buying it."

"Newton- 

"No. This isn't a debate. You can either help me out here while I'm out there, or you can keep pretending that I'm being a moron and there's another way." Newt sighs and meets Hermann's gaze. "Not like I don't already know which one you think." The pain in his expression isn't all from the strain of the drift. Oh. Oh, that's Hermann's fault.

Hermann swallows, and he's swallowing back anger and frustration and fear all at once, bubbling up his throat, and he wants to say, you're wrong, but not about the drift. He wants to say, I thought we'd be together at the end. He wants to say, I've always known that you'd choose to find out the truth over your own safety, and I've only been holding off the inevitable.

But most of all, he wants to say, take me with you. Let me bear some of this burden. You don't deserve to hold it all yourself.

He can't, though. He knows that they still need him here to tighten up the Jaeger coding, to try and pinpoint the timing of the attack.

To be the last of K-Science, if the worst does happen.

Sometimes, the little voice in Hermann's head, the thing he's come to believe is a deep level of his conscience, well, sometimes it's not enough. A little nudge can't change the inevitable. The course has already been set. So, even though it's telling him to say all these things, he says nothing. He simply turns and walks out.

"Yeah..." Newt says as he leaves. "See you later."

And that version of Hermann will see him later, but another version shouts and claws and fights against a body he can't control, a mind too wrapped in worry and conflicted feelings until that body ejects him and sends him spinning and screaming back across time. Back to the future.

Newt would love that reference, is what Hermann is thinking as he crashes to his knees, bent and shaking and coughing blood, red drops splattering through the openings of the metal grating. The watch is still glowing, but the hands have slowed down. LOW FUEL reads on the watch face. One jump left. Hermann grips his fingers around the metal and lets out a low, pained moan.

No, it's gone wrong, it's all wrong, he thinks. That isn't how this was supposed to go. Newt was supposed to come away believing he could trust Hermann, that Hermann would be there for him. Not like the first time. But now it's even worse, maybe? Because it isn't just that Hermann doesn't believe him. Now Newt thinks he's a bloody coward. Maybe he's made himself a coward, just doing this. Maybe he'll never go to find Newt. Maybe this Newt will never drift with him. Maybe he'll die during the second drift, and everyone will die, because they'll never find out about the Kaiju DNA needed to cross the Breach. What if he's destroyed this timeline completely?

Hermann slams his fist on the floor. "What do I have to do!" he shouts to no one.  "Would someone bloody tell me!"

Silence. Obvious.

Hermann slumps back to lean against one of the wooden boxes lining the corridor. He can't stand up. Everything hurts. Even thinking. He feels like he's been at this for years. Well, technically, he has.

I have to fix that, Hermann thinks, taking a rattling breath. He presses the button one final time, emptying fuel into the device. If nothing else, that can't stand as it is. I can't let him think I'm a coward. I can't let him think he's alone.

The light overhead never flickers. The blood in the large tank never swishes. Everything outside is shrouded in white. Hermann breathes deeply again. The last time he'll do this. The last chance. What will happen when this jump ends? Or will it? Will he fade into himself, and the future plays out as he's made it? Will he have fixed another version of them? Will he have destroyed everything?

Maybe I am weak, maybe I am a coward. Hermann swallows, finger tracing the button. If I wasn't a coward, I wouldn't have done this. I wouldn't have risked the world for you.

But I'd do it again.

He presses the button.

The pain is the most intense it's ever been, and unlike every other time, when he feels on the cusp of reaching his destination, he feels slammed into a wall, like it's blocked off. Scrabbling his very molecules against that wall, trying to pry it open, he is barely a consciousness, but he's enough to realize that something is so, so wrong. He can't get back to that moment. It's been closed off. Because it's changed? Because he's been there?

Take me somewhere nearby, Hermann thinks, a metaphorical mess of neurons firing to create this impossible thought. I can't let this happen.

The wall is slippery, and tilts, and his consciousness rolls away from the moment, farther on, though not much farther, and he falls, he falls, he falls. Praying he'll find something to fall into.

The first real thing he feels next is his hand wrapped around a doorknob, and his body's forward motion as he pushes the door open. The sea air is thick and wet as he emerges from the door to the Shatterdome roof. Past Hermann feels the weight of the last twenty hours bearing down on his shoulders, but it's a happy fatigue. The final battle is won. The Breach is closed. The war is over.

The moon is high over the surf, and a lone figure leans against the edge of the roof. The rain has stopped, and the world is quiet here, but for the rumblings of celebration in the building below. Newt's head is tilted back, his brown hair ruffling gently in the breeze.

"Needed a minute?" Hermann calls, gently trodding over to stand next to the other man. Even though it should be scientifically impossible -- and he's so often been suspicious of the reports of Jaeger pilots as to the effects of the drift -- Hermann feels a live wire thrumming between them, gets flashes of feelings he can't quite put names to, half comprehensible thoughts. It was so clear in the drift, moment after moment downloading into his neurons. Now it's all fuzzy 'round the edges, like a series of grainy photographs passed through far too many camera filters.

"Hey." Newt's voice is hoarse from shouting, screaming, yelling, and all the general moments of distress he's experienced in the last day. Hermann saw them all, saw them before any other memory, tearing through the short-term memory before he accessed the long-term. "You should be down there, celebrating with everyone."

"I thought I should come find you," Hermann says. I wanted to be near you, he doesn't. "You've got plenty to celebrate as well."

"Mmmmm." The sound is noncommittal, as if they haven't just helped save the entire bloody planet from the civilization destroying threat that's been looming for the last twelve years. Newt shrugs off his leather jacket, frowning as he examined the rips and tears that mean the old thing should probably be retired. "You go ahead," Newt says. "I'll be there in a sec."

"No," Hermann says, both past and present. "I think we should talk."

"What about?" Newt drapes the jacket over the edge of the roof. He leans back against it, his muscles flexing as he bears his weight. If he lets go, he'll go right over. Always the daredevil, even after running for his life from a damned alien.

"You know, I think." Hermann leans next to him. Not as far, but all the same. Mirroring, echoing. Sharing the danger, if only slightly.

"Oh?" Newt says, completely unconvincingly. He cleans the dirt out from under his nails, not looking at Hermann.

"I... I saw some things," Hermann reminds him gently. "Felt some things, about myself. The way you see me. That... that I hadn't known."

Newt is turning a particularly delightful shade of crimson. "That wasn't... It was just back when we were writing."

"Was it?" Hermann knows what he felt, that... that yearning Newt held for him. Though he can't place the when and where of it.

"Of course," Newt says. A damned liar, is what he is. Hermann can sense it.

"So, all of it, that's all in the past?" Hermann nudges him, meeting his uncertain eyes with a smile. "It isn't how you feel now?"

Newt folds his arms, rolling his eyes. "Just get it out of your system, dude."

"Get what out?"

"Y'know. This. This thing where you know way more about what goes on in my head than I ever wanted and find ways to mock me for it." Newt wiggles his hand, motioning between them. "So, go ahead. I don't want this to be a thing."

Hermann frowns. "You think I'll mock you for having feelings for me?"

"You've made fun of me for stupider shit," Newt grumbles, kicking some loose bits of concrete on the ground. "I figured you'd relish the opportunity. All my making fun of you, calling you names, insulting your clothes, and now it turns out it was a cover for some dumb crush?"

"Your feelings aren't dumb, Newton. Surprising, perhaps." Hermann shrugs. "But you've always been... passionate about things you care about. No shock that it includes people you care about."

Newt snorts. "You're being awfully considerate for the guy who calls me an imbecile at least twice a week."

"Wild, baseless theories without evidence are different. And I suppose I was wrong to dismiss them all, considering how everything turned out." Hermann leans a little closer again, arm pressing into Newt's own. He wants that physical connection, and if he were an honest man, he'd say it wasn't just for Newt's benefit.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Newt says, shrugging. "Not like you feel, uh, felt the same way, y'know, at the time where this would be hypothetically happening. So, yeah."

"You're quite certain of that," Hermann says. "Is that what you saw in my head?"

Newt rolls his eyes again. "I think we both know what's in your head at this point."

"I'm sorry," Hermann says, as if he has something to apologize for. As if he can help that his feelings for Newt haven't progressed to the level of Newt's for him. Does he care for the man? Of course. Does he value his friendship? Certainly. But romance? Romantic love? He can't say he's ever known what those felt like. Sometimes wonders if he was ever built for them. So it's impossible for him to define what he feels for Newt. Only he knows it's not that deep, burning want that Newt felt -- feels -- for him.

"It's not your fault," Newt says, matter-of-factually. "Hard to like a guy like me. Or so I've been told by every girl and boyfriend I've ever had."

"Newton..." Hermann's tone is soft, almost pleading. There's a voice in his head saying, just tell him you love him, he needs to hear it, but Hermann is nothing if not truthful. And he won't say what he doesn't believe he feels.

Newt pushes to his feet, breaking their physical contact. "I've been thinking about what I'd do after the war for a long time, y'know? I had all these ideas, but I'm only certain about one thing right now. We need some time apart."

Hermann's eyes go wide, and he straightens to his full height. "But I thought- I assumed we might find a posting at the same university. Perhaps room together for a while. We talked about it a few times."

"What's the point?" Newt asks, twisting towards him. He's looking at Hermann, but his eyes are focused far off, like he's looking through Hermann, to the future. "We've been so wrapped up in each other's lives for five years, dude. It's time to, y'know, figure ourselves out outside of the dynamic K-Science duo."

"We can still do that while being in a close proximity to one another," Hermann argues. He doesn't understand why Newt's had this sudden change of heart. What's changed? "I want us to stay together."

"And I need us not to," Newt retorts. "My personal life can't revolve around you forever, Hermann."

"Is this because I don't feel the same? I'm still your friend, Newton. I still care deeply for you." Hermann rests a hand on Newt's shoulder, but he jerks away, just like before, except now it doesn't feel like just for a moment. It feels final. "Newton. Newt. Please."

"Do me a favor then, yeah? Since you're my friend. Don't make this any harder for me." Newt's shoulders are tensed up, and his hands are curling into fists. "Could you do that, Hermann? Just, like, let me walk away with some of my dignity? For once in our relationship, just... just fucking listen to me!"

he can't be alone shouldn't be alone don't leave him, is what Hermann thinks, or what something inside of him thinks.

And maybe that part of him is older, wiser, can see beyond today. But this Hermann is young, and he doesn't know what he wants. And he can't see the future, so that feeling, that certainty that if Newt leaves, it will all go wrong... well, Hermann is a scientist. The future is impossible to predict. Surely, those feelings are just a manifestation of his anxieties, his fears of not being alone himself. That's all.

Still, when he steps into Newt's space, he shocks himself, but it feels right, fees natural. Just as natural is to bring his arms up, wrap them tight around Newt's middle, pulling them flush to each other, and hold on. A skill ill used and rusty, but one that one never forgets.

Newt's breath ghosts against Hermann's neck. "You're hugging me," he murmurs. "Holy shit. What the fuck."

"You seemed as if you could use it," Hermann murmurs back, turning a shade of pale rose. Newt isn't pulling away, and so Hermann slides his arms a little tighter. "It's, ah. It's alright?"

"Sure. Yeah. Not like this is the most shocking thing to happen between us today. On any normal day, definitely." Hermann feels Newt rest his forehead on Hermann's shoulder. His own shoulders relax, his whole body following along shortly. "Is this supposed to change my mind? Because it's not gonna."

"I didn't expect it to," Hermann says. There's an aching in his chest, a loss he hasn't even experienced yet. "You're bloody stubborn when you set your mind to something."

"Part of my charm," Newt says, and he gently tugs away, looking up, searching Hermann's eyes for a hint of what he's feeling. "Are you pissed?"

Hermann shakes his head. "No. Disappointed, but I suppose we've both got some of that to deal with." He frowns, not quite sure where they stand now. "Are we still friends, Newton?"

Newt smiles. "Of course, Herms. I'll always have time for you."

just not a lot of it

The echo of words yet to be said shatters the past before him, a new moment that never occurred in Hermann's version of this time, and he claws to stay inside of it, the last chance he has to change it, but there's no more he can do, he's run out of time (how ironic) and he's wrenched from his body, tunneling forwards, or sideways, or no direction at all, because this is it, isn't it? Nothing left to do but float in the infinite vastness of outer-dimensional emptiness forever...

Except something holds him still. Something guides him, as he threatens to tear and fray apart, back to himself. Back to his body. Back to his time.

Hermann blinks his eyes open, staring at an empty void. Infinite fog, infinite nothing as he lies on a floor that isn't there, his cane resting over his legs. The hands of the watch move slowly around backwards. LOW FUEL still blinks across the face of it.

"What..." Hermann starts, then stops as he falls into a coughing fit, barely able to keep upright. He's too tired to look back to see what he's leaning again. All of his brain power is simply trying to understand what's occurring at this moment. This place that shouldn't exist, this time he no longer has. The fuel is empty. Should be, anyway. So why is he still here?

Slowly, Hermann works the head of his cane open and carefully slides the vial out. The swish of blue liquid at the bottom confirms it. There's still fuel left. Barely anything... but it's there.

How? He was so careful with his calculations of the energy output required to power the device. Each jump should've taken the same amount of fuel. No room for error, and yet, this. Closing his eyes, Hermann spreads the calculations out on an internal chalkboard, running through each one, double checking, triple checking. Where is the error? It's there. It must be.

It is.

Of course, Hermann thinks, opening his eyes again. The less time to dilate, the closer in the timeline, the less fuel needed. Not a lot less, but still. Accumulated over the course of several jumps? Enough for one more chance.

Oh, but what's the point? Hermann's failed to save Newt, it's obvious now. The last time, Newt's feelings weren't this far advanced, and neither were Hermann's, and yet still, it's not enough. Newt still leaves. The Precursors will still take him. Hermann's lost.

I'm sorry, Hermann thinks, resting his head back against nothingness. I tried, dear. I really did.

Hermann's breath is shallow, and it feels like a sharp knife pierces his chest every time he takes in air. If he lies still here, eventually his body will likely give out. Perhaps it's just best to close his eyes, and go to sleep. He's so tired. He's fought all he could, and now it's all over.

Though, maybe he can at least say goodbye.

He lets go of the vial and it slides back down into the chamber. Every last bit of strength goes to screwing the top of the cane back on, and pressing the fuel button. The mechanism sputters as the fluid flows from the chamber into the device, and finally the words on the screen switch from LOW FUEL to EMPTY.

His thoughts are fuzzy, and it's hard to think of where he should go. But something quiet, a simple moment where it might just be the two of them. No one to bother them, and maybe, with the last of his will, Hermann can tell him the truth before this self fades away.

Ah, Hermann thinks. Yes. That will do.

The last jump pulls him apart, and it takes a long, long while before he comes back together, each and every bit of himself slowly collecting in a moment along the timeline, until he is there and he is in himself once more, walking down a hotel hallway, passing by others who are here for this conference. Hermann's been invited as a guest speaker, of course, because three years on from the end of the war, those involved from the STEM community are still collaborating to discuss what they've learned, what the environmental effects of the Kaiju were, the technological impact and advances, and all sorts of other subjects.

Really, though, if Hermann is honest with himself, the reason he came is because Newt will be here. And if Newt is here, Hermann will make him listen.

Hermann was a fool, a damned fool, walking away that night. He's thought about Newt every day since, wondering where he is, what he's doing, who he's with, and it hit him one night a few months ago: the mortifying realization that his feelings ran far deeper for the man than he anticipated.

Of course he didn't know he was in love back on that roof. Love was supposed to be this big, glamorous thing, clear and certain. Not messy like Kaiju viscera scattered across a lab floor. Not painful like meeting someone you thought you knew and finding out they didn't live up to what you'd imagined. Not reckless like hooking yourself up to an alien mind to save your partner along with the world. Not difficult like learning to take his faults with grace because he wouldn't be himself without them.

Hermann's always loved him. He just needed to realize what it means to love someone like this. And now that he knows, it's just a matter of explaining.

The problem, so far, has been getting in touch so Newt can hear what he has to say. Right after the war, they kept in touch, speaking multiple times a week, but in the past year or so, Hermann has heard from him less and less. It hurts, and maybe it's the reason Hermann was able to even have his realization. He couldn't appreciate what not having Newt in his life would mean until he wasn't there anymore. What he has to say, he wants to do it in person, but every time he tries to suggest that he come to see Newt, he's deflected, or told that Newt is too busy, or going to be away, or other pathetic excuses.

Newt is avoiding him. Hermann can't understand why. Part of Hermann is afraid that he's moved on, which yes, is selfish. Newt should be allowed to have a life outside of Hermann. Newt should be able to find someone new to love. But wouldn't it be a tragedy for Hermann not to try? To see if there's something they can make of this? Newt's always been the one more confident in his feelings. Hermann just took a while to catch up.

It was easy to figure out which room is Newt's; a few white lies to one of the conference organizers about needing to collaborate with his old partner, and now Hermann stands before room 323, staring up at the room number, his heart slowly working its way up his throat. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

There's a rustling noise behind the door, a slow shuffling of feet. Hermann swallows and fidgets with the handle of his cane, belly fully of nerves and metaphorical butterflies. When the door opens, there's an intake of breath, though whose it is, Hermann doesn't know.

The air pouring out of the room reeks of an overpowering, unsettling cologne. Newt's shirt is starched white and well-ironed, the top two buttons flicked open. Sleeves straight and unrolled, covering all his tattoos, and pants an appropriate level of loose. No bangles around his wrists, hair combed and slicked back like a businessman. The shoes in the corner aren't boots, and the man before Hermann is such a stark contrast to the Newt he remembers, that he hesitates.

"Hermann," Newt says, monotone. A far cry from the overjoyed, exaggerated way he used to shout it every morning. "Hey. You know the conference doesn't start until tomorrow, right?"

"Oh, well, yes," Hermann says. The underlying message is clear: Newt hadn't expected him, even knowing they were both coming here, to engage with him before the conference. "I, er, hoped we could have a little chat, is all," Hermann continues, fumbling as the words he's practiced over and over fly out of his head. This seemed much simpler without Newt standing in front of him. "Are you busy?"

Newt seems to hesitate, fighting with himself. Mumbling something under his breath, eyes averting momentarily before looking back to Hermann. "Yeah, sure," he says, stepping aside. The room is dark behind him. "I was settling in, you can talk while I unpack."

Hermann steps past him, squinting when Newt flicks on the lights. The room is standard hotel fare, with the advantage of a king size bed -- Hermann has his own in his own room. They're still the rockstars of the Kaiju and Jaeger scientific communities, just like Newt wanted, so they get the perks of it. Newt's suitcase is lying on top of the mattress, and Hermann perches himself on the edge of the bed as Newt unzips the bag, throwing open the flap. "So," Newt says, pulling out an unusually gaudy vest. "What's up?"

"Well, you see..." Hermann begins, but he becomes distracted by watching Newt remove the articles of clothing and carefully place them into the dresser drawers. A vision of Newt's bunk in the Shatterdome -- clothes scattered about the floor, boxers hanging off of lampshades, clean clothes still shoved into a laundry basket -- flashes through his head. Odd. And not the sort of skill a single bachelor picks up on his own. Someone's been teaching him to do this.

"Hermann?" Newt calls, jolting Hermann out of his thoughts. "You were saying?"

"Er, yes. I wanted to see how you were, I suppose. I don't feel as though we've talked a lot lately," Hermann says. It's a vague enough topic to lead to more direct questions later.

Newt shrugs, neatly folding a pair of boxers. "All good. Started that new job at Shao about three months back."

"Yes, I head," Hermann says, which is an understatement. Hermann had been floored when one of their mutual colleagues mentioned it to him. Newton Geiszler, taking his hard won respect and research to a private corporate entity? After all the years of rants about late-stage capitalism, the military industrial complex, and science belonging to the people? It made no sense.

Lots of things lately haven't been making sense, Hermann thinks, watching Newt pick up a lint roller and apply it to a dress shirt hanging off a wall sconce.

"How is your family?" Hermann asks. "All good?"

"Yeah, they're fine. All alive, all still healthy," Newt answers. He doesn't say anything else. The man who can never shut up has finally shut up. Pigs might fly.

"Anything else I should know about? Anyone?" It's obvious Hermann is prying now, but it's also obvious Newt is keeping something close to his belt. This is confirmed with the way his gaze flicks over, and his lips part for just a second, like he's going to say something. But then he bites his lip and looks away, shaking his head.

"Nope. Nothing interesting," Newt says. "That all you wanted?"

"Depends on your version of interesting," Hermann counters. "I miss talking to you, Newton. I feel like you've been pulling away and I wanted to find out why. Have I done anything to offend you? More than usual, I mean."

Again, Newt shows hesitation. A shrug of the shoulders. "You're fine, Hermann," Newt says quickly, too quickly. "Life moves on. That's all."

"Have you, then?" Hermann asks. He smooths the fabric of his pant legs down, picking at an errant fiber. "Moved on, I mean."

"New job, new life," Newt replies. "Just told you." The lint roller in his hand wobbles; his grip trembles slightly.

"That isn't what I mean, and you know that," Hermann chides. "I wanted to know if you still, well, felt the same."

"Not really your concern, is it, Hermann?" Newt asks rhetorically. "You made that clear."

"Well, what if I think it is my concern now?" Hermann asks. Newt freezes on the downstroke of the lint roller, his back to Hermann. "Would that change things?"

Newt is quiet for a while. Hermann feels liable to jump out of his skin. He was expecting something more than silence to the news that the way he feels for Newt has progressed. He's about to prompt Newt further, when Newt sets the lint roller down on the dresser and turns to face Hermann. "I think you should leave," he announces, voice cracking on the last word. His eyes are wide, and he's afraid.

"Newton?" Hermann slowly stands, taking a step forwards. "What's wrong? What aren't you telling me here?"

"Nothing, nothing," Newt says. His one hand creeps across the top of the dresser, curling one of his skinny ties between his fingers. "I just need to settle in. We can, uh, talk tomorrow, yeah? It was good seeing you."

Hermann frowns, taking another step. "I don't believe you," he intones.

Newt's brow curves down angrily, but this seems forced, unnatural. The next moment his eyes are wide again. Like he's battling his own muscle movements. "Doesn't matter," Newt says, pointing to the door. "You need to leave, Hermann."

"Tell me why," Hermann says, drawing himself up to full height. He hasn't exactly been slouching, but the extra few inches help him tower over a man as short as Newt. "Tell me something that makes sense, and I'll go."

Newt's eyes close. His grip tightens around the skinny tie in his hand. "It's, I'm just stressed, okay? That's all. You aren't helping that."

"Newton... Is that really all?"

Newt nods. Hermann can see him twisting the tie around both palms, stretching and twirling it in a nervous tic. "I'm good. Just need some time to myself."

"Alright," Hermann concedes. "If that's what you really want."

Even face to face, Newt won't talk to him. Hermann doubts Newt will take the time tomorrow, or any time this weekend, and for all his bravado in coming here, thinking he would just come out with how he feels, he finds himself unable to breach this impassible wall Newt's put up between them.

He really has moved on, Hermann realizes. He thinks about those neatly folded clothes, and who might be in Newt's life enough to mold him to do that. Someone he lives with. Someone he might love.

Still, as he turns towards the door, something tells him to give it one more go. A voice, reaching out from the void, from his subconscious -- because what else could it be? -- barely there, whispering.

don't let him think he's alone

Hermann stops short, next to Newt. He rests a hand on Newt's shoulder, leaning in a little.

"You know I'm awful about this sort of thing," Hermann admits. "Feelings, and listening, and emotional vulnerability. All the soft sciences," he jokes, hoping for a smile, but there's none forthcoming. Hermann sighs. "Just, I'm here, if you need me, alright? Always. I promise it. Whatever you feel about me, whether it's changed or not, I'll still be here for you. I'll always be your partner, Newton. Some way or another."

Hermann slips his hand off Newt's shoulder, but Newt catches his wrist in midair, gripping it tightly. He lifts his face and there are tears shining in his eyes and Hermann's heart breaks just a little.

"I need help-" is what Newt gets out before his teeth clamp into his lower lip, and he jerks back, stumbling. He grips the dresser to catch himself. Hermann reaches a hand out, but Newt shoots his palm out flat, shaking his head. "No!"

"Newton, what's happening?" Hermann asks as Newt sinks to his knees, hands digging into the carpet below. "Why do you need help?"

Newt looks as if he's fighting his own body, which doesn't make any sense, until he manages to spit out, "P-Precursors," and then immediately whips his head to the side, cracking it against the side of the dresser. He cries out as Hermann launches himself forwards, the word echoing in his head -- not just from Newt, but from that deeply buried voice, like it's been deep in his bones this whole time, just fighting to get out. It has no meaning until suddenly it does (flashes of red screens, Newt in all black, hands around his throat)  and a terrible omen of the future is there, crackling in his brain. So Hermann lunges, hitting his knees hard against the floor, but it doesn't matter if it hurts, because Newt's body is jerking to the side again, ready to bash his skull again.

Except Hermann is there. Hermann is grabbing Newt's shoulders, yanking him forward, holding Newt tight to his chest, trapping his arms to his sides, keeping him cushioned, keeping him safe. Hermann is fighting against a body that is at once fighting him and fighting itself, as Newt thrashes in his arms and that small, deep voice begs Hermann, keep him safe for us please, it was all for him, and then Newt slumps boneless as Hermann takes his weight, holding him up.

"I'm s-sorry, Hermann," Newt spits out, crying against Hermann's shirt. There's a trickle of red, a cut on the side of his scalp where he clipped the edge of the dresser. "They're... nnnghhh... in my h-head..."

"Precursors," Hermann repeats, still holding him tightly as he spasms and jerks. "In your head? But how?"

"D-drifting," Newt hisses. Hermann feels nails dig into his thighs, wincing as they search to hurt, only to retreat a moment later. "New b-brain, I was... learning. Didn't know this would happen."

"Okay, alright," Hermann says. "So how do we fix it? If you created a problem, I know you've got a solution kicking around."

"It's- it kept control through the Drift," Newt says. "Don't let m-me drift."

"You need a babysitter," Hermann confirms. "Possibly some medical and mental health attention. I need to get some outside help." Newt jerks hard in his arms, and Hermann just barely holds on. Newt curses and his teeth brush dangerously close to Hermann's throat.

"Pathetic," Newt spits, voice impossibly loud, impossibly deep. "Worthless host-" and then he whimpers a second later, head twisting to the side. "Fuck off, god!"

Hermann spies the skinny that Newt dropped when he fell; it's lying on the floor next to them. "Newton, I'm going to have to restrain you, I think," he explains. "For both our safety. Is that alright?"

"No," says Newt with the deep voice.

"K-kinky," says Newt with his own voice, a moment after.

Hermann smiles, nudging the tie closer. "Now, I know that's the real one."

Carefully, oh so carefully, Hermann gets the tie in his hands without loosing his grip on Newt, and so in the moments where Newt finds the strength to resist the force possessing him, Hermann is able to yank Newt's wrists behind his back, binding them quickly, efficiently, tightly.  That done, he can relax a little, pushing Newt over to lean against the bedframe. Newt has stopped struggling so much, or maybe the Precursors have realized there's no pointing fighting anymore. He tips his head back, taking deep breaths, wincing every so often.

Newt looks exhausted, and Hermann wonders how long he's been fighting this. How long he's been alone, suffering. Never again.

"You're alright, Newt," Hermann says, slumping next to him, so that Newt sags into his shoulder. "I'm going to get you some help. We're going to fix this."

Newt closes his eyes. Hermann imagines he might fall asleep at any moment. That's alright though. He needs rest.

"You keep saving me, Herms," Newt says softly. "I never repaid you for the first time, even. What'd I do to deserve this? How do I pay you back?"

Hermann tilts his head, until his cheek rests against Newt's scalp. He breathes in, and there, there it is, under the strong cologne that tries to overpower everything, but can't. It's there, the scent of Newt's hair gel. Newt is still here. Hermann hasn't lost him.

"I've an idea, if you're amenable to it," Hermann says. "Would you let me confess that I'm a bloody fool who didn't realize how badly I loved you until you left me? I think, if I could be allowed that, we'd be even."

Newt laughs, and it's pained and short, but it's real. It's Newt. "Yeah. I think I could be convinced."

Hermann opens his mouth to say something cheeky, when everything goes dark.

~

Hermann opens his eyes to blackness. A suffocating darkness. Nothing like the end of the other jumps, but the device is empty, so shouldn't he have returned to his present-

"Herms?" Newt's voice calls from behind him, rumbling with sleepiness. "You okay?"

"Newton, you're- where?" Hermann twists, finding thick fabric wrapped around his middle, holding him in place, and he struggles to push it off. What's going on? What timeline is this?

"Hold on," Newt says. "Let me get the light."

Hermann hears a flick, and light floods the room, revealing the soft grey color of the walls, the deep forest green color of the twisted bedspread, the edge of the window covered in blackout curtains. Newt lies next to him, rubbing his eyes, hair a mussed up mess. He's kicked the sheets off, and the t-shirt he wears to bed has rucked up around his armpits, pale chest peppered with hair that disappears below the edge of his boxers.

"What happened?" Newt asks, yawning. "Bad dream?"

"Yes," Hermann says, as the fog of sleep wears off, and he realizes where he actually is. At home, in his bedroom, safe and sound. Newt beside him, on the side of the bed where he's slept every night for the last three years since they bought this house. Only six months after they got married -- quite a feat for a couple of academics in 2031, but being saviors of the world came with some financial perks, like sold out book tours and sold out first print runs.

"What about?" Newt rubs his eyes, shuffling closer to Hermann. He kisses him softly, earnestly, no hesitation in showing Hermann how he feels. It took a while for them to get here, but everything they went through was worth it, to have this.

"Our life," Hermann explains. "Or, a version of it. A nightmare version that I had to fix to get this one." It had felt so real, up until a few moments ago, when reality had come flooding back.

"Huh, interesting," Newt says. "So, what was different?"

"We weren't together."

"Jeez, that is a nightmare."

Hermann snorts, flicking Newt's ear. "Let me finish. You remember, you told me once that there were moments in our lives that were integral to where we ended up? Points where we learned to trust one another, and without those, I might never have saved you from being possessed?"

"Mmmm, yeah?" Newt frowns. "I remember saying that."

"I think I was a version of myself where they didn't happen," Hermann says. "Where all those moments had gone wrong, and we let things get so bad that I wasn't able to stop you before the Precursors enacted their plans for you."

"Fuck." Newt raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, that's fucking awful. So, like, the world ended because we didn't bone?"

Hermann rolls his eyes. "No, you idiot. We stopped the Precursors. Well, not you, because you were possessed. But the Precursors failed and the world didn't end. But I- they told me I couldn't save you, and then you died. And I built, I think I built a time machine to fix it all and get you back."

Newt blinks quietly. "Wow," he says. "That was such a stupid dream. Oh my god, Hermann."

"It's not as if I could control it!" Hermann scowls, folding his arms, which he knows Newt finds adorable, and that's fine, because it means Newt snuggles even closer, peppering kisses up his cheek. "It isn't much weirder than what really happened."

Newt nudges Hermann to roll onto his back, and Newt straddles him, smiling down at him. "Well, what really happened was that we figured out how to be decent to each other and how suited we were for each other, and then you, y'know, drifted with me to stop my head from exploding from the magnitude of a giant alien brain. And then I was an idiot and drifted with a tinier cloned version of that brain because I was curious and also lonely and you had to save me from that too. And then I got better and you took me back to your apartment the day I got out of the hospital and kissed me like you'd been drowning and I was the air, and proceeded to keep me in bed for the next three days, where we had a very, very thorough discussion about what we wanted, with a live demonstration. That about cover it?"

Hermann grins, hands skimming up the sides of Newt's hips. "I liked the live demonstration part the best."

"Of course you did," Newt replies. He catches up one of Hermann's hands, bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "I'm very good at those. The point is, it was a really dumb dream, but it didn't happen."

"How can I be sure, though?" Hermann says. That dream version of himself, he thought a lot about what would happen to him if the timeline was changed. Is this it? Is he that person?

Newt shrugs. "Maybe you can't," he says. "Buuuuuuuut do you want to spend the rest of the night having an existential crisis over who the real you is, or do you want to have a quickie at three in the morning so you're too tired to think and fall back asleep after?"

Existential crisis, or sex. Well, that answer is pretty obvious.

"We're continuing this discussion in the morning," Hermann says, shivering as Newt starts to kiss down his neck. "If only because it's got the workings of a great theoretical puzzle."

"Mmmmm," Newt says. "Sex, sleep, then figuring out the exact makeup of space-time. Then dinner later tonight at my dad's, forgot to tell you about that one. Cool? Cool."

Well, Hermann considers as Newt slides farther down, they have the rest of their lives to figure it out. Maybe thanks to that version of himself. Or maybe this is all that's ever been.

Whichever it is, they'll figure it out together.