Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air in LOCCENT was buzzing, electric from the collective excitement of people, and it was intoxicating.

Everywhere Hermann looked people were toasting, laughing and celebrating their victory.

"We did it! We did it!" Came like a roar from the incorporeal mass. The crowd closed around him, but instead of feeling suffocated, Hermann felt warm. Relieved. As light as air.

The weight of someone hugging him pressed heavy around his shoulders and in front of his chest. He couldn't see who it was, but it was the most distinguishable sensation of them all. It made him feel solid, and in the clamor, he found himself leaning closer.

Maybe without this touch Hermann would disappear into the chant, like a drop of water in the ocean. He felt a pang of panic at the thought, and held on tighter, grabbing smooth fabric. His cheek rubbed over something scratchy. The skin that touched him was as hot as a furnace and Hermann brushed his nose and then his forehead to the scruffy spot, as the arms circling him shook desperately, holding him so tight Hermann thought their bodies might merge.

"Hermann," the weight said, taking shape. He recognized the voice immediately, as familiar as only that voice could be, creased with sadness and breaking at the edge. "It's over."

Hermann gasped awake and opened his eyes.

He blinked a few times, but the world around him didn't come into focus. 

His head was throbbing, his stomach felt unsettled, and there was a foul taste in his mouth. The dull pain in his head was making it hard to keep his eyes open for long. He closed them and his thoughts swayed in the dark.

The background hum of machinery played a soothing rhythm. So familiar and calming. He turned on his side to go back to sleep.

A sharp, familiar pain shot through his left hip.

Hermann growled, cursing under his breath, and buried his face into the pillow.

With pain came wakefulness, and as he recovered he noticed how stiff his body felt, how uncomfortable and lumpy his bed was.

He wasn't in his room.

The standard military cot in his quarters was as rigid as a wooden board (which was a different kind of intolerable), but with his hip sinking into the mattress and hurting at the slightest movement he couldn't help but miss it.

He stayed very still, panting for air, until the ache slowly faded. He opened his eyes again only to find himself facing the rattled backrest of a couch. He frowned and turned his neck to examine the room, without upsetting his leg.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he was in his lab.

I must have fallen asleep here, was the only explanation his brain provided.

That was unusual. In all the years he'd worked in this lab, he'd never once spent the night on the dirty sofa. That didn't mean he'd never pulled an all-nighter. He'd done that many times. In fact, he may have done that more than what was physically acceptable for any human being. But he'd never been unconsidered enough to sleep in the lab.

Newton Geiszler was the one who passed out on the old couch at indecent hours — not Hermann.

But even so, this level of disorientation was concerning. He should command his body to stay awake long enough to move to his quarter and his proper (if not much more comfortable) bed.

His eyelashes were falling shut before he could even complete the thought. He was so tired. He didn't know what time it was, but the lab was still dark, except for a weak, yellow glow illuminating the ceiling. It was peaceful and quiet, and he supposed it wouldn't hurt anyone if he just—

A snore pierced the heavy silence.

Hermann's eyes snapped open again and he sat upright, his hipbone protesting painfully.

On the floor, right at the feet of the couch, Newton was sleeping.

Hermann was thrown aback by the sight. The biologist was lying face down, with an old blanket wrapped around him, one arm stretched over his head and the other holding what looked to be his leather jacket as an improvised pillow. He snored again, and the mathematician blinked in disbelief.

It was unprofessional enough for one of them to be sleeping on the broken couch in the far corner of Newton's unsafe and unsanitized side of the lab, but he would not allow his partner's laziness and negligence to reflect on both of them like this. He was about to startle Newton awake to tell him just how inconsiderate he was being, when he noticed a cut on his forehead. The dried blood looked almost like smeared paint. Hermann felt shivers run down his spine as he took in more details.

The torn leather jacket. The dirt in Newton's hair. His thick-framed glasses, resting on the floor close to his head, with one lens cracked.

The events of the day before rushed to Hermann's mind.

Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon destroyed at the edge of the Bay. Rain fell in Hermann's eyes as he watched Hong Kong's skyline burning. Finding Newton in an alley, covered in debris. The Kaiju newborn between them and Newton gripping his hand tightly. Drifting with a Kaiju. Marshall Pentecost and Chuck Hansen detonating the nuclear bomb. Danger disappearing inside the Alterverse. The reactor exploding. He thought he'd felt it as he watched the Throat collapse from a monitor in LOCCENT.

The Breach was closed.

The war was over.

And the yellow glow… it was coming from the tank on the corner of the lab, where the Kaiju brain still swam.

The Kaiju. They drifted with a Kaiju.

And now they were all gone.

Hermann felt like being sick. Any desire to sleep abandoned him, and the dull pain he'd felt up until that moment turned into a throbbing headache. Suddenly the quietness of the lab felt suffocating.

"Newton," he rasped. "Newton, wake up."

The biologist mumbled something incomprehensible and burrowed himself deeper in his makeshift bed.

Hermann sat up straighter, gritting his teeth. Something that was covering him dropped off his stomach and he shivered from the cold. His parka slipped to the ground, next to Newton's sleeping figure. Hermann ignored it.

"Newton! Wake up."

The other man stirred.

"Mmm… hey," Newton blinked up at him with a sheepish smile. "What's up, man?"

"Newton, what are we doing here?" He was not sure why he was starting with a question as inconsequential as that, but he couldn't seem to clear his mind fast enough. He only remembered fragments of what happened after the closure of the Breach. The party was a blur of colors, and thinking about it was giving him an even bigger headache.

As a way of answering, Newton let out a burst of laughter. Hermann winced at the sound.

"I don't see what's so funny about this," he huffed, irritated. He massaged his temples as a sharp pain exploded behind his left eye.

"Nothing," Newton slurred, in between laughter. "Just you, and your hangover."

"I am not hungover," Hermann grumbled. He fumbled for his cane, finding it leaning by the side of the couch, and swayed on his feet. He ached all over, but he stood and awkwardly passed over Newton's body, opting to ignore the laughing biologist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Newton get off the ground and climb up on the couch Hermann had just abandoned, murmuring something about residual body heat and the floor being so cold. Hermann was only half-paying attention. He was busy mentally retracing the calculations on his board.

Inside the tank, the brain moved its tentacles listlessly. The memory of what he saw inside the Breach seemed more vivid when he looked directly at it, so he forcefully averted his eyes and limped past it. Past the point where he'd found Geiszler's convulsing body, too, trying not to look directly at that corner either. He stopped in front of his board. The yellow light reflected menacingly on the black and dusty surface, and he shivered as his eyes followed down the lines of numbers.

He visualized his predictive model, running down the equation again. There had been no mistakes, he knew. He had always known. But never in his meticulous calculation he could have predicted the reality of such horrors. The Kaiju came because of an order imposed upon by a higher entity. A logical structure of conquest, so precise that it had never failed them before. Countless worlds, all destroyed and colonized, and Earth was still standing. It hurt to think of that scale. He couldn't have known...

"Will you stop that," Newton groaned from his nest on the couch. "You and your equation did great. You predicted the unpredictable. Can we please go back to sleep now?" 

Hermann looked over his shoulder.

He watched as the biologist buried himself deeper into the covers and turned to his left side, facing away from him.

In the same position Hermann tried to sleep in.

The same position Hermann had never before slept in.

"I didn't say anything about my equation," he managed, his mouth gone dry.

Another growl. The crown of Newton's hair was the only part of him visible.

"Yes, you did. I could hear you mumbling numbers from here."

"I didn't say anything."

The biologist's head emerged then. They locked eyes from across the lab, and something inside of Hermann clicked into place.

A turmoil of interrogatives, feelings, images, coated under the haze of drowsiness, pressed inside Hermann’s skull, coming seemingly out of nowhere. Just like inside the drift, Newton's thoughts sounded loud and clamoring. That visceral and consuming connection; how it exposed him and left him with nothing to hide behind. A flash of blue, the taste of blood in his mouth, and then Hermann was looking at the back of his head from the outside, as he stared up at his work.

The biologist's eyes widened, as the same realization dawned on him and it was like a mirror looking into itself, and the throbbing pain behind his eyes was unbearable.

"Holy shit!" Geiszler shouted and kicked his blanket away at the same time as Hermann stumbled backward. His shoulder hit the wooden ladder and he reached for the blackboard to keep himself from falling. He pushed himself away and looked at where he had left a handprint on the black surface, erasing part of the equation. He couldn't think of what numbers used to go there, in the gap, and that panicked him even more. It was all swarming together in chaos.

Hermann moved blindly. He had to send a message to the Marshal. To Hansen. To someone . They had to run some tests, talk to a doctor - or maybe to a neurologist - and get this sorted out immediately .

His foot tangled with the discarded wire, and in the jerk motion of freeing himself his hip flared in pain.

"Hermann," Newton was next to him in a second, his voice bombing inside Hermann's skull. "Calm down." He took hold of Hermann's elbow - the contact shocking and grounding him at the same time, like Newton's arms thrown over his shoulders during the party, when their thoughts had merged in waves. He could recall it more clearly now. The exhilaration, the warmth, the utter, aching grief as he kept drinking and getting inebriated on two different rhythms.

He pushed Newton away without thinking, but the biologist persisted, gripping his shoulders and spinning him around so they were face to face.

"It's okay - calm down, it's me."

"Inside my head!" Hermann yelled. He was panting; Newton was panting too but a laugh broke out of him.

"I know! Come here."

They stumbled together in the direction of Hermann's desk, and Newton directed his body until he was sitting down on a chair. His legs felt like they were made of jelly, but the room spun less when he didn't have them underneath him.

He buried his face in his hands and rested them on his knees and just concentrated on breathing, hoping he would not vomit on his already destroyed shoes.

He heard another chair being dragged, and the biologist sat down opposite to him, forcing himself in Hermann's field of vision. The bloody cut on his forehead was distressing up close. He tried to focus on the broken lens of Newton's glasses, behind which his blood-shot eyes were staring intensely at him, before deciding to ignore both those details completely, for the sake of his sanity.

"We need to go to the Med Bay." Hermann said. "We have to get this, this -" he gestured frantically at the air between the two of them, "- thing , checked." Normally there was always essential personnel in Medical, as well as in most Bays where emergencies could occur at any hour of the day, but who was he kidding? The apocalypse had been canceled, no one would be stationed and doing their jobs when it was time to celebrate being alive.

"Absolutely we do," Newton said with annoying delight. He looked even more war-torn and disheveled than Hermann felt, so he couldn't figure out why he was smiling so much. "The faster we do the testing, the fresher the data will be. And if there is no one in Med Bay, I know how to operate a MRI. We can totally do the scans on our own."

Hermann glared at him.

"I would rather have a professional behind it, thank you very much."

"I am a professional," Newton replied, offended. 

"And considering your adventure in Pon rings engineering, I don't think you should be allowed to operate anything to do with the brain ever again."

"Dude, I have six PhDs."

"None in neuroscience, if I recall."

The biologist huffed. "You don't need a degree in that to operate a brain scan."

"I still would rather not do any further damage."

"Come on, we are probably fine. Ever heard of ghost drifting before? This is probably it, no reason to be so overdramatic. Besides, what we did was punk as fuck." At the dangerous look Hermann gave him Newton raised his hands in defense. "Okay, okay. Let's go to Med Bay and see what they can do."

Hermann breathed out, relieved. He was still unsure if staring at his eyes or the broken lens was better. He wanted to avert his gaze entirely, but he forced himself to look. 

"Good." His nausea was lessening, but it was still turning his stomach inside out; he's painfully aware of how empty it felt. He wondered if the biologist felt it too, before banishing the thought from his mind.

"Wait, we should probably eat something before we go," Newton said not a moment later, causing Hermann to have a private panic attack. "Nothing cures a hangover like breakfast food."

"I told you, I'm not hungover." Hermann muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, you are," Newton argued. "It's a little funny. Have you ever had vodka before? I swear it's like you're not even German."

Hermann gave him a tired look in between his fingers. "Ah yes, vodka - Germany's national drink."

"It can be if you're not a Bavarian posh," he shot back, then clapped his hands together. "Now, for breakfast. We should go to the mass hall. I bet it hasn't been completely ravished yet -"

Hermann grimaced. He didn’t want to go.

"- Or you could wait right here," Newton continued. "And I'm gonna run to the kitchens and bring something edible back, what do ya say?"

"That's not –"

"Don't even worry. I'll be back in like ten minutes, don’t move!"

Before he could react, Newton was pushing his chair aside and running past him. One quick pat on Hermann’s back (the contact startling him), and then he was gone, and Hermann was immersed in the silence of the lab again.

Inevitably, he stared at the yellow tank with the brain inside. His thoughts going to it like a tongue on a sore tooth.

He had to admit he had not felt at ease around the bloody thing even since it came to the lab, more so since Newton confessed his dreadful plans to initiate a drift with it. Now, it was almost hypnotizing, looking at it. It floated its tentacle-like extremities slowly, with lassitude, and part of Hermann hoped it was a sign of decay. It would not be too soon before the monstrous thing will be another piece of flesh on Newton’s operating table.

He forcefully averted his eyes and headed for the switch set. At least the overhead lights helped him ignore the glow.

Unfortunately, he could now see how filthy the lab was. Even his side was resenting from the mess Newton had made when reprogramming the Pons.

Hermann wrinkled his nose and set to tidy his desk.

The methodical activity eased the stiffness in his limbs ever so slowly. When he's satisfied with his work, he decided to clean Newton's workspace as well. Which would take significantly longer.

Ignoring the cursed spot on the floor, he started with the desk, where old reports Newton hadn't bothered compiling were laying around everywhere. He set the few labeled 'urgent' aside to inspect later, and contemplated chirurgical tools and blue strained gloves, before ultimately deciding not to touch them.

He spotted a record player too, and after a second of hesitation, he rewinded the last track and hit play.

The biologist's chatter started mid-sentence and Hermann listened absently, storing manuals in a bookshelf by the desk. He found faded blueprints and his eyes scanned the notes. Geiszler’s handwriting was a mess of scribbles, with entire parts canceled and written on the margins. It was hard to decipher, but for Hermann, who had spent years working with the man and still remembered the first response letter that had arrived at his house, a lifetime ago, it was easy to navigate. He frowned at a paragraph when he read:

Kaiju-man drift theory - nothing about the chemical and physical structure of a Kaiju is compatible with a human brain.

Neural impulses will react to a neurological mind that can only stabilize a drift through a compatible structure.

Lower tolerance at minimum!

Hermann tried to pierce the meaning to something the biologist might have said, but recalled nothing. A vague image of himself setting aside spare mechanical parts that had no use came to his mind, but he couldn’t quite place it.

He shook his head, the ache worsening. He was in the middle of decrypting another passage when he realized what Newton in the recorder was talking about. His blood froze in his veins.

"- is probably too damaged to even attempt to drift with. Unscientific aside: Hermann, if you’re listening to this, well, I’m either alive and I’ve proven what I’ve just done works, in which case, ha ha! I won —"

"Hermann!"

Hermann turned to see Newton in the flesh walk in, holding several food containers in his arms.

"I couldn't get any -" he stopped in his tracks as he heard the recorder playing back his first experiment with the Kaiju brain. His wide eyes going from Hermann to the device resting on the desk.

"— or I’m dead, and I’d like you to know this is all your fault. It really is. You drove me to this. In which case, ha ha! I also won… Sort of… Here I go in 3, 2, 1..."

The voice in the speaker turned into static and Hermann shut it off, nerveless, as the appalling gravity of the situation settled on him.

"Hermann," Newton's voice was softer than the one recorded. "Listen, I'm - I'm sorry. It was a real dick move to leave you a passive-aggressive goodbye note to tell you it was your fault. Which it wasn't! I hope you know that. It wasn't your fault..."

Hermann shot him a desperate look, his hand still clutching the recorder, and Newton’s voice died down.

A few hours ago, Hermann had yelled at him even as he had hauled his convulsing body into a chair and forced him to stay awake. He had berated and screamed after the biologist as he had left the Shatterdome to go do the same thing that almost killed him once, only with a bigger chance of not walking out of it alive. He had argued even as he had watched Newton work on the carcass of the small Kaiju, and had bargained with himself on whether he should follow Newton or watch him die.

He couldn't bring himself to yell, or to argue, now.

But he didn't want Newton's apology, either.

Newton could have died in the first drift, he could have died in the second drift if he had gone alone, and this recorded message would have been the last words Hermann had heard from him.

Or they could have died together, he thought. And all of humanity would have gone down right after them. 

Hermann didn't believe in miracles, or in luck. It was just people assigning value to inanimate events, believing fate controlled them. Newton was one of those people, but Hermann couldn’t afford to be as naïve. They couldn’t both run head first into danger. They couldn’t both throw useless blame without ever taking accountability.

You didn't tell me you were gonna strap yourself to a Kaiju brain, he wanted to say. Hurt and anger coating his thoughts.

He knew Newton well enough to imagine what he’d answer, and it was unnerving how close to nature the voice in his head felt.

Oh, but I did tell you. You just thought I was kidding and left me unsupervised.

"Are you okay?" Newton asked, taking a step forward just as Hermann came to himself rigidly.

"I'm perfectly fine." His voice didn't shake, thankfully, but the gloomy look on Newton’s face almost made him feel bad for harshly shutting down his concerns.

Almost.

He didn’t want empty apologies; what he wanted was certainty that whatever Newton did to make the drift work with a Kaiju would not permanently affect them.

They were both alive, and it was as close to a miracle as Hermann was willing to define it, but he would not be caught at fault, not with this – this, afflicting connection they shared, and that they might be sharing with something more sinister than just each other.

"Forget about the food," he said, the severity in his voice a familiar camouflage. "I'm ready to go."

Chapter Text

The distant rubble of celebration reverberated through the empty corridors. Newt had thought the party would have died down by now, but it seemed like people still had more in their systems. Years of living under the threat of death and destruction was finally wearing off. Newt couldn't help but smile to himself, wishing that was where they were headed.

Instead, he restlessly followed behind Hermann as they both marched deeper into the Post-Drift department.

The ward was bigger than what Newt had imagined, decorated in the same ascetic way as the Med Bay but completely deserted. This place had been the pride of the Hong Kong Shatterdome back in the days, at the forefront of drift science experimentation and development, but it'd fallen in disuse pretty fast once the Jaeger program was terminated. Newt's never been here before, and he knew very little about what happened to pilots when they walked in this remote area.

Honestly, it gave Newt the creeps just a little bit.

Their footsteps echoed in the intersection between corridors as Hermann looked this way and that for any sign of direction. It'd been his idea to seek help here after they'd seen how busy the main floor of the Med Bay was. Doctors and nurses had their hands full with civilian who were brought in under Pentecost's order after emergency hospitals were declared at capacity. It'd been a pretty sobering view. It didn't feel fair to add more on their plate, especially when they were both standing on their feet while there was a whole sector full of people lying on narrow-framed metal beds looking much worse.

So they'd left Med Bay behind to venture into the private, and at this time guardless, sector hoping they could find someone who would help them.

Newt just hoped to find their lab equipment. Preferably without a lock on it.

"I'm sure we're fine," Newt said to Hermann as they crossed another empty hallway. He passed a hand under the brim of his glasses to rub at his sore eye. His headache was worsening from the distorted vision in his right lent, but he ignored it. It was just one of many aches. "It would be pretty embarrassing of us to survive a human-Kaiju drift and then drop dead from the aftereffects."

Hermann didn't answer; didn't even look at him.

Newt huffed.

"I get that you want to get checked for brain damage, and that's fair. Not gonna lie, my brain feels like it wants to drill itself out of my skull right now, so I think that's a symptom enough. But if I'm honest, even if they told us we have a giant aneurysm, I wouldn't be mad. It was worth it."

Again, Hermann didn't dignify him with a response, but Newt could see his lab partner's growing exasperation and annoyance in his eyes and in his sharp intake of breath.

He was trying so hard not to engage him.

Well, joke's on him, because in Newt's book any reaction was better than no reaction, and getting a raise out of Hermann was his favorite hobby in the world.

"I mean," he shrilled his voice, pushing all of Hermann's metaphorical buttons at once. "The drift! The Hivemind! And the Bridge, it was a genetic multi-dimensional gateway all along! That level of biogenetic manipulation the Precursors could manage, it's just crazy to think about! Plus the way we just saw what it was like to be them, it was so -"

"Are you -" finally, Hermann looked at him, "actively trying to show concern for our situation?"

Their eyes met. Hermann's irritation was palpable and sharp, pressing at the corner of Newt's mind and retreating again as the mathematician averted his gaze and walked away.

Newt grinned. The bleed-through had been coming on-and-off like this since they left the lab. Random sparks of feelings, not as strong as before, but still so bizarre and fascinating to have.

"Of course I am," Newt shrugged. "But that doesn't mean I can't be curious, too."

"Aim your ill-natured curiosity at something else."

"You're a terrible scientist." Newt scoffed under his breath. Hermann pretended not to hear him, but his cane tapped harder than necessary.

They took another turn but this time they ended up on a dead-end hallway with a set of rooms at either side and a wide and imposing metal door at the end.

Newt whittled low. He knew a lab entrance when he saw one.

This must be where the fun happened!

He got closer and peeked through the small porthole windows on the doors. The light inside was dim, but the room looked huge. It had small square tiles covering the walls and floor, and metal furniture that looked aseptically clean.

It seemed more like an operating room than a lab, and the thought sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

He stepped away, wondering again what exactly went down on this side of the Dome.

And they called K-science weird.

"This must be it," said Hermann. He'd stopped at the first door on the left. The tag next to it read, ‘Dr. Martin Gage, Post-Drift department director’.

Newt frowned at the name. The door was ajar and he poked his head inside.

"There is no one here."

Hermann sighed.

"Perhaps he's in another ward."

"Or maybe he's partying with everyone else."

Hermann wrinkled his nose and moved to check the other rooms. Newt hung back, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Inside, the office was small and windowless, like any room in the Shatterdome, but full of objects decorating every free surface. Boxes, books and folders were stacked on the floor where there was no more room on the shelves. The framed pictures on the walls were all of Rangers in battle, touring with their Jaegers, or posing for the press; magazine covers and cut-out articles of their victories. It looked like a small museum.

A picture of the Gage twins, the Romero Blue pilots, smiling next to an older man caught Newt's attention. He picked it up from the shelf, wiping off some of the dust.

The three men were smiling at the camera. The twins at each side and the other man, who looked a lot like them: with the same square face, straight nose and brown hair. They had their arms around each other's shoulders and the sun shining over them. They looked happy. Victorious.

"We should probably – what are you doing?" Hermann cried from the threshold. "You will get us in trouble."

Newt snorted.

"Relax dude, this isn't high school. Come look at this! Did you know this guy was related to the Gage twins?" He pushed the picture too close to Hermann's face so he was forced to take it and hold it at arm's length to look at it.

"No, I did not." Hermann inspected the frame carefully, his brows knitted.

"He could have been their father, or maybe their uncle."

"That's an assumption." Hermann muttered.

Newt frowned and pointed down at the three smiling men.

"What? You think this is a big coincidence? Look at their eyes, and the shape of the nose: it's the same! Uncles and fathers have the same eyes and noses as their sons and nephews."

"I didn't say it was a coincidence," Hermann said peeved. "But if they are related it's statistically more probable he's their father, not their uncle."

Newt had to laugh at that.

"Are you fucking kidding me?”

"Principle of minimum description length," Hermann said in his irritatingly haughty tone he used when talking about math. "The model with fewer parameters is to be preferred in lack of additional evidence to disprove it.”

Newt scoffed.

"You cannot apply that to genetics."

"This isn't genetics, it's a simple calculus of probability."

"Ah, sorry, my mistake," Newt made a show of throwing up his hands. "Your guesses are based on science while mine are just bullshit thrown at the wall."

"I'm merely saying you're introducing an additional predictor that might end up being discarded in favor of a higher probable result."

"Based on what? How many father and sons pictures exist in the world? That's so fucking stupid."

Hermann gave a long-suffering sigh.

"You're the one who made a hypothesis based on a picture."

"And a name!"

"Yes, but that is not a striking proof one way or the other. And why aren't you considering other alternatives while you're at it. He could be their cousin, older brother, grandfather. He could be a stranger with the same surname. And we could go even further in collecting variables, but they could all be nulled."

"So you admit all assumptions could be wrong?"

"Of course they could!" Hermann argued, his voice raising. "But your assumption doesn't improve the accuracy of the theory. Its only effect is to increase the probability that the overall theory is wrong -"

"Who the hell are you?"

They both jumped and the frame almost slipped from Hermann's hand. In their tiff they hadn't noticed the man now standing at the door. He was probably in his sixties - about ten years older than what he looked like in the picture Hermann was now hugging to his chest. His square face was lined with wrinkles, and his hair had gone mostly white, leaving only a few contrasting brown strands on his hair and beard. His eyes were severe and set in a frown as he looked between the two scientists invading his office.

"We, ehm-" Hermann stammered before clearing his throat and starting over more assertively. "We're sorry to bother you, sir. I'm Dr. Hermann Gottlieb and this is Dr. Newton Geiszler. We're from K-science."

The older man narrowed his eyes. He crossed the room and came close to Hermann, taking the frame out of his hand and placing it inside the carton box he was holding under his arm. He didn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry," Hermann said uncertainly. "Are you Doctor Gage?"

"The father of the Romero Blue pilots?" Newt added, shooting Hermann a sidelong glare that the mathematician returned with fury.

Gage hummed gruffly, at either or both of those questions. He placed his belongings on the cluttered desk and sat behind it with a grunt. He seemed tired, and wary, and his resting face made him look like he was constantly angry. A striking contrast to how he looked in the picture, smiling with his… now dead sons.

"What do you want from me?" the man asked tersely. "I'm very busy right now."

He hadn't indicated if they could sit on the chairs opposite to him, but Newt did anyway, and Hermann reluctantly followed suit.

Then, because Newt wanted to speed things up and because he felt like Gage was minutes away from kicking them out, he blurted out. "We're here because we need to be admitted for a full brain evaluation for potential signs of anomalies caused by drifting."

"We have experienced some bleed-through." Hermann specified slowly, eyeing Newt threateningly.

"Probably nothing serious," Newt cut in, "but given the nature of the drift and the fact that we did convulse a tiny bit after it, we wanted to see if everything was alright, especially upstairs," he indicated the side of his head with his finger, "and then we'll be out of your way."

A frown creases Gage's face and he blinked at the two of them.

"You two drifted? Didn't you say you were K-scientists?"

Newt rolled his eyes.

"It's a long story, but to summarize it, I had this theory that I needed to prove and it was now or never, so even if the Marshal didn't approve I stole a Pon system and I fixed it to drift with a Kaiju and-"

"With a Kaiju?"

Gage's expression changed so drastically from a semidetached interest to wide-eyed shock that Newt struggled not to find that unnerving.

"Yeah," he shifted in his seat. "I drifted with it alone the first time, and I only saw like – flashes. Not very good material. It was just a fraction of a brain, after all. So I ran off to get a new one. I found it and I had to drift again, but Hermann here offered to come with me and it was - it was really intense, being inside that flow. But it worked, and it was amazing! Did I mention we helped save the world?"

Newt smiled to himself remembering Hermann's beaming face as he gripped his hand awkwardly.

It was a good memory, one that risked to get buried under the weight of what came right after. Even now, it was so fresh Newt could almost feel the chilling, alien sensation of the multi-faced presence envelop them. Crawling and searching in the depths of his mind, breaking it apart in smaller and smaller pieces, until he couldn't return to himself anymore.

He felt something warm dripping from his nose. He sniffled and touched it with his fingers. It came out bloody, and he stared at it almost incomprehensibly.

"Ehm… This demonstrates what happened."

He looked at Hermann who was mirroring the gesture, drawing fresh blood.

For a moment, Newt saw a flash of himself from the outside - spawned on the floor in the middle of cables - but the moment passed rapidly. From the other side of the desk, Gage was staring at the both of them in mute horror, and Newt couldn't bring himself to say anything to defend himself. His words died in his throat and his heart hammered in his ears. When a moment ago he had wanted nothing more than to shout what he had seen inside the drift at every cerebral minded person who would have listened, now something inside of him was screaming to hold off.

Instinctively, Newton knew the doctor wouldn't understand. No one would. Just like they never understood his tattoos, or his ideas, or him.

He was incompatible with them, they casted him aside, and for a wild second all he wanted was to hide in the deepest corner of his lab, where his work would never be touched.

"What did you do?" Hermann asked in a voice so low that almost didn't sound like his, making Newt blink back to the present. "What did you do to the Pons to make it work?"

Newt felt his interiors go cold.

"Nothing." He lied, but that's when Hermann turned to face him. His eyes dark and intense, as if he knew, and what he didn't know he would get out of him one way or the other. 

"That's impossible. If you had simply drifted with those Pons when you took them, you'd be dead right now, wouldn't you?" His voice was as cold as ice, cutting right through him.

Newt's hands balled into fists. "I knew what I was doing."

"What did you do?"

"I knew what I was doing!" He repeated through his teeth. "I knew compatibility rate measured with a boxing match goes to hell when you want to drift with a fraction of an alien brain. Any human would be incompatible with it!"

"What did you do?"

"I nulled tolerance, okay!" He screamed. "I made the barriers disappear to make our minds understand each other - and guess what, it fucking worked!"

It worked with the Kaiju just as it worked with you, Newt thought triumphantly, before realizing what that truly meant.

He'd read a lot about ghost drift - he'd encountered the term a lot while working on the modified Pons - but if he was honest, he hasn't considered it much in the grand scheme of things. He'd been too busy worrying about making the drift possible that he didn't reflect on what would happen after it was made possible.

Drift residues weren't permanent in a normal drift... but theirs hadn't been a normal drift.

More blood ran down his nose, and Hermann looked at him as pale as a ghost. Newt suddenly felt very, very sorry to have dragged him into this.

"There was no other way," Newt admitted weakly. Not with his mind behind the wheel.

The silence stretched, painfully, until Gage broke it with a scoff. They turned to the doctor, who was massaging his beard looking at a random point on the desk, incredulous.

"Alright," Gage whispered, almost to himself. After a moment, he took a data-pad from the desk and started typing. "I'll approve both of you for the tests we can run here. You will need a blood work for a toxicological check to see if your white blood cells have raised in any significant amount. Then an eye visit, lungs and heart tests, to see if there are any anomalies. You can do a MRI and CT brain scans in a different sector.”

Before continuing, he places a box of tissues on the desk close to them.

Newt took a few tissues, stuffing them under his nostrils with shaky fingers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermann doing the same.

"You should do a Mustering-out, as well." Gage added, eyeing them carefully. "It would give you a clearer idea on what you're dealing with."

"What's that?" asked Newt.

"It's a procedure that restores brain patterns and acts as trauma containment, in most cases. It doesn't cure ghost drifting, but it helps to separate the echo of the other person by focusing on your own mind. It applies technology that maps brain activity using sensitive magnetometers and external stimuli to see how you respond."

"So like a MEG?" Newt loved the name Magnetoencephalography, but it was a mouthful.

"It's born from that technology, yes, applied then to drift science and developed to match the need of pilots. It can find anomalies in your brain's cognitive language as well as stabilizing your pathway through your thoughts. If you're even slightly affected by ghost drifting, the machine will tell you. It simulates the experience of being inside the drift, focusing on core memories and sensations." Gage looked back at his pad, a troubled expression on his face. "Mostly it's used on Rangers who went through traumatic experiences, or have a very high Keeler Trauma and Stress Tolerance rating, and as I see from your personal file, you might have both."

When Newt and Hermann both frowned, he tilted the screen to show them. It was their personal dossiers; Gage tapped at the same identification code that was on their badges.

Dr. Newton Geiszler: S-NGEI_100.11-Y

Dr. Hermann Gottlieb: S-HGOT_471.120-V

"This isn't always shared knowledge outside of drift-science, but these numbers have a meaning. They identify you as potential candidates. The first number is the Harlowe-Sheehan-Parker Compatibility Index. An individual with a low HSP score is less flexible in dealing with dramatically different brainstyles, and is less likely to sustain a connection with someone else."

Newt winced.

"Well, I got 100. That's good, right?"

"The range goes from 100 to 999." Gage explained seriously. "The second number is the CORO pattern, and it's about cognitive architecture. How a person thinks, processes inputs, makes decisions, and all that. If two people have the same CORO, or have it at numbers close together, that usually indicates they can establish a stable drift connection, even if it's not always a guarantee. Usually within ten or fifteen points from each other is when it's best to operate."

Newt felt his stomach sink. Their numbers were 11 and 120… he didn't have to be a mathematician to see the gap.

"The letter at the end indicates the Keeler rating," Gage continued. "That scale goes from A to Z, and it measures emotional elasticity. Letter A being incredibly adaptive and Z being hard to bend to another's mind-pattern, with everything in between. You both are at the very end of the spectrum, which tells me you wouldn't be very compatible with people you do not have a strong connection with. It's a less practical measurement than the HSP index and CORO pattern so it doesn't necessarily contraindicate against drifting, but since all your parameters are in a dangerous zone, well…"

Newt sneaked a look at Hermann, who had gone quiet. Unnervingly quiet, and pale.

"Where did you get this from?" Newt asked.

"The psychology staff usually interviews you and studies your case to make the rating. It's dated back to when you joined the PPDC."

Newt closed his eyes, his shoulders sinking miserably.

"Right," he muttered under his breath. He recalled the first and only session he had with the PPDC issued psychiatrist, as well as how awful it went.

In the beginning days of the Jaeger Program, everyone joining the PPDC passed through the process of being tested for drift compatibility. It was presented as a great opportunity, and the few lucky bastards who were able to sustain the drift easily and with multiple partners got to see their immediate career jeopardized in favor of training to become Rangers.

Newt had laughed at their faces when they'd told him he was among the individuals with less hope to ever sustain a drift with anyone. His mind was too difficult, his personality too chaotic and abrasive, his attitude too challenging and unpredictable, and his BPD put a definitive X over his head. Newt couldn't have been more glad to be discarded. He had a job to do, and he would have never put that aside to be a jock in a metal suit punching the greatest and most complex creatures to ever roam this earth.

He rarely thought back about that evaluation. Not until he was putting together his Pons out of garbage.

Not until Hermann was gripping his hand and offering to go with him.

"That rating is not very accurate." Newt said, avoiding Hermann's eyes.

"These tests are as accurate as they can be." Gage pointed at the dossiers. "A HSP of 100 is the lowest anyone can have, and there is no other Ranger with a score that low that could maintain a drift with anyone they didn't have a strong connection with. Very strong. And even in those cases, it can be difficult. Also, no tolerance during a drift means a level of instability I personally didn't see since the early stage of this technology. There is a reason drift compatibility is the most important factor. You widen your probability to successfully reach each other's minds, but I have no idea how you came out of a drift like that with your consciousness still intact. And that is excluding the Kaiju."

Neither of them responded. Neither of them knew how to.

At length, Gage sighed, bowing his head, seemingly coming to a decision.

Newt noticed him looking inside the box - maybe at the dusty picture of his and his sons still inside.

When he looked back at the scientists, he seemed more resolute, ready for action. The change was noticeable to Hermann too, who straightened his back, prepared to follow the doctor's lead.

"I will ready the Cradles."

Chapter Text

The room Newt wishfully thought was a simple lab, was not less eerie from the inside.

From the porthole, he had failed to see the hexagonal shape of the floor and the observatory balcony overlooking the main room.

As Gage worked on turning on the computers, Newt stared up at the catwalk above their heads. He had been in rooms similar to this one a few times before, during the beginning stage of experimentation, when the PPDC and the Jaeger program were flourishing and everything was urgent. They were the only people in it now, and their footsteps echoed soundly bouncing against the walls and tall ceiling. But the main thing Newt had failed to notice were the three smooth, white tubs, laying on the floor in a half-circle one next to the other. Inside, there was a layer of water and various connectors Newt suspected were going to be attached to his body soon enough. Gage had told them the Rangers had nicknamed them ‘Cradles’ because of their shapes, but looking at them Newt was reminded more of a sensory deprivation tank… or a coffin.

Suddenly, the thought of being put in a sleep-like simulation inside one of those was a bit creepy. He wasn't a fan of cramped spaces.

Gage moved past the primary console to a solitary metal locker in a corner. He came back holding what looked to be two sets of matching scuba suits.

"There is a changing room down the hallway to the left. Put these on while I prepare the machines."

Hermann was quicker to grab his clothes and started walking off. Newt did the same, looking down at the items in his hands. A red tank top of a sleek waterproof material with the PPDC logo embroidered over the heart and a pair of matching pants, with gold and black stripes running down the side of the leg. Crimson Typhoon's colors.

A weight sank in Newt's stomach.

"This place gives me the creeps," he whispered to Hermann as he caught up with him.

"Indeed," Hermann muttered.

Newt chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Any regrets?"

The mathematician didn't turn to look at him. His mouth was set in a thin line, and nothing came through their supposed lingering connection.

Newt had hoped a ghost drift would have been like a constant pointer to what the other person felt or thought. He had perceived Hermann so vividly in the lab, with his voice buzzing inside Newt's head, tuning the equations apart and recomposing its pieces. He'd hoped that wasn't been a one-time sprout, when Newt had been too disorientated to appreciate it.

"Not yet," Hermann grumbled, and Newt bit down on his grin.

Hermann slowed down when they reached the changing room. They quickly realized it wasn't made of smaller cubicles, but was a single space with twin stools, hanging racks, and a wood separator.

Newt's eyebrows shot up. He supposed that after being in each other's mind, Rangers didn't have qualms about changing clothes in front of each other.

Hermann made to go inside first but Newt slipped in before he could close the door on his face.

"What are you doing?" Hermann shouted. "Wait outside!"

"Relax, this is big enough for the both of us." it wasn't a lie, the room was quite spacious. Newt moved to one side where he could easily change without bumping into Hermann.

"That's not the point! I don't want to undress in front of you."

Hermann's face was quickly turning beet red. It was a little funny, but Newt rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, you're such a prude. Look, I'll turn around so I won't see your naked ankles, okay? How scandalous that would be."

He did so and started stripping his own shirt, throwing it wherever.

Hermann was still muttering complaints, but after a few seconds Newt heard the separator being dragged across the pavement followed by the ruffling of clothes. He almost turned around again to mess with the mathematician some more, but decided not to push it.

He undressed quickly to his underwear and put on the clothes Gage gave him. They felt loose on his shoulders and tight on his belly, and when he looked down at himself, the effect was that of an old-timey swimsuit.

He peaked from the side of the divider to show Hermann how ridiculous he looked, but found the other man putting on his tank top, his back to him.

Newt turned around quickly. He was only half joking about the Hermann-not-showing-ankles thing. He has never seen the other man with that little clothes on, let alone topless with only the matching red pants covering him to the calves. He didn't know that under the half dozen layers Hermann usually wore, he was so lean and angular. There were a few moles on his back and he spotted the faint outline of his ribs with his arms raised.

It was nothing special, Newt told himself. It was just skin, but he felt a bit warm under the collar all of a sudden. They should really do something about the ventilation system in the Dome. There was no way it was working at full capacity.

Hermann cleared his throat and Newt spun back around, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"This looks ridiculous," Hermann huffed, making Newt chuckle.

"I don't know man, are you sure you don't wear exactly that when going to the beach?"

"I wear a thong," deadpanned Hermann, heading for the door.

Newt laughed all the way back to the examination room, only forcing himself quiet at Hermann's forth reproach and at Gage's deep scowl.

In the next few minutes, Gage walked them through the procedure in his ever-present stern expression. He instructed them inside the Cradles and they both clambered in. The layer of water was cold and Newt shivered at the contact. There was no room to move inside the narrow frame, and from a sitting position, it felt like being inside a bathtub.

Gage moved with professional quickness, connecting all the wires to Newt's head and down his spine. When he was done, he commanded Newt to lay down. From the new angle, the biologist stared at the empty balconies above him.

Let's give the ghosts a good show, he thought, hoping the clenching sensation in his chest would go away.

Eventually, Gage stood between the two beds and addressed them both.

"I'll be stationed at the console and I'll talk to you via a con inside your Cradle. The test is simple: I'll propose a few sensory stimulation, monitoring your brains' reactions. It's usually a scent or a noise, anything that might evoke a memory, images or simply a sensation. You have to describe what you see and feel to me in the most detailed way you can. You cannot see or hear each other there, but if you're suffering from a drift bleed-through you're most likely to associate the same things. Usually very specific sensations activate a common response, but the vaguer it gets the more you should begin to separate each other. This is to determinate how much a solitary Neural Handshake, as was your drift, can affect your sensitivity and your core memory pathway. After this, we can go on and try to evoke specific settings, to determine if there are any traumas associated with some memories. All clear?"

"Yeah, cool."

This was more exciting than Newt thought.

"Yes."

Hermann's voice sounded doubtful.

Gage walked away without another word. After a moment, the cover closed over Newt's tank and he yelped in surprise at the sudden darkness.

He palmed the sides, his arm could barely move. He felt his chest contact but before he could fully react, the Gage's voice filled in the cramped space.

"Sensory post-drift simulation: scenario one. Beginning projection in 3, 2, 1..."

Newt cried out.

It was as if an exposed wire had touched the back of his neck. The sensation was awfully familiar.

After the pain subsided, Newt felt like his brain was floating a foot above his head. His ears were ringing, and the smell of grass filled his nose.

There was a soft breeze caressing his skin, and he wondered how it could be a simulation if he could feel the wind so distinctively.

He opened his eyes.

From the darkness, a green field appeared. The air had a fresh quality to it and the wind moved the tall grass all around him. He teared his eyes up to the cloudless sky, framed by dark green mountains.

I know this place. Where do I know this place from?

"Describe what you see," Gage's voice boomed. It came from the sky itself, or maybe from inside Newt's skull.

"Ehm…" Newt said; his own voice sounded off. "I'm on a field." He looked around again. He was slightly uphill and at the bottom of the slope there was a huge house. It looked old but well kept. The white paint was a little faded and ivy was growing up to the second story floor. On the opposite side, there was a tall wired fence and, behind it, a forest. Lines of trees spread as far as his eyes could see.

"There is a forest, with a metal fence around it. The sky is very blue."

He threw his head back again, amazed that he could even do that.

"I think I know this place. Is Hermann seeing this, too?"

That's when Newt thought to look down at himself. His hands were small and skinny. They looked like they belonged to a kid.

"Wait a second."

Newt checked his clothes and saw he was wearing a dark brown shirt and ugly checkered trousers he was positive belonged in Hermann's general closet.

"Holy shit, I am Hermann!" he brought his hands to his face and then up to his thin hair, muffling it. "This is Hermann's memory, and I’m in it!" Newt laughed. Even his voice was Hermann's before he reached that deeper tone of maturity (the one Newt never quite reached). Newt has never heard Hermann's voice like this before, and he's absolutely engrossed by it. "This is so cool!"

Newt hadn't seen the particular memory in the drift, but the feeling of familiarity was striking. The forest mesmerizes him, and he has the sensation that, as a kid, Hermann had been here many times.

Suddenly, the urge to cross the fence overtook him.

He could pretend to be an astronaut on a far-away planet, explore the wilderness and examine every bug and plant like it was a new alien species never discovered before. And at night, he could climb the trees to look at the stars. They would appear so much closer from up there.

It couldn't be too hard to cross the fence, could it? It was tall, yes, but he could climb on one of the smaller, sparser trees on this side and jump over. He could do it, his leg wasn' even hurting that much today. His parents would never find out.

He started to walk, feeling more motivated with every step. The grass was getting thicker, making it more difficult to walk, but he didn't slow down. As he got closer, he could make out more details on the other side of the fence. The trees trunks were massive, rising tall and ending with and creating a roof of leaves. There was almost no grass on the other side, just earth covered by fallen pine cones and brown and yellow leaves. A few rays of sunlight came though, making particles of pollen danc in the spotlights. It was magical.

He stretched Hermann's tiny hand to the intertwisted wires, but before he could touch it a shadow fell over him.

It was as if the sun had disappeared, an Newt frowned, turning around just as the edges of the field vanished.

It almost looked like night was falling, but it had an artificial quality to it — too dark and fast approaching. Newt panicked and spun his head around for a quick escape route but the woods over the fence and the house down the hill were already gone. The blackness swallowed everything up, faster and faster, until Newt was surrounded.

He looked up at the last corner of blue in the sky, and held a breath.

He exhaled inside the Cradle.

The cold water under him was almost comforting; the only thing confirming his location in the darkness.

"Dr Geiszler, can you hear me?" Gage asked from the con.

Newt chuckled, humorlessly.

"Loud and clear."

"Very well," the voice said. "I have to say, it's remarkable that you and Gottlieb have such a strong connection with just a single drift. However, I must remind you of the instruction I gave you. Don't force yourself to stay in a memory, and do not reach out for each other. Am I clear?"

"Right, yes."

A stretch of silence.

Newt was beginning to think Gage forgot to press the button to talk, but then he realized he must be talking to Hermann in the next bed over now. Without hesitation, Newt tried to feel for Hermann's presence in his head.

He got nothing.

He sighed, flopping his arms to splash some water. Gage said not to forcefully reach out, but Newt wasn't sure in what way he had. Maybe the doctor meant how he'd jumped into one of Hermann's memory, but Newt didn't choose to do that — so how could he replicate it?

"I'm beginning the second stimulation," Gage's voice filled the small space again. "Are you ready?"

Newt noticed he sounded more irritated than he did a minute ago, and he wondered what Hermann was doing to set the doctor on edge.

"Fire up," Newt grinned.

The shock at the base of his neck still surprised him the second time around.

It lasted less than before, and when it was over, a strong scent of sea filled his nostrils.

Newt opened his eyes. He was standing on what he immediately recognized to be one of the docking platforms of the Hong Kong Shatterdome. The sun was setting in the distance as Newt stood at the edge of the harbor, skipping stones on the dark water underneath.

He remembered this day. It was the end of summer of last year — he and Hermann were waiting for a shipment scheduled to arrive at 18:00 that was running late.

Newt turned around and, sure enough, Hermann was there. He's standing a few feet away from Newt, alternating between watching the horizon and checking his wristwatch. The golden light of the sun illuminated Hermann's face and it made him look younger. Newt's lips perked up in a smile.

That day, the cargo ship didn't arrive until the middle of the night, and when Newt was called to direct the sample tanks into the lab, he had decided not to wake Hermann up to help him. Consequently, he and the group of transporters had a minor clash outside the elevator. In his defense, Newt had been very sleep deprived and he hadn't been as careful as he should have been. It was only a useless and mangled spleen anyway, he already could tell there was nothing new he could get from that piece the minute he'd seen it on the tarmac. He sure didn't deserve a stupid written admonition or to have Hermann berate him for days and days on end after the accident.

But that happened in another fragment of his memory. Right now, Newt could just relax, pick up rounded pieces of cement to throw at the sea and enjoy the heat of the sun on his face and exposed forearms. He could just have this.

Newt described what he was doing aloud, skipping stone after stone. He's getting the hang of this.

"This is nice," he said looking at the water. "I bet Hermann is having a blast too. He wrote a long-ass complaint about the late shipment and how ‘inconvenient and disrespectful it was to make two honorable scientists lose an entire afternoon of work.’"

Newt laughed at his own impression (which he nailed), and bent down to pick up more rocks. When he briefly looked back at Hermann, he was surprised to see the other scientist's lips moving, but no sound coming out.

"Hermann?" Newt asked uncertainly.

Hermann gave no indication of having heard him, his eyes locked on the horizon and his mouth silently forming words.

Newt almost dismissed it as a trick of the mind, but when he experimentally moved a hand in the direction of the other man's field of vision, Hermann stopped and looked at him.

"Hermann! Holy shit, you can see me?" Newt dropped the rocks and made his way in front of Gottlieb, who stared at him with his brows knitted in confusion. His mouth was moving in what seemed to be the word Newton, followed by others he couldn't make out.

"Why can't I hear you? Hey, Gage," Newt raised his voice to speak to the sky. "Why can't I hear him? Is he in the same memory as me? Am I imagining this?"

He saw Hermann look up as well. It was an odd enough behavior that it convinced Newt that he was the real Hermann and not part of the scenario. The mathematician kept concentrating on something above them and Newt watched the outline of his throat move as he talked. It seemed like an absurd detail to notice in a simulation where the edges of reality were starting to fade away.

Hermann's gaze moved back to Newt and then to the horizon behind his back, where his eyes bulged in terror. He spoke silently, his face contorted in fear as he indicated something behind Newt's back.

Newt turned to look. The corners of the sky were becoming dark and intangible, but the sun was still there, touching the water and disappearing behind the smooth surface of the sea.

Newt shielded his eyes as he followed where his lab partner was pointing alarmedly, and saw a dark shape right at the center of the sunset. Newt squinted until he could make out the outline of a figure, distorted by the bright light but getting bigger and bigger.

His blood ran cold.

A Kaiju.

He looked back at Hermann who was hyperventilating and backing away, not tearing his eyes away from the creature. Right now, it looked as tall as one of Newt's action figures, but it had the power to make the ground vibrate beneath their feet.

"Hermann, this isn't real," Newt said, but the mathematician gave no indication he hear Newt either. "Look at me." he waved a hand in front of Hermann like before, trying to get his attention and maybe transmit his wavering calmness somehow.

The Kaiju was at the edge of the Bay now, moving past their sea defenses as if they weren't even there. It towered against the battalion ships, its body as big as a skyscraper. Newt's scientific mind overwrote his panic and he observed the Kaiju's gray skin, its horned and devilish head, its over-bent limbs. He stepped close to the edge of the harbor and felt Hermann's hand close around his sleeve, trying to pull him back as a wave crashed on the dock and cold water reached their feet, pooling up to their ankles before retreating back to the sea. Newt laughed.

"Taranis," he breathed out, heart hammering in his ears. He turned back to Hermann, who's mouth was moving rapidly, his forehead creased. He was probably yelling something Newt had heard hundreds of times before.

"That's Taranis!" Newt shouted back. "We're waiting for its dead body to be delivered right now."

Darkness approached, and the creature was at the very edge of the Bay, so close to their dock. Another wave crushed raising the water level up to their knees. Hermann looked frozen in panic, staring up at the Kaiju. His knuckles had gone white where they still gripped Newt's shirt.

"Think about your predictive model," Newt urged him, water pushing them around until Newt held into Hermann as well. "There were no Kaiju during this day, there won't be another one this summer. This never happened."

Hermann's eyes bore into his, and for a moment there was nothing but silence.

The shadow ate everything except for the small square they were standing in. The Kaiju was gone. The warmth of the sun was gone. Newt stared at Hermann's mouth forming his name and Newt almost thought he could hear it; a low sound that came from deep underwater, as deep as where the Breach used to lie.

Hermann's hold on his arm loosed and faded into nothing. Newt reached out, but fingers collided with the smooth ceiling of the Cradle.

Newt sighed.

"I told you not to reach for each other!"

Gage's voice made him jump and hit the walls in several places.

"Ow!" Newt shrieked. "So that was Hermann. Ah! I knew it."

"This is serious. You are not supposed to communicate, this could interfere with stabilizing your brain patterns."

Newt closed his eyes, trying to relax in the cramped space. "Yeah, yeah, it's not a big deal. I couldn't even hear him."

"You shouldn't be able to interact with him at all. This isn't a Neural Handshake - you are not supposed to be connected."

Newt opened his eyes.

"Wait, what do you mean by that?"

From the con, he heard Gage fumbling with something, then he said agitated, "I'm going to attempt something different. I'll try to send stimuli to a part of your brain that seems to be the most affected. Maybe we can differentiate that one. Sensory post-drift simulation, third attempt -"

"Wait hold on -"

"Beginning projection in 3..."

"Hold on a second, man, just tell me what you mean -"

"2..."

"- Goddammit!"

"1."

This time the shock at the back of his neck didn't surprise Newt, rather it pulled him in.

A series of images passed in succession. It was like seeing his and Hermann's memories blend inside the drift.

He's transported to a white room, the sheets under his palms felt rigid and the air smelled of disinfectant. A flash of blue, and Newt's in the small apartment in Berlin where he lived with his father during the first few years of his life. It had a balcony and he used to play with his toy dinosaurs there. The potted plants his uncle kept worked great to make his figures feel like they were rooming in a prehistoric jungle. Blue. The field with the tall fence again, but this time the sky was dark and gloomy, and an indescribable pain made the memory disorienting. His grasp on reality shifted in and out as tears blurred his vision and he tried to half-walk, half-drag himself downhill. When the memory passed, the pain in his leg lingered. Blue, and he's in Cambridge, on the tree-lined road he always walked to get to campus. Blue, the smell of chemicals, blue, his grandfather's funeral, blue, the roof in the bunker cracking, blue, blue, blue -

The scenarios kept alternating between familiarity and strangeness, moving fast and erratically.

It came to an alt, abruptly, and Newt felt like he could breathe again.

The scent of candles pervaded the tick air and he felt lulled and calm. There was the warmth of a body pressing on top of him as he laid down on soft sheets. Kisses traveled down his neck and Newt shivered.

He opened his eyes slowly. The lights were low and his vision swam a little. Two hands caressed his face and the blurry figure on top of him leaned down to kiss his lips. Newt's body caught up before his mind did and he kissed back, finding the taste of something sweet in the other person’s lips.

When his mysterious lover pulled back, long curly hair with pink dyed ends curtains her face, and Newt was looking up at the woman he hadn't seen in close to fifteen years.

"Maya?" He said, feeling unfocused, like he’s looking through someone else’s eyes. "This isn't real." Newt's hands moved to Maya's hips; her skin felt so warm under his touch, "Is it?"

For a moment, he's too absorbed in the sensation deep in his belly and in the pleasant oblivion of his brain to bother to think about the unease in the back of his mind. That didn't feel as important as kissing, and feeling, and touching. He couldn't seem to catch his breath fast enough. Then Maya's body sank into his, and it felt amazing. It felt intoxicating. It felt... it felt...

He didn't know how to feel.

His ragged breaths were coming out faster and faster and he had to shut his eyes against the clenching feeling in his chest.

He couldn't have another panic attack in front of his girlfriend. She hadn't always been down to deal with Newt's freak-outs in the past, and she'd made it very clear he was on borrowed time with her.

But there was no getting out from this, he realized miserably. He had to face her, even if it was overwhelming.

He forced another ragged breath in and opened his eyes.

A darker set of curly hair was falling down on his face, and a different face was looking down on him. Her skin was dark, and her eyes shone from the light of the candles. He didn't recognize this woman and the thought should have panicked him even more, but it didn't.

She knew him, she loved him, she was his friend, and he had to do better for her. He will stop shaking and do better for her. Just stop shaking and feel something. Feel something...

The room shook and suddenly water rushed in. It came from under the door and from the cracks in the ceiling. It reached the bed, but the woman pinning him down didn’t move, not even when the cold liquid touched their warm bodies.

All the candles were drowned and darkness swallowed them whole.

Newt became aware of himself again slowly.

His body felt different, contracted and mutated. He stretched his limbs, and they felt tingling, like he was waking up from a deep sleep.

The woman was gone, along with the bed, the room and everything else. Only icy water surrounded him.

He started to swim.

There was no one with him, but he heard millions of small voices. They were in his head, echoing his own thoughts.

Hunt. Swim.

It was a chant meant for him. It was his orders, and his mission.

He swam illuminated by the blue light of his body. Animals as big as his claw dispersed at the sight of him, frightened. He did not bother with them.

Humans.

Cities.

The destination of his landing came in images, like all thoughts did. He pressed on, driven by his duty and the ever present chant in his mind.

Suddenly, he felt a change in the current. Something was happening above the water, where the humans lived and breathed.

Storm.

The image that came through the Hive was a familiar one. The Pit, where he was born, surrounded by lightning and electricity. That was the only storm he knew. He had not seen a storm in this world before.

He wanted to see it.

He would kill and be killed, but his Masters would be glad he saw a storm. He could report it back to the Hive. The next one to do the Jump would know what it was like, and they would not die from it.

He swam up, fast and determinated, until he broke the surface. Water was falling from the dark sky, and the wind raged. It rocked the ocean and he had to struggle to stay above. It felt like being on the surface and underwater at the same time.

He was reminded of Creation, of the force and energy his Masters used to build his body and consciousness, and the mare, intense, moments before the Hive accepted him, when all he could hear was chaos.

A light struck the sky and he roared imitating its sound.

Thunder, the Hive provided.

Thunder, he repeated gladly.

The sea raged and he felt immortal and unstoppable. It was the closest it felt to being back home.

Home…

That word set wrong on his thoughts. The Alterverse stretched far into his mind and deep inside the Breach, and the voices were overwhelmingly loud. Screams unlike anything he's heard before.

He reached back to them, retracing their thoughts until he was at the center of the Chant, but all he saw was red. Thick clouds of red. They tarnished his eyes and filled his lungs. Everything was on fire. He could see no one in the wasteland that was once his Home, and his brothers and sisters were but white noise into the shared link. Flickering and dying one by one.

He was alone…

No. Not alone.

There was someone else. There was -

He was brought back to the Storm by a light appearing from underwater. A figure emerged, shining, rising as tall as he was.

It was the humans, disguised and armored to imitate them. The Masters hated this abomination, but he would kill it. He would kill it for them.

He charged to attack, ready for the impact, but his claws didn't strike the humans. An invisible shield was between them. He couldn't see it, but he hit it again and again. His claws dug into his flesh where he was balling them in fists, baning them against he barrier. He roared again, deep and guttural, darkness fell upon him, but he didn't stop. His arms and legs kept hitting walls all around him, and he felt like he was inside a coffin.

The water level was rising. It entered his lungs but he kept fighting even as he choked.

He couldn't breathe. He was going to drown.

Over his ragged breaths, he heard a pneumatic hiss, and cold air entered from a slitter in the wall.

With the next push, the roof opened and Newt all but threw himself over the edge, crushing on the pavement and coughing water. The room wasn't much brighter than the inside of that death trap; the only light was yellow and intermittent. It glittered on the wet tiles, looking like dozens of tiny eyes staring back at him. His stomach turned at the sight.

Through his gasps, he heard banging noises coming from the next tub, and his body sprinted into action before he could command it.

He leaped to the next Cradle and sank to his knees. He gripped the smooth edge but he couldn’t find a handle. He palms the top, frenetic, until he saw a small control panel placed low to the side, with a larger button at the center. He punched it with all his force and the lid hissed.

Newt grabbed the edge to shove it open the rest of the way just as Hermann's arms shot up, his cold fingers closing around Newt's arm. Hermann tugged to pull himself up, and Newt instinctively helped him sit up. He was panting the same way Newt was: soaked in sweat, with his hair pressed to his forehead and a smudge of fresh blood trailing down his nose.

There was no water rushing out of the Cradle and drowning him. Newt looked back at the way he came from, and noted the wet spots on the floor were just from his own footprints. No flood.

Hermann didn't lose his dead grip on Newt's forearm, and Newt didn't dare to let go either. He passed his free arm around Hermann's shoulders and the other man leaned closer. Their foreheads almost touched as Hermann's eyes finally focused on him. The red ring around his eye was all too noticeable up close and Newt stared at it, nerveless.

Hermann dropped his gaze first, gripping the edge of the tub and lifting himself up. He didn't let go of Newt's arm, and the biologist interpreted it as a sign he could help him step out of the Cradle. He practically hugged the other man to sustain his weight until both his feet were touching the ground; it was a bit awkward, and there were probably better ways to do it, but Newt's brain felt like it was made of jelly and this was the best method he could think of.

Hermann was shaking violently and he looked like he was going to be sick, but his hold on Newt's arms was relaxing and his breaths were deeper and steadier, so Newt counted it as a good sign. He spotted Hermann's cane leaning against the wall not too far away. He thought he could maybe walk there with Hermann, or leave him for a second to retrieve it for him.

"What on earth was that?" shouted Hermann, making Newt jump.

Newt looked back, thinking he meant the way he'd hauled him out of the Cradle so gracelessly, but Hermann was looking angrily at something behind Newt's back.

He turned around to see Dr Gage's ashen expression. Newt had almost forgotten he was here.

"Were you trying to kill us?"

The doctor gaped at the pair of them, but didn't have time to get anything out before the door opened and a medic team rushed into the lab.

They stopped short at the sight of the scientists standing there, and of Gage who still gazed at them in open-mouthed astonishment.

"What happened?" one of them asked urgently. "The emergency protocol activated. Is anyone hurt?"

"It… it's all under control," Gage finally murmured, shaking his head and looking from one group to the other. "I had to manually shut down the machine, but the emergency circuit activated before I could stop it."

He walked past where Newt and Hermann were, going straight for the Cradle Hermann'd abandoned to tinker with the panel Newt'd punched. The button marked ‘emergency open’ looks busted.

Good, Newt thought, content he did some damage to the damn thing.

The psychiatrist raised again, speaking directly to the medic team, "Since you're here, follow the procedure and escort them to the Ranger's infirmary. Make sure they are alright for the time being. I'll start to look for the damage and contact the Marshal."

"Wait," interrupted Hermann, disentangling himself from Newt's arms enough to assume a collected pose - the blood going all the way down to his lips ruined the effect. "We are not leaving until you tell us what happened."

Gage half turned, a dark expression crossing his face.

"I don't know what happened, and I can't know right now because the power cut in the whole sector," he threw his arm in a wide gesture, indicating the dead screens. The emergency yellow light still the only source of illumination. "The processor was fried. It's going to be hours before the computer are operational again, and who who knows what they even registered. You'll know what happened when and if I can fix this. Now please take them away."

The medics came closer. Hermann took a step back. Newt had just enough time to see the mathematician hiss under his breath before pain flared down Newt's hip. His left leg buckled under him unexpectedly and he fell, hitting the side of the Cradle with his head.

The pain of the impact almost didn't register over the pain in his hip. It was just a banging sound, and everything in his mind became dull and sluggish.

He groaned, hugging the side he'd landed on, his head touching the cold floor and spinning madly. From the reflection on the tiles, he saw the shadows of the medics getting closer.

When they moved him, getting him to lay on his back and then sit up, Newt barely felt it. A light shone in his eyes and he closed them trying to move his head away. Through the ringing in his ears, he could only distinguish bits of conversations.

"...dilating equally..."

"...please, stay back..."

"...still bleeding..."

When his eyes focused again, he searched for Hermann above the crowd of people. A medic was sustaining him upright, but he was frantically pushing to get closer. The movement looked painful, and Newt wanted to tell him to stop, that he was fine, even though black spots were dancing in his field of vision.

He pushed on his hands to stand up higher, ans for a brief second when their gaze met, Newt's thoughts cleared.

The connection flared like a live wire, and the flow of Hermann's thoughts tangled with his. Confusion, surprise, astonishment. It felt exactly like it did during the first few moments inside the Neural Handshake, when every corner of his mind was alight, and Hermann occupied perfectly all the empty spaces, as if those had always belonged to him.

Oh my God, Newt thought, and the flames inside his mind colored as if they were agreeing. We're drifting.

Newt didn't have time to size it, before the mathematician's thoughts flickered and vanished. Pain subsided as numbness grew. His legs were like rubber under him - under Hermann - and he knew they would be successful in dragging his lab partner this time.

He saw Hermann's mouth moving but, just like inside the dream-simulation, he couldn't hear what he was saying.

The ringing got so loud that it drowned out everything else. The last thing he saw was Hermann sloughing down, his eyes drifting shut, as if he was falling asleep, before everything went dark.

Chapter Text

The communal showers of the Rangers infirmary were similar to the ones Hermann used near his quarters. Here too the hot water only lasted a few minutes before the boiler emptied and he was left shivering under the cold jet.

He shut it off, nerveless, carefully stepping on the wet tiles. He felt unstable on his feet — maybe it was the way the cold had made him numb in his extremities, but his body didn't feel quite his. Even the familiar and grueling pain in his leg felt far away; something that belonged to the waking world.

He was still traveling in and out of consciousness, looking at wildly different things at the blink of his eyes. Flashes of rain illuminated by neon signs, the smell of mold and dust filling his nostrils, and he was immersed in a memory he had no recollection of. In a blink, he was back in the shower stall, trembling slightly, unsure it was if from the residual adrenaline or from the cold.

The moments after the mustering-out came back to him in a blur. The rush of pain in his hip as he'd put too much weight on his bad leg, followed by a scream of pain. Not his, but Newton's. The biologist had lost his footing and Hermann had watched him fall as if in slow motion; like he was seeing through Newton's eyes. When he hit the ground the double image became fragmented and pain had exploded in Hermann's head. He'd almost fallen too, but one of the medics had grabbed his arm and held him upright. He'd found Newton's eyes in the confusion, staring at him over the medics' shoulders, and it felt like time had stopped, just like inside the flow of the drift, so much so that the color blue permeated his thoughts and Newton's voice had echoed inside his skull as clear as a bell.

"We're drifting."

It was the last thing Hermann had heard before the taste of blood reached his mouth, and the ringing in his ears overpowered every last sound until he lost his senses.

He didn't remember much after that. He'd seen flashes of the medics place Newton's unconscious body on a stretcher, Dr. Gage shouting, a light rolling in sequence in front of his eyes. Every voice sounded far away, like he was listening from underwater. His head hurt so much he thought it would split in two.

Hermann hadn't known how much time was passing, but he suspected he was slipping back into unconsciousness in between the longer blinks of his eyes.

Holding onto the wall of the bathroom, he reached the bench where he left his clothes.

It was uncomfortable to step into his unclean pants and shirt. He wished he could have retrieved a fresh change, but he would not go back to his quarters until the evening. He was still on duty, whether the Breach was closed or not.

He limped slowly to the sink. There was a thin layer of condensation on the mirror, enough to cover the upper part of his face.

He looked down at his hands for a long moment, gone white at the knuckles where he was gripping the edge of the sink. He loosened the hold and laid them flat on the ceramic surface. They twitched imperceptibly. He raised his fingers experimentally, lowering them down in succession, controlling the motion; droplets on water were drying on his skin.

He did it again, fingers hitting the surface with his palm held high, like he was holding an invisible ball. The pose was unfamiliar to his hand, but known to his mind. It was the memory of pressing down on the keys of a piano, years of practice that Hermann had never done but could visualize like a faint and half-forgotten memory from his childhood.

Hermann closed his fist tightly.

This was still his body. He'd ventured inside another person's mind, but he hadn't lost the sense of who he was.

He couldn't.

The condense was clearing from the mirror, revealing the same face that had always stared back at Hermann all his life. The bags under his eye and wrinkles around his mouth, that weren't exactly a sight to behold on the best of times, now looked deeper, more permanently ingrained on his face. He looked haunted, his brows set and the corner of his mouth pulling downward. His face didn't feel clean. The dirt was gone, scrubbed violently from his body under the cold water, but he still felt it itching uncomfortably under his skin, as if he was contaminated.

He looked at the red ring of blood around his iris.

One of the only physical evidence of the drift.

He consciously brought his hand behind his neck, pressing his fingers on the point where Newton's contraption had sent an electric shock. The skin was smooth and unbroken, and it didn't hurt to touch.

The drift didn't leave a mark, but Hermann had the unsettling feeling that something invisible had buried itself deep into his skull. It made an abating hum, similar to that of the fluorescent lights above him. 

He suspended what this feeling was, but he didn't want to voice it. 

Hermann had never been compatibility-trained and after an initial academic interest in the process, he'd let it be in favor of focusing on his more urgent field of study, leaving any fantasy behind. But he remembered reading about the consequences of drifting, especially in his early years of coding the Mark Is. It had been a teetering thing back then; they had no idea what the long-term effects of Neural Handshakes were, and so they treated ghost drifting like an affliction, something that might be incurable.

Compatibility had been the answer, both to save Pilots' lives from the strain of controlling those machines and to block the worst effects of the bleed-through, and Hermann had factored in compatibility when he'd offered his help to the bloody and manic biologist in that destroyed part of town, but… he had assumed they were compatible. At least enough to make it work.

But he'd been wrong.

It appeared the same erroneous judgment had sneaked its way into his calculations once more.

When it came to Newton Geiszler, every perdition went to hell.

Eliminating tolerance had allowed them to connect, not their compatibility, and coming back from a drift with no outward barriers to protect them from the other's mind must have left far greater residues than what they expected.

Hermann shook his head, looking away from his reflection.

Those were suppositions, and in his extensive career as a mathematician, one of the first and truest rule he's learned was to never bend facts around theories.

Data and numbers made for everything real and tangible in the universe, and following that path has always led him to the truth.

Whatever came out of the mustering-out would be the answer to what was happening between him and Newton, and he should not speculate or draw conclusions before seeing those results. It was a downright dangerous practice.

Outside of the bathroom, the Ranger infirmary was dead quiet.

The two rows of metal framed bed with curtains that could be pulled for privacy were all empty, just like the rest of the Post-drift department had been.

Hermann retrieved the rest of his belongings, consisting of his parka, his watch and his cane. Newton's clothes were still here, folded neatly only because one of the medics had collected them from the changing room for them.

Newton must still be doing his MRI examination then.

It was the last exam they'd needed and Hermann had gone through it. He checked his watch to see that it was already 15:39, later than he had realized. His internal clock was out of sync by approximately half an hour. Newton should have been done with the procedure by now. Hermann's own examination had been grueling and tiresome, but hadn't lasted nearly as long as this.

It did not help that Hermann hasn't seen the biologist since they woke up in a different part of the ward. He had a throbbing headache and the medic listed symptoms of a concussion to him in a serious and lambasting tone. Hermann, in his barely conscious state, didn't understand how he could be concussed when Geiszler was the one who hit his head. It simply didn't make sense.

" Newt – Newton …" Hermann had tried to say, his voice rough clawing at his throat. He'd stretched over to reach for the divided in between beds but only managed to brush the curtain with his fingertips. His hipbone had pressed down into the mattress painfully, his junctures shifting into themselves. He'd gritted his teeth falling back down into the mattress and hugging his side. The motion had made him nauseous and dizzy.

In the next moment, Newton had appeared in front of him; he'd pulled the curtain and was looking down at him and the flood that he'd been trying to escape bashed back into his head making Hermann recoil violently, fresh blood dripping from his nose and memories of rain and falling buildings flashing before his eyes.

They had been separated soon after, with the reassurance that it would accelerate the examination process. Newton had tried to protest, Hermann hadn't, and in the end the biologist had no choice but to comply.

Now Hermann made his way out of the Infirmary, alone.

He decided to go check on Dr. Gage since the psychiatrist had been absent ever since he and Newton had regained consciousness.

He made his quiet way back to the octagonal lab, but found the doors closed before him, the porthole windows shut. Gage had barricaded himself inside the lab to work on restoring the main computer, one of the medics had informed Hermann earlier, and it seemed like the choice of words hadn't been an exaggeration.

Hermann raised his fist to knock on the metal door, but stopped.

What good would it do? The probability of Gage opening with an answer ready for him was low. Hermann knew first hand how the timing of working data could not be rushed; it didn't matter how impatient the people waiting for it were or how urgent the cause was. Time, just like numbers, could not be altered.

He went to leave, walking out of the Post-drift department, passing by the Ranger Infirmary again and crossing over a completely empty waiting room that led out of the Med Bay, but something invisible stopped him at the final threshold.

The hum he'd felt at the back of his skull all day. The one that he'd been trying to ignore and forget existed. The one he knew, despite logic and reason imposing a conclusion and that he diligently wanted to let himself believe, was his connection with Newton, would not let him leave.

When Hermann had woken up, the wave of Newton's thought had come back full force.

It had been only a moment in between feeling Newton's thoughts so clearly and having them abruptly taken away by unconsciousness, but the surging connection had felt like reopening a would in his mind. It was a bleeding and ghastly mess that was out of his control and outside of his understanding. An uncomfortable pulse at the base of his skull leading to a liminal space he and Newton had no choice but share - just like their lab, but with fewer corners where to hide.

And even so, having it severed had hurt Hermann beyond anything he could have imagined.

He shouldn't have panicked at feeling it gone.

He shouldn't have rejoiced when he felt it again as soon as he'd laid eyes on Newton.

He shouldn't have wanted it back, not when he'd set to get rid of it in the first place, but right then, with Newton's eyes locking with his and looking so soft and full of worry, Hermann had inexcusably and irrationally allowed that presence to take root in his mind undisturbed.

Hermann walked back to the empty waiting room. He found a seat on one of the chairs lining the wall and resigned himself to wait, impatient and angry with himself. He refused to go back any further than this. Newton was bound to pass from here anyway if he wanted to retrieve his clothes.

Hermann sighed.

The ventilation system must be broken because he felt sweaty and uncomfortable through his clothes. His skin burned as if from the inside.

The metal of the chair was giving him some solace through the layers, but didn't stop the scalding sensation from spreading. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, massaging his temples. His head still hurt dully; a tiring headache that didn't seem to go away.

He rested his head on the wall behind him, looking up at the low ceiling.

The whiteness of the overhead light impressed inside his eyelids, creating blotches in his vision, but he didn't look away.

There were small cracks on the ceiling, branching out in different directions, propagating like spider webs. Hermann followed the lines they drew with his eyes, feeling a shiver run down his spine. These many floors below ground it was easy to feel enclosed by the massive structure of the Shatterdome pressing from above. 

He had never been particularly claustrophobic, but the tight vice of fear taking hold of his chest couldn't rationally be explained any other way.

He kept staring, as if hypnotized. He imagined the cracks widening, millimeter after millimeter. Dust falling on his face. A vague and confused memory came back to his mind. It was the same he'd perceived before. Descending the damp and overcrowded stairs into the center of the earth; a flickering yellow light illuminating the steps and his breath coming out so fast he couldn't hear anything over it. The heavy door closed just in time to seal him in. To trap him in. His heart hammered in his ears. He would be found. All he could hear were the ragged, unsynchronized rhythm of his heart, the bunker as quiet as a tomb, until a low rumble came from somewhere above.

Everything shook. Once, twice. A continued and steady tempo. It was unmistakable what it was: the weight of steps coming closer. He was trembling like a leaf, biting down hard on his lips not to be heard. The defying noise of his heartbeat became a set of drumming noises inside his chest, growing louder and louder until a roar pierced the air and the ceiling cracked as if it was made of thin ice. Any moment now the ceiling would collapse, and a Kaiju would descend on –

Newton pushed the double doors open, startling Hermann out of the recollection.

The biologist was scratching his shoulder over the white scrubs he still wore cursing under his breath, his clothes in a bundle in his arms.

He spotted Hermann, sitting alone in the corner of the room, and paused his string of insults.

He walked closer, sinking into the empty chair next to the mathematician with a deep sigh, leaning his head against the wall. They had given him his glasses back. The lens had been repaired, Hermann noted, and he had a clean bandage around his forehead, but his hair still looked dirty and his face was tired and crumpled. His energetic attitude substituted by an undercurrent of restlessness.

"That took a while," Hermann said, fixating his gaze on the blank wall ahead.

Newton groaned, closing his eyes.

"The contrast agent they injected was making my tattoos burn like hell," he explained. "I kept twitching inside the MRI tube and they had to restart the machine twice before ending up restraining me. After that it was easier… At least from a practical sense."

Hermann looked down at Newton's bare arms. The figures of stylized Kaiju stared back at him, violently colorful against the monochromatic room. Hermann didn't appreciate them, not in any practical, aesthetical, or ethical sense, but he could feel the hot and uncomfortable sensation hitching at his own skin. He could only imagine how much more acute it had been for Newton if the feeling had traveled so far to reach him.

Hermann forcefully averted his eyes.

"They should have accounted for that."

Newton sank even deeper in his metal chair. The cold must be giving him some relief, Hermann realized, feeling his mouth go dry.

"They did. But the ink is, you know… a lot."

They fell quiet. Hermann was unsure what else to add. He noticed Newton was looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he pretended not to notice. It was the first time they had a chance to talk quietly and privately since the mustering-out, and so many interrogatives burned in his mind. Doubts and hypothesis that he couldn't voice.

It didn't help that in the amplified stretch of silence Hermann thought he could hear that hum again. It created an eerie white noise, and he couldn’t be sure if he was imagining it or if it was real, but he thought he could perceive Newton's foggy and barely distinguishable thoughts grow in intensity now that they were close just like he could feel his eyes burrowing a hole in him, as if Newton wanted to access the dormant connection and light it on fire.

"What are you thinking about?"

Hermann stiffened.

"Nothing," he said, but he saw it all over again: the crowd dispersing and pushing around him, the ceiling shaking at each step, the claw breaking through the rubbles.

The cracks.

Hermann looked up at the unmoving ceiling above him. Newton noticed and trailed his gaze upward too. Then he laughed bitterly.

"I know. They thought that digging a fortress deep enough or building a wall tall enough would have kept them safe. Such bullshit."

Hermann didn't respond. In his mind the image became clearer. The rain, the neon signs, the press of the crowd descending down the damp stairway to the cold refuges, and the sudden, sickening, feeling that he was being chased.

He gripped the handle of his cane harder.

"When I was in that bunker," Newton continued, his eyes trailing over the lines of the cracks. "I saw through Otachi's eyes. That was when she found me. And I'm just now realizing that she didn't want to kill me, she just wanted to find me," another laugh escaped him. "I almost died three times in the last 24 hours, and a Kaiju coming after me was the safest of those experiences."

"That…" Hermann hesitated, "seems highly unlikely."

Newton shrugged.

"I guess you had to be there."

Hermann closed his eyes. He couldn't think of a worse place to be, and the thought made him irrationally angry. "Typical," he snarled, feeling years of frustration and pent up terror releasing in a single, unbridled moment. "Here I was, worried sick about us, about what could be happening to us. I followed you into the drift, to help , to save people's lives, while you can't think of nothing but your precious Kaiju. I bet you're even wishing them back right now –"

"I'm not wishing for them back, you idiot!" Newton screeched.

"Aren't you? Aren’t these the types of thoughts that go on in your head all day?"

"Hey, give me a little credit, I wanted them gone! I helped save this planet and everyone in it. I almost died, Hermann, you should know better!"

"I know, but why are you talking about them like this?"

"Because… because I… I feel responsible," Newton's voice suddenly pained. "Everyone always looked at them and saw monsters to be exterminated, but I knew there was more. Now I have proof, and we are heroes in spite of every damn time they tried to shut us down, but…" he sighed. "Never mind, forget it."

They fell quiet again, some of Hermann's anger dissipating into nothing but tiredness. He massaged his face, feeling the headache grow again.

"And don't act all high and mighty," Newton added. "I know you wanted to..."

His sentence trailed off and Hermann lifted his hand to see Newton had his face buried on the small screen of his work pad. He had disentangled it from the bundle of his clothes and now that it was turned on the notifications just kept coming, filling the small screen. Hermann watched from over Geiszler’s shoulder as he checked the several unread messages, the latest from just a few seconds ago, and learned that the Bio-Harvesting team working on cleaning up Kaiju carcasses was having difficulties.

Newton cursed under his breath.

"I have to go. Maybe I can catch a transporter downtown – shit, I have to get dressed."

He passed the pad to Hermann unceremoniously and picked his pants out of the pile of clothes looking at their surroundings frenetically.

"What are you – don't undress in here!"

"Shut up, it's fine." Newton pulled his pants on under the scrubs, and then proceeded to haul it over his head. Hermann looked away, indignant, feeling warmth raise to his collar again.

"It doesn't say you had to be at the site," he said, reading through the messages so he wouldn’t have to stare at his lab partner's tattooed torso.

Cleanup of the surrounding area of the Kaiju landings was being prioritized over the actual extraction of organs, the cause being a higher Blue Toxicity ever registered. There was collateral damage to take care of, and the Team was simply not prepared to deal with two Kaiju at once.

Hermann bit the inside of his check. Even if there was no explicit directive, he knew Newton’s expertise could be needed.

The biologist in the meantime was buttoning his blood-stained shirt while keeping an eye on the incoming messages. He didn’t look troubled to be going to an essentially poisonous area that was not even beginning to be safe to walk in.

"It doesn't say I do not not have to be there either, so I'm going. See you back at the lab." He grabbed his torn leather jacket, looped the tie around his neck, and sprinted towards the exit without another word. Hermann raised to his feet, leaning more heavily on his cane than he’d liked, anxiety taking an involuntary hold of his chest, but he did not know what else to say to stop Newton.

At the last second though, he did stop; his hand resting on the door but not pushing it open.

Hermann wondered if Newton was feeling it too, the hum that seemed to dim and flicker when they were apart, and ignite into life when they were close.

Newton looked over his shoulder before walking back to the mathematician, who straightened his back and schooled his expression into one of stern detachment. Newton stopped in front of him, looking at him briefly before his eyes dropped to Hermann's hand. He was still holding the portable pad.

They both stared at it for a moment, until Hermann handed it over in a brusque, impersonal, motion. Geiszler took it more gently than necessary.

"Don't worry," Newton said with a loped smile. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I know."

"You won't miss me."

"I know," Hermann repeated, tightly, unable to say anything more – anything better.

Luckily, Newton laughed. "Can't say I didn't earn that," he pocketed the device walking backward to the exit. "Gotta go. Wish me luck."

He didn't hesitate again and the door trailed shut behind him a moment later, leaving Hermann where he stood.

He did not reply to wish him anything.

Chapter Text

Compared to his lab partner, Hermann didn't have any pressing matter on hold.

His work had essentially ended the moment the Breach collapsed, but there were still communications to be taken care of and a new report to write. It was impractical to wait for Newton to start on it. He didn't know when the biologist was set to return from retrieving even more, fresher, Kaiju parts. The thought almost made him reach.

Hermann abandoned the Med Bay and walked to the lab, encountering fewer and fewer people as he went.

He turned on the lights upon entering, firmly ignored the way the yellow tank with the brain inside seemed to register as a living presence in the back of his mind, pulsing just outside of his field of vision, and sat at his workstation.

His inbox, like Newton's, was full of messages from the last day and a half.

There were new reports from Hansen that he had missed, and some of Newton's missives, addressed to K-science, had arrived to him as well. He went through them in order, responding where he needed to and ignoring the rest — until a different message from the others caught his eye.

It came from outside the PPDC main circle. Hermann stared at it, his palms sweating where he was resting them on his knees.  Not many people outside of the organization knew how to reach him through this address, and even less of them would.

He debated not opening it, merely going back to his task and let this be forgotten at the bottom of his inbox, but curiosity (or maybe masochism) got the better of him and he clicked on the message.

It was a few short lines of text, concise and clinically put together, but that betrayed feelings of affection and concern for the receiver.

Karla.

Hermann leaned back on his chair, dropping his shoulders, not even realizing how much they had tensed in anxiety.

In her message, his sister congratulated him on his contribution in helping closing the Breach, urging him to respond to let her know if he was alright and commanding him to call her when he could.

Hermann hadn't known word of their involvement in stopping the Clock had gotten out so fast.

This was concerning, if true. He imagined Newton would bask in the praise and adulation, but Hermann did not. He hated undesired and invasive attention. However, it was more likely that Karla was being generic; congratulating him and the base on their collective success, and meaning nothing more by it. If she had reached him through his work line it meant that his personal address (that he hardly ever checked) was swarming with similar messages from hers. Probably from others as well. Hermann didn't want to think about it.

He dismissed the message in any case, voting to respond to it on his own free time and not during work hours, and started preparing a draft for his report.

He was hoping that recounting the events that had led to the drift formally would help detach his mind from the emotional side of it.

His fingers stopped on the keyboard after the first few lines as he remembered the recorder still sitting on Newton's desk.

There was no easy way to describe that part.

He should have started his account from a later point, but it wouldn't help anyone if he skipped over this part, no matter how harrowing it was recounting finding Newton's convulsing body on the laboratory's pavement. So he wrote it, carefully selecting his words and keeping the overwhelming memory at bay.

The next parts weren't much easier. Hermann went through the events of Operation Pitfall with a cold professionalism that sounded too matter-of-factly and analytical even to him.

He stopped again when it was time to talk about his drift with Newton and the Kaiju.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and words escaped him. He looked at the parallel lines of text and for once the rigid structure of them felt oppressing. He inexplicably remembered what Newton had told him once, when he'd complained about having to put his thought on paper. He'd said his ideas never quite translated and it always made him sound like someone else, much more boring and unimaginative than he actually was.

Hermann never quite understood what he'd meant by that, not until he met him, and he'd never got it until now.

At last, his struggle was interrupted by a knock on the open lab doors.

"Yes, come on in," Hermann took off his reading glasses and stood, gripping the back of his chair as Mako Mori entered.

"Hello, Dr. Gottlieb," she said, bowing her head. "I came to pay you and Geiszler a visit. I heard about what you did yesterday."

"Ah," Hermann said, trying to mask his surprise. "Thank you, that is very thoughtful of you. Unfortunately, Dr. Geiszler is not here."

"Really?" she arched her brows.

"He is helping with the Bio-Harvesting of the Kaiju."

She smiled, briefly.

"You can't keep him still. That's a pity, I was hoping I could talk to him."

Hermann stilled.

A memory of a preadolescent Mako visiting his lab passed through his mind. She'd been curious and bright even then, and for a second it was hard to recognize that Hermann had only met Mako a few short years ago, and before then had only seen her in newspapers. The little girl rescued from the debris of Tokyo, taken in by a newly retired Ranger as his ward.

Newton had met her in the Tokyo Shatterdome when she was still a child. Newton had shown her his work, had talked to her about hair dye, and music, and had seen the spark in her eyes as she watched Jaegers being constructed, not him. 

Her trust and familiarity belonged to someone else, and so Hermann regretted immediately the next words that came out of his mouth.

"You can talk to me."

Mako looked surprised, and Hermann couldn't blame her.

"If you'd like," he added quickly.

She studied him for a moment longer and said carefully, "I was going to ask Newt about the drift. I know you saw inside the Kaiju's mind, and I heard you saw it again during the mustering-out."

"How do you know about that?" Hermann knitted his brows, feeling exposed.

"Hansen told me," she said shyly. "He talked to Dr. Gage. I'm sorry if I'm being indiscrete."

Hermann frowned but shook his head.

"No, it's alright. I didn't know Dr. Gage had already spoken to the active Marshal. He still hasn't talked to us."

"Hansen said he's still processing your exams, that must be why," she crossed her arms. "I might have to go through that, too."

"It's not very pleasant," Hermann grimaced without realizing how nonreassuring that was, but Mako cracked a smile.

"Raleigh said the same."

She looked at a point behind Hermann's shoulder for a moment, a shadow crossing her face.

"Did you really see inside the Breach?" she asked. "What was it like?"

Hermann stiffened. He shifted his weight on his good leg, staring at a random point on the floor.

"Pardon me Miss Mori, but I think you might know better than me. You have been inside the Alterverse physically."

She shook her head with a sigh.

"I didn't see much down there. My oxygen levels were running low and Raleigh finished that part of the mission."

"You have both been very brave. The world owns this victory to you."

"And to Sansei," she added, her voice filled with emotion. "And to Chuck Hansen, the Kaidonovsky and Wei Tang Brothers. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for them."

Hermann nodded, respectfully, unsure what more could be said. 

The war might have ended, but the burden of it persisted. Hermann had seen it, in the way the medics had acted still in emergency mode, in Newton's frantic and trembling gestures, and now in Mori's restrained pain and guilt.

They were all looking for certainty and safety, because after so much horror it did not feel real that they could have that, and so Hermann spoke the next words with as much firmness as he could muster.

"The detonation of the nuclear reactor killed them all. Nothing is alive in the Alterverse."

Almost on cue, the brain in the tank stirred and Hermann suppressed a shudder.

He was standing with his backs almost to it, but he felt it pulsing inside his skull. Miss Mori must have noticed too, as her dark, intelligent eyes narrowed on him.

"There is a big storm coming for this organization," she said slowly. "I fear the PPDC might fall apart on our hands, and I can't stand to watch as they sell it up for scraps. Not after Sansei's sacrifice." 

Hermann felt sweat pooling in his brows but he ignored it. His eyes darted in the direction of his desk; the screen of his computer was still bright.

"Hansen's report specified that both Challenger Deep and the nearby areas of the Marianas Trench have registered no unexpected energy discharge and no evidence of strong tectonic activity since the collapse. That is a good sign," he added, not quite sure if he believed it himself. "They're planning to maintain submarine surveillance active, at least for now."

Mako looked away and her eyes landed on Hermann's blackboard.

"But is it enough?" she whispered. "In the event of the Breach reopening, we would be warned but defenseless, and I want… I want everyone to stay safe, Dr. Gottlieb. The Jaegers saved the world, and I want to ensure it remains that way. If there is even a small chance the Kaiju are alive, I don't want to risk them opening another portal only to find us unprepared. I want to give everyone a chance to heal."

Hermann could suddenly see where this was going.

"You wish to reinstitute the Jaeger program?"

She turned to him, her eyes burning with determination.

"I do." 

The brain stirred again and Hermann traced the movement from the corner of his eye.

"I see."

"Don't you agree?" she asked. "Don't you want the same, doctor?" 

Hermann looked back at her and he felt cornered. The brain in the tank on one side and Miss Mori on the other, both seemingly pushing him in opposing directions.

It was clear the young woman was looking for some kind of reassurance from him, and he couldn't help but feel for her. Marshal Pentecost had been a role model and a guiding figure for Hermann, but he had been a father for Mako since she was a little girl. The grief he felt at the thought he was gone was incomparable to what she must be feeling. She might have asked a similar question to Pentecost today, if he was alive, and she was trusting Hermann with this instead. He felt touched beyond words. And how could he tell her no when he'd spent ten years of his life defending the exact same creation she was. Fighting for the exact same principles. He'd seen his academic career, the connection to his friends and family, and his reputation to the scientific community burn in flames, all because he believed that the Jaegers were the only answer. That they couldn't hide behind a wall.

The world had changed, and Hermann was a creature of habit, but he was especially not used to chance happening for the better. That was never the standard. He was too used to life taking away his comfort, his joy, anything he felt like he was achieving, right out of the palm of his hand before he could claim it. The part of him that accepted the risk of drifting with Geiszler had won over every disastrous alternative he'd calculated. In the end, it was saving Newton's life, learning the truth, and hoping to live to see another day that had driven him forward. The true consequences of it were still unknown to him, but he couldn't renounce the good that single decision made, nor could he renounce their shared cause.

"Of course I do," he told Mako earnestly, straighting his back. "It will not be an easy task to accomplish, but so was stopping the Clock and ending the war, and yet here we both stand. I'll do anything I can to help you. You have my word."

Mako smiled, raising her chin. Her face was bright and resolute, and in that moment she looked all like the confident leader she was always born to be.

"Thank you."

Chapter Text

It was late in the evening when Hermann received a message. The notification sounded loudly in the empty lab.

From: Hercules Hansen

To: Dr. Newton Geiszler, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb

Subject: Reserved – for your eyes only

Dr. Martin Gage has contacted me about what happened in the Post-Drift lab, and about your Mustering-out. He told me you were experiencing signs of ghost drifting and were trying to understand if you were still connected to each other, and so he advised you to undertake the procedure. However, in all my years as a Ranger, I have never heard of what he was describing.

I called for a Priority Level 1 Meeting to go over what he has found. I contacted a Neuroscientist and a Drift psychiatrist that used to work at other PPDC branches at Dr. Gage's suggestion and, it couldn't be avoided, it will be in the presence of a few members of the remaining PPDC Council. I will see you both in War Room I tomorrow at 08:00.

Marshal Hercules Hansen

Hermann read the message twice over. His anxiety raising at each word.

He wished he could talk to Geiszler about this, but the biologist still hadn't returned from retrieving his wrenched Kaiju samples. For a second, Hermann was tempted to reach into his lab partner's mind, but he dismissed the idea immediately. The soft vibration he felt radiating from the alien brain in the tank was already more than enough invasion.

He replied a short affirmative message to Hansen with tremulous fingers and forced his mind to focus on the work he still needed to finish.

Later, he collected all the material he could find on drift anomalies, even if it didn't include medical records or first-hand testimonies. He read each study attentively, concluding that ghost drifting was different for every set of Rangers but, generally, the effects described matched what he'd experienced with Geiszler. Uncontrollable perceptions of the other's feelings, adoption of speech patterns, sharing of personal knowledge, reading each other's thoughts.

However, this last point appeared to contradict other investigations.

Not every party studied reported it, and definitive evidence has never been found.

Hermann understood why. From everything he gathered only one factor seemed to be the constant: it was extremely hard to map something as volatile and ever-changing as the aftermath of drifting.

This concluded very little and left too many questions unanswered. 

The lancets of his wristwatch ticked close to midnight by the time Hermann left the lab, alone.

It was possible Geiszler had headed straight to his room, even if unlikely, but Hermann hadn't received any other news from the Marshal or otherwise, and when he caught himself staring at the tank for the fourth time in as many minutes, he'd decided to call it a night.

The Shatterdome was quite deep down in its bowels. The corridors were cold and humid, and the air smelled stale due to the ventilation system only working at half capacity to conserve energy. There weren't many essential stations this many floors below ground anymore, other than K-science, so Hermann's feet and cane echoed as he walked down the metal hallways.

Outside of these walls, the world was getting its second night of rest after twelve years of war, and yet Hermann found himself completely disconnected from the peace people must be feeling. He imagined it would not be long before everyone abandoned this place entirely, including him.

Still, Mako Mori's words played like a loop in his mind.

Hermann had seen the math, the black and white truth of what their future awaited. He'd known it for longer than anyone else: the Kaiju's attacks would get more frequent, more powerful, until they would overpower them and eventually, inescapably, win. But even with that desolating future staring down at them, Hermann had stayed. When his father had turned his back to the Jaeger program, and to his son, he had stayed. When the funding was cut and suddenly he and Newton were left alone to do the work of twenty people, he had still stayed.

And now, the war was won - against every odds he had meticulously laid out - and he was deciding to stay again.

The question was: would Newton remain as well?

Hermann couldn't imagine he would. The biologist had never been quiet about his disdain for militarized organizations, and he knew Geiszler would soon dismantle the PPDC himself before anyone convinced him to participate in the making of new weapons meant only for the slim chance the Breach reopened.

Hermann signed.

There was valid reasoning in that.

He climbed the three steps that lead to his quarters and opened the door.

It was the first time he set foot in his room since the closure of the Breach. His bed was made, his books were neatly put away on the shelf, his desk was ordered, and Hermann felt like a stranger to his own possessions.

He didn't own much. Most of his belongings could fit in a few boxes, which he supposed was a byproduct of having moved so much in his life.

When he had been transferred to Hong Kong, it had taken hardly more than a day to get settled.

Of course, then Newton had arrived. Several days after Hermann, when he'd already set up his blackboards and computers in a precise way. Hermann had seen him waltz into the spacious lab with so many boxes and crates that could have filled three houses worth of frippery, and the mathematician had almost experienced what it was like to have a stroke firsthand. Their second fight ever had happened right after Newton dragged a grand piano into the lab, and the consequential shouting match was one that had riverbed through the walls, making the rest of their (at the time present) assistants and colleagues scatter away in fear.

"It's a present from my dad!" Newton had shouted, leaning against the bloody thing protectively, as big as Hermann's entire workstation. He hadn't provided any similar justification for the keyboards, microphones, guitars, and bongos that had followed.

Nothing had an order or a label, and Hermann had looked horrified as cabinets, lamps, comic books and framed band posters turned their workspace into a flea market.

The yellow line taped on the floor had done nothing to contain the cataclysm that was Newton Geiszler.

Hermann shook his head and looked around his quarters again, the quietness pressing heavily all around him.

His room was adequate, he concluded.

He had all that was necessary to him.

He couldn't possibly need anything else.

Something woke Hermann up a few hours later.

His room was dark, illuminated only by a pale slitter of light coming from under the door and the red number of his digital clock in his nightstand which read 4:38. He looked around, bleary-eyed; it took him a moment to figure out what had roused him from his sleep. Everything was quiet, only the distant noise of the Shatterdome, attenuated by the late hour, but never fully silent — until Hermann heard it.

Footsteps, making their way down the corridor outside.

Whoever it was, was coming closer — walking slowly, almost draggingly. A shadow passed by Hermann's door, blocking the hallway's light, and stopping right in front of it.

Hermann climbed out of bed as quickly as he could and rushed to the entrance noiselessly. He stopped and listened. No more sounds came from the other side.

He waited, one hand on the door handle, his eye passing over the peephole without looking through.

He waited, the seconds ticking by. The feeling inside his head became more defined. The oppressive sensation of something squeezing on his temples, like a headache building up. Pointed, focused thoughts, against weariness and fatigue. Images of the city in ruins, ash collecting over mangled bodies of Kaiju.

He waited, and Hermann had the impression he was being called out. His name resounded inside his skull — taking shape into sounds, his face, and the feeling that accompanied it was a quiet, lonely need to just see him.

He opened the door.

The strip of fluorescent light flicked in the hallway, illuminating the top of Newton's head as the biologist stood at the bottom of the niche.

For a moment, Geiszler looked as startled as Hermann felt, then he shook himself and climbed the three steps. Without thinking, Hermann moved aside to let him in. He had a pause on the doorway as he observed the biologist move around his quarters, where he'd never been before. He had the impression of watching two incompatible things merge, acclimatize, even if Newton didn't seem bothered to be clashing with Hermann's meager décor.

"You have no idea the night I had," Newton lamented as he sat heavily on Hermann's unmade bed.

Hermann wrinkled his nose. He slipped into his dressing gown, tying it securely around his waist, then turned his desk chair and sat facing the other scientist, silently observing as Newton removed his black tie from around his neck and started twisting it in his hands.

"The Baby is gone," Newton said after a long pause. "And the Pons too. They wouldn't tell me what happened. It was a mess."

Hermann frowned.

"What do you mean they are gone?"

"I don't know yet, they were just gone!" Geiszler spoke frenetically. "Maybe they were moved, but the Extraction Team was being very weird about it. They closed off the toxic areas and I could only see part of the site. Leatherback's corpse was a mess. They're still salvaging what they can, but Otachi was cleaned before I could get there. I got them to sign the release papers for this Dome, because apparently we aren't even prioritized to get full control of the samples, not even after saving the world and being the only lab still active. Unbelievable… but that's not the worst part," he stilled his hands, drawing a breath. "If the Baby was stolen, there is no saying where it is now."

Hermann bit the inside of his cheek.

"That is inconvenient, but we can't be fixated on this right now."

Newton looked up, wide-eyed.

"Dude, they took my samples!" he cried. "They were the last Kaiju that made it to land we're ever going to get, and the only baby ever born here! If they're rotting in a PPDC warehouse or some rich fuck is crushing Otachi's bones to snort them I have to know!"

Hermann scoffed, unimpressed. "I see your brief association with Hannibal Chau changed your perception of how the world works. Have you gone back to his lair before going around accusing the PPDC of theft?"

Newton blinked.

"Funny you're saying that, because I did go to Hannibal's place, and it was empty. His minions must have vacated it after he died, but that doesn't mean—"

"He died?"

"Oh... yeah, I guess you didn't know that," Newton reprised the frenetic twist and turn of his tie, trembling slightly. Hermann observed Newton's hands: dotted with tiny scars after years of playing music and working with chemicals. He still hadn't cleaned the dirt from under his fingernails. "The Baby ate him whole, after it tried to kill me."

Hermann felt his own hands twitch, mimicking the motion, and he gripped the handle of his cane tightly. He felt as if he was suppressing energy to concentrate on a single impossible line of thought, but there were too many and he was too tired to carry them all out.

"Marshal Pentecost must have kept a detailed record on Chau's organization," Hermann pointed out. "Maybe there are information on any competitors he might have had. If anyone in Hong Kong took them, they can't hide them forever."

Newton shook his head.

"There are ways to hide them. Chau had a pretty good business going on. Damn, he knew more about Kaiju than me."

"Not anymore."

Newton looked up at that, staring at him in a mixture of shock and amusement. Then a laugh escaped him, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

"I guess not."

Hermann hadn't meant it to be humorous, but seeing how Newton seemed to relax as his laughter died down, he didn't have the heart to correct himself. A ghost of a smile lingered on Newton's face even as the silence dilated between them, and Hermann thought he felt the pressure in his mind easing.

He worked his jaw and tried to mentally distance himself from the sensation entirely.

"Miss Mori came to the lab today," he said.

"Yeah?" the biologist eyebrows shot up.

"She wanted to see how we were doing. And she wanted to thank us."

Newton smiled, one corner of his mouth forming a dimple.

"We should be the ones thanking her."

"It is what I told her. You know her well." It was a statement more than a question, but Newton's smiles softened.

"I met her back at the Tokyo Dome. She was the most scrumptious little kid ever, I swear. Way too young to be living inside a military base filled with skyscraper robots, if you ask me. But I think Pentecost knew that too," he frowned as if recalling something. A teenage girl with a clipboard hugged to her chest, looking up from the catwalk at the carcass of the giant machines came to Hermann's mind out of nowhere. "She always wanted to be a Jaeger Pilot."

Hermann stared at him, unsure what to say; if he should comment on the sudden bleed-through of Geiszler's memory, or if he should tell him exactly what Miss Mori had said during her visit.

"Any news from Gage?" Newton asked before Hermann could make up his mind.

"Yes," Hermann shifted on his seat, hesitant for just a moment. "They want to see us tomorrow morning. Priority one, they're calling a few experts and... Some members of the Council."

Newton grunted, barely masking his disdain.

"Are you serious? Why the fuck are they involved?"

"I suspect it's either to reprimand us for undergoing the procedure without going through the appropriate channels, or —" he twisted the handle of his cane, avoiding eye contact. Or because what Dr. Gage found has to be kept quiet. "Or because of something else."

More silence, more knots formed on the tie.

"I think I know what it is," Newton said, a wicked smile playing on his face.

"Illuminate me."

"You won't like it."

"I hardly ever do," Hermann's lip twitched.

Newton narrowed his eyes, tilting his head, like if he could read Hermann's every tell. Like he could pull at the threads of his mind and undo every knot that held him together.

"But maybe you already suspect it. I know you felt it, and are still feeling it. Even now," he leaned closer to whisper, as if they weren't the only two people in the whole sector. "We are a Hivemind."

A chill ran down Hermann's spine.

He felt it again: the cold gripping fear of being in the bunker under the rubbles, or at the harbor with freezing water crashing at his feet.

He pressed it all down, unwaveringly.

"No," he said.

Newton's smile fell, and he sat back.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" Hermann asked tightly. "We're scientists, not men of impulsive beliefs. We underwent the mustering-out to find answers we still do not have, and, unlike you, I won't make baseless assumptions without evidence."

"Baseless?" Newton's voice picked up in decibels. "How can you trust Gage's wacky machine more than your own mind? He's just a glorified technician, what could he possibly know? What could anyone know that we don't already know ourselves? I know it sounds crazy, but I have more knowledge about the Kaiju than ever before! It's all stored up here," he frantically pointed at his temples. "The Hivemind was similar to our Pons system. The Kaiju drifted constantly and carried the whole of their experience with them like data banks. When they died, they passed it on, and if even one of them is alive, the memory of the Hive lives on. We are the Hive, Hermann!"

The mathematician shook his head stubbornly.

"No. No, that is simply impossible. The human brain doesn't work like that."

"Yes it does!"

"It doesn't!" he shouted, losing some of his composure. "You're bending facts to support your ludicrous theories. Their brains aren't anatomically like ours. You are the expert, you know we aren't capable of drifting constantly."

Newton paused, and then laughed.

"You're absolutely right on that, I'm promoting you to junior biologist! It's definitely more than ghost drifting, though, and you just proved it to me."

"What are you talking about?"

“You 'know', huh? And how would you know if not from my knowledge seeping into your brain."

Hermann felt his face reddening as Newton's grin widened.

"That is not the same," Hermann insisted. "There is evidence in support of shared knowledge in ghost drifting, which is still the most likely conclusion without having to get pseudoscientific."

"Oh, you wanted evidence," Newton dragged his words out, dipping into sarcasm. "Well, why didn't you say so? Let us count your precious evidence then, shall we? One: you and I are actively experiencing ghost drifting in some form, at least on that we can all agree. And it confirmed your initial suspicion, so good job on catching that before me, asshole. Two: we can access memories from the drift, both from each other and from the Kaiju, because there wouldn't be any other way for me to be in your mind and in Knifehead's mind during the mustering-out. And third," he paused briefly, a faint grimness tampering his excitement. "The Alterverse is gone. We have everything they ever were in our brains, and we circled back to it."

Hermann thought a vein in his head might explode.

"Knifehead? How could you possibly know—"

"It's fucking obvious! The shape of claws, the northern water, the... the storm. There is evidence everywhere, you just don't want to see it!"

Hermann opened his mouth to rebound, but closed it again. The memory found its way back to his mind. At the end of the simulation, a Jaeger had emerged from the water. That was Danger, Hermann realized, when the Becker brothers still piloted her. He had seen footage of that battle taken directly from the cockpit, he remembered the terrifying moment the Kaiju resurfaced again to finish off the Jaeger, killing Yancy Becket in the process. They didn't see that far, but it had happened — and they'd experienced it through the monster's eyes.

However, the other memories…

"You cannot rely on what we saw in the mustering-out. Not all of those… events were as they happened. There never was a Kaiju that day at the harbor. There were obviously parts fabricated by our own minds." He decided to leave it at that. He didn't add that it wasn't the only memory with a significant change. He'd rather pretend the rest never happened at all.

"Then how do we know?" Newton asked, his eyes begging him for any answer, and Hermann suddenly remembered why they had gone down to their lab after the War Clock had stopped.

Hermann was unsure how much alcohol he had consumed during the party; his glass always got refilled. Newton had bunched up and down like a spring. He'd been all over LOCCENT, talking, laughing, singing, hugging people, but he always came back by Hermann's side. The mathematician had been stuck staring at a light flickering intermittently on a monitor. He'd been trying to figure out what it was signaling when he felt Newton next to him again. He had a new bottle of clear liquid in his hand, and Hermann's half-empty glass became only slightly-empty.

Unknowingly, he'd been standing in the vicinity of a group of people dancing, and Newton had commented on it with some amusement. When Hermann admitted he hadn't noticed, he saw a smirk spreading across his lab partner's face before he disposed of both their glasses and took hold of Hermann's arm, dragging him deep into the fray. They'd bumped ungracefully with people from all sides. Newton had laughed and apologized, but it'd made Hermann feel gauche and exposed. He wished to be back where he was — invisible to the crowd, blending between the wall and the machines, where he'd hid for the majority of his life — until Newton threw his arms around Hermann's neck and hugged him tightly, swaying with him on the spot.

This was where the memory got confusing. He was back in the ruins where he and Newton had drifted, he was dancing, he was in his lab. It felt real and like a dream at the same time.

In his memory, the Kaiju roared, and the weight of their minds pressed inside his and Newton's skulls. Their cries became the screams of the crowd. But the Kaiju weren't here anymore, and the emptiness of where their contact used to be haunted him. He'd drawn closer to Newton, holding onto his ruined leather jacket. He could still feel Newton's breath on his cheek, on the shell of his ear, as if that too was part of the ghost drift.

"It's over," Newton had whispered, holding onto Hermann's shoulders like he too was scared of disappearing into the other side of the Breach. "They're gone. Tell me they're gone."

Hermann had opened his eyes then, and the beeping light he'd been staring at from across the room slowed down.

He'd wanted to say something, give Newton the certainty of a finite equation, of a fundamental law of the universe, and dissolve the turmoil he felt deep inside himself… but he couldn't. 

He'd taken in all the people dancing and cheering, faces blurring into each other.

He couldn't be certain. And that single seed of doubt sank deep into the cracks of his new-found relief.

He'd dragged Newton away from the party and they'd descended into the lonely bowls of the Shatterdome, together.

The floor of the lab had shifted under Hermann's feet and Newton had been giggling like a maniac. His warm body, pressed into Hermann's side was the only thing sustaining him upright; he was forgetting how to swing his cane correctly. He didn't get to actually look at his board. Newton had walked him past it, and sat him down on the couch, placing his parka over him and talking about something Hermann wasn't understanding — it sounded like the biologist was saying a hundred words at once.

Newton's hand pushed on Hermann's shoulder, getting him to lay down.

"I need, I need to check…" Hermann's words had been thick with sleep, his eyelids betraying him.

Newton had shushed him. His hand had moved to his chest, gently resting there, and Hermann had the impression he was sinking down, deep into the mattress. It was the most comfortable and warm he'd felt in a long time.

"It can wait," Newton's hand had lifted and he swayed back on his feet, looking up at the high ceiling of the lab. Hermann had followed his gaze, looking at the mass of tubes that intersected above their heads. In that moment of silence, he could almost hear the cheers of the crowd, echoing through the dozens of floors in between them. "I don't want to know just yet."

Newton's smile had been on him again, softer, quieter.

"Alright," Hermann had murmured, before everything turned dark.

In the quietness that had fallen in his quarters, the mathematician swallowed thickly. His mouth gone dry.

So this was what Newton wanted: to know if there was a possibility the Kaiju were still alive.

Him and Mako had come to the same conclusion. They were seeking the same thing in different forms.

Newton, in front of him, was still staring at him, waiting, searching, and Hermann felt that pull again. He abruptly understood why they called it a 'ghost'. It was as if another person roomed inside your skull, looking at your thoughts, lingering in the space between them.  

He found himself looking inward too, the pathway to Newton's mind was easier than he expected.

The night of the closure of the Breach wasn't the only thing he was thinking about.

Despite everything that had happened, Newton was still thinking about the Kaiju. About how beautiful they were in their complexity. Unprecedented and impossible. Their mystery was like a puzzle to him, and he wouldn't have stopped until he'd found the truth, no matter how much of his life was put on the line.

Hermann realized this with newfound clarity: Newton had been afraid of them, in the hours between seeing into the Breach alone and running for his life as Otachi charged him. Newton had never taken into account his own small and hyperactive brain in comparison to the giants that had come from another dimension, or the alien Overloads that had created them, or the planets they'd inhabited and colonized with the precision of a clockwork. It was only after Hermann had looked into the Breach too that the burden of feeling so small compared to what was in front of them wasn't so mind-blowingly crazy.

And now, as they stared at each other from across Hermann's bedroom, it felt like the space between was too much, and not quite enough. 

Luckily, Hermann's alarm clock going off snapped them both back to the present.

The biologist jumped almost off his seat, startled, and Hermann moved quietly to shut it off.

"It's already 5am," he said. "You should clean yourself up before the meeting at 8:00 time."

Newton was looking at him as if a bomb had gone off, wide-eyed with one hand clenching his chest.

"You were gonna wake up three hours before the meeting? Why? Even for you that's — no, you know what, never mind," he threw his hands up in defeat. "I bet you have an alarm set every ten minutes, so I'm going."

Hermann huffed but didn't mention his next alarm at 5:30, or the one after that. He has always been a deep sleeper.

He got up and watched from a distance (as much as was possible in the small room) as Geiszler stood too and inspected his tie, trying to undo the knots.

"Aw, dammit. This was my favorite tie."

"It will be missed," Hermann said unbothered. "Wear another one."

"This was my only tie."

Hermann rolled his eyes. Of course it was.

"You can borrow one of mine," he limped to the dresser behind the desk.

He didn't have many ties either. He inspected and dismissed the grey and brown arrays of cloths before spotting a pale green one, stuck in the back of the drawer.

He fished it out, briefly tracing over the pattern of thin silver diagonal stripes running over the green in succession, then handed it over before he could change his mind.

"Here."

Newton took it with raised eyebrows.

"It's a nice tie," he said, inspecting the cloth carefully. "It's a nice, old tie. Was it your grandfather's?"

"It was," the mathematician confirmed neutrally.

Newton looked up from the slightly faded colors.

"Oh," he whispered.

"If you don't want it, you can give it back."

"No, I want it!" Newton brought it protectively to his chest. "I never had a grandfather tie before. This is… well, confirming a lot about your wardrobe." He put it around his neck and tossed one end over his shoulder like a scarf. "How do I look?"

"Marvelous," Hermann replied flatly. "And now you can throw away that ruined excuse for a tie, along with that absurd leather jacket and those pants."

"What! No way, I can still mend them," he flexed his knee up in the air to show where the larger hole showed scraped skin underneath. "A patch here and there and they'll be good as new."

"They're beyond repair, and most likely covered in Kaiju spit."

"All the more reason to keep them! Are you getting rid of your parka?"

"I already did," Hermann had put every single item he was wearing, excluding his watch and shoes, in a bag and he was planning to dispose of them in the garbage conduct the next morning. It had been a hard decision, but he was sure he could never wash them well enough to get rid of some of the stains. Not to mention the memories connected to them. "And it was the warmest thing I had in my closet, so you owe me a coat."

Newton huffed out a laugh.

"Sure thing, Herms."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay Hermy," he smirked, walking backward to the door. "I'll see you at the meeting then. Don't be less than an hour early or Hansen could think you were sleeping in."

"Get out of here," he said with no real heat behind it. "And don't be late. I won't stall them for you."

"Just give a lecture on the difference between arithmetic geometry and arithmetic topology, that would buy me at least five hours."

"Out."

Newton laughed a final time and slipped out of the room.

Hermann listened to the sound of his footsteps fade down the hallway and then disappear. In the resulting quietness, his clock was slowly changing from one number to the next.

Hermann sighed. He'd better get ready.

Chapter Text

Newt was staring at the yellow tank. Again.

He kept doing that. One second he was elbow deep in his new samples, working delicately to preserve them, and the next one his eyes were fixated on the lazy movement of the brain.

He shook himself for the hundredth time and looked away.

His side of the lab was filled with containers, all glowing bright yellow and blocking his view of Hermann's half of the room.

But Hermann wasn't there.

His lab partner had been quiet ever since they came back from the meeting. His gloomy, concentrated expression stopped Newt from asking any question, no matter how much they burned on his tongue. There had been an equation going on in his mind, the numbers so vivid it'd taken Newt a moment to place together that it was Hermann, erratically driving to a conclusion. Then, at one point, he had just left the lab without giving an explanation. Newt had turned around for the tenth time in as many minutes, and Hermann wasn't there anymore, staring quietly at his blackboard with his back to him.

Maybe he needed some time to absorb what they'd learned, Newt told himself. He knew he did. 

As his hands sank deeper into the blue strained flesh he could still hear Dr. Gage's ominous words playing in a loop in his mind.

"The whole consciousness of an alien race is a good deal of information for two human brains."

Gage's collection of data from the mustering-out hasn't been entirely comprehensive, as he'd explained to the people gathered at the war table and in video-calls. It had apparently been extremely difficult discerning how it was possible for two people to have such a strong aftermath from just one drift. On paper, it was next to impossible.

Dr. Caitlin Lightcap and Sergio D'Onofrio, and even Mako Mori and Raleigh Becket, were mentioned as great examples of fast-learned connection. However, there were substantial differences.

Caitlin Lightcap had worked on developing the drift at its earliest stage. She was the one who figured out that sharing the neuronal load was the answer to governing the Jaegers. She'd saved D'Onofrio's life during his test run by connecting her mind to his, and they had been partners for many years after that, practically plasming the technology out of their own experience. The risk of bleed-through outside of the drift had been at its highest back then, but it had still taken months before it'd shown in any significant amount.

Mako and Raleigh were another case. A report read that Becket had refused the mustering-out procedure after the loss of his brother, and hasn't done one since, so it wasn't clear how much he was still affected from form his previous partner. However, Gage could tell from seeing Becket and Mori in action, that even if modern drift technology could prevent most of the bleed-through from happening, their high compatibility rate affected them in minimal part. It would continue to affect them if they went on drifting, or it would fade if they did not. The latter seemed more likely, since there were no more Jaegers to drift with.

A few other examples of Rangers and their compatibility rates were listed: pilots with years of experience, record hours inside the flow, incredible adaptability and stability.

And yet Newt and Hermann's case was the one beyond any measurable scale.

Not even the highest compatibility rate ever registered in a fight touched their number. And that was just a projection from their mustering-out. Their real drift could have been even higher.

Newt had felt dizzy at the thought.

With prolonged exposure being off the table, the two possible explanations were to be attributed to either the bad craftsmanship of the Pons (which Newt wouldn't call bad. Maybe rough, or hurried, but not bad), or the involvement of an alien entity disrupting their brain structure entirely.

Hermann had grimaced at that, and Newt had felt it reverbing.

A drift with no barriers meant mind corruptions, unsolidified and unrestrained exposure.

It meant the strongest bleed through ever registered in the best cases scenario, or permanent brain alteration in the worst.

It meant their minds were tied together, and that from then on they could experience strong migraine, dissociation, memory loss or alterations. They could become unable to separate each other’s minds. Their personalities could become intertwined.

In short, many problems similar to what test subjects had experienced during the first stage of drift experimentation.

Gage didn't have to say that many of those people had died, or were permanently damaged in the aftermath of those tests.

They all knew.

One of the tentacles moved again, distracting Newt from his thoughts.

The brain fraction had been dormant when Newt'd first walked back in the lab, earlier. He'd been so worried it was a bad sign, hurrying to the tank to asset the situation. The movement inside the formalin had been imperceptible, but there. Almost impossibly still given the ventilation system forming a current inside the container.

Hermann had turned sickly pale when Newt had tapped the glass in concern and the brain had stirred, as if awakening from its slumber.

It didn't look like it was dying, Newt had noted, fascinated. It looked like it reacted to him.

He would have continued investigating right away if the new samples hadn't arrived, but he couldn't waste any time when those needed to be cleaned and stored.

It was the last bits of Kaiju flesh Newt would ever touch at this stage.

He felt pained at the thought, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Hermann's revolted expression if he'd said something like that out loud; he had seen it enough times in the course of their partnership to have it memorized.

Every time he indulged in the topic of Kaiju, all Hermann got out of it was how his obsession outmatched his scientific interest and duty - which wasn't true.

Well… not totally true.

Newt himself sometimes found it hard to say which one he preferred.

In his mind, he didn't have to choose. He could look at the Kaiju and at his work as if they complemented each other. One couldn't come to be if the other wasn't present. Which was at the root in his current sadness.

His work was coming to an end. Maybe not now, or a year from now, but eventually. Gradually. And even if he knew this was always the end goal, where he and all of humanity aligned, he couldn't bring himself to contemplate it just yet.

There was so much he still wanted to experiment on, and his disastrous, incredible, drift had opened that last door wide open for him in a way he hadn't thought possible.

One last gift from the source of all his wonder.

"What you two did inside the mustering-out is impossible," Dr. Gage had said about halfway into the meeting, indicating the data in the holo-screen projecting from the middle of the table. "You two communicated inside the Cradles, and I just don't understand how."

Hushed murmurs had raised from the people gathered. Hansen and the Council had been awfully quiet until then. Newt had scanned their faces and names. There hadn't been much of a turn up. Many of them probably had more important business to attend to, what with the war ending and them having been proven utterly and pathetically wrong for having bet their money on the wrong horse and almost dooming humanity as a whole. The damage control and security of their positions were more important than Newt or Hermann would ever be. Including for a particular person, whose screen had remained dark and disconnected throughout the whole session.

Dr. Lars Gottlieb.

Even if the founder of the Jaeger Program had abandoned it to rot to focus all his resources on building the Costal Wall, he still retained enough influence to preside over certain meetings.

Or so he would, if he'd bothered to show up.

Newt had kept a close eye on Hermann throughout the whole affair. His lab partner had looked tense, his face more drawn than usual, and he seemed to hardly want to look in the direction of his father's inactive screen. Newt couldn't blame him. He knew things were strained between them. After the funding was cut in favor of the Wall, Hermann had been asked to join his father in his new avenue, abandoning what was, in all effect, the failing front line. Hermann had refused, and since then it was as if Dr. Gottlieb Senior had disowned his son. No more calls came. There was no more mention of him in the lab, and Hermann had persisted in his effort to conclude his predictive model alone and aidless.

Newt had found himself staring at the black screen with more animosity than he'd ever associated with the name before, which was already pretty intense to begin with.

In the meantime, Gage had opened two holo-diagrams. It was Hermann and Newt's brain scans, taken during the simulations and their later MRIs. Gage had taken furious notes on the margins, and it was all cross-sectioned to where the two brains lined up.

It would have been easier to mark where they didn't line up, Newt had thought.

"This especially concerns me," Gage had pointed at the interval near the end, where every part of their brains had lightened up like a Christmas tree. "If you were in various memories up until this point, you aren’t here. It’s like you disappeared. Your Hippocampus and Amygdala, your parietal and occipital lobes, all register a surplus of stimuli."

"There must be an explanation," Hermann had muttered, almost to himself.

"There is one," Newt had interjected. Everyone at the table had stared at him, so he stood up; never could it be said he didn't love some showmanship. "That was during the last scenario, when we were seeing inside the mind of a Kaiju. This must be where it started," he'd indicated at the beginning of the diagram, where the lines upward started to go nuts, "and this is where we woke up," he’d pointed at the end of it, where the lines fell flat. There had been a brief moment near the closure where it looked like it was going back to normal. Maybe their brains were beginning to get used to the sensation. Newt had smiled wide. "We weren't just ghost drifting. We were drifting , just like a Hivemind."

None of the people present at the war table had taken his statement well.

The two neuroscientists, along with Gage, had argued incessantly over the impossibility of being constantly connected to another person's mind, Herc and the high-ranking officers questioned the validity of his claims, and the Council had resulted in directing calling Newt an instigator, claiming he was a menace to the peace this institution was trying to achieve and threatening to court martial him.

They all treated drifting with a prudishness that made Newt itch. Unwilling and unaccepting of new avenues of possibility, because it had ventured down a path they had redeemed taboo. Because it made them uncomfortable.

It'd made Newt's blood boil.

There had also been the simple and frustrating fact that there wasn't enough study made on how exactly the Kaiju's brain operated - and not one darned xenobiologist other than him to back him up.

He and Hermann knew because they had seen it, but the relenting and basic questions a bunch of military men, politicians and psychiatrists could ask was simply not cutting to how deeply their knowledge on the subject now ran.

The problem, however, had been Hermann himself.

The only other person who had any intel and operated with him on a far superior cognition train was hell bent in contradict and factual-check him in the middle of Newt trying to explain himself; as if this was his damn dissertation and Hermann was the most hated professor on campus.

No, he didn't have any proof. He didn't have any evidence. What he did have was the pressing but unreachable presence of an alien race stored somewhere in his brain, and all that damned talking and arguing was making it impossible to concentrate on it.

It had been a pointless effort in the end.

Hansen had dismissed the meeting soon after, cutting the screamed arguments to an unsatisfying halt. 

And now Newt concentrated on the piece of Otachi on his operating table, and tried hard not to think about any of it.

Cutting, scraping, cleaning. The veins and capillaries were already drying and closing up. The muscle tissue wasn't going to take it any more kindly with no blood pumping though. Usually, those parts were what he focused on preserving, but today something else was catching his interest.

The nervous system was such an interesting and complex part of the Kaiju anatomy.

He had done a few studies on it in the past, in what he could now look back and call crude and reductive ways. It hadn't been his past-self's fault, though. He hadn't known about the Hivemind back then. But now, there were new uses for these nerves. Potentially, they could carry the Hive. Not as the brain and secondary brain would, but as a receiver. A highway to send information in and out. It could be the next step in replicating the effect in lack of a complete brain to work with.

Not that he wanted to replicate the effect.

He stopped suddenly, scalpel in midair.

He didn't want to replicate the effect, per se, but it didn't mean he didn't want to see how it worked more closely. There was just too much information he could discern, and he moved on it with newfound focus. The nerves had the diameter of an electric wire – tiny when one considered the scale of even a Cat II. He held the hair-size length in one hand following its trajectory. This was part of Otachi's Platysma muscle, right under the neck. It was the largest piece they had shipped so far, taking up most of his lab's side and resting on three different operation tables put together. He refused to let this be the only piece of Otachi they surrendered to him (the rest of his samples being from Leatherback), but for now it was all he had of the Kaiju that had recognized him.

He connected one of the nerves to an impulse detector. It came out flat, like a dead electrocardiogram. He didn't expect anything more. Otachi was dead, after all. Nothing there to confirm otherwise. It's not like Newt could resurrect a piece of flesh detached from the rest of its body, despite Hermann's assumption that he was a breeze away from morphing into the Re-Animator.

There was no sign from the machine connected to it… and yet, under his palm and through the latex glove, Newt could feel something.

He laughed under his breath.

He's been such a fool. All these years of studying the Kaiju and he'd overlooked the most complex and important system of them all.

He was literally touching where the Hivemind was. The physical presence of it.

He ran his fingertips over the nerves, feeling as if he was stroking the strings of a guitar.

They could still work. They were easy to find and recuperate, even on older samples he had stored. Separating them would be tricky, but he could do it. He could make a mile long avenue, and inside of it he would still find -

"Newton!"

"Shit!"

Newt jumped a foot out of his skin and dropped the scalpel. A red line opened on his hand connecting his middle, ring and little finger. Blood was already spilling all over his sample.

He whirled around and Hermann was standing there, staring at him from the safety of his side of the lab.

"Why did you do that?" Newt yelled, removing the glove and hugging his fingers. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"I called you three times," protested Hermann. "I didn't know you were daydreaming with sharp objects in your hands."

"Whatever," Newt grunted, pushing past the mathematician, who at least had the decency to look apologetic at the sight of his hand, and going straight to the sink. The cut stung like hell, but under the water flow it didn't look too deep. He just needed to bandage it and make sure to clean all the blood before it ruined his work. "I wasn't daydreaming, I was working. Something I didn't see you do all day."

He sounded petulant even to his own ears, and he was sure Hermann would bite back a mean string of comments in less than a second.

To his surprise, when Newt looked at the dirty mirror above the sink, he saw that Hermann wasn't even paying attention to him. He was staring down at his own fingers, flexing them and flinching at the movement. When he caught Newt's eyes on the reflection, he dropped his hand and moved out of sight.

Newt stared into the sink, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

He wasn't one to get put off by the sight of blood (he wouldn't have a job if he did), but the gushing red liquid dirtying his open palm and straining the white porcelain made him feel slightly sick.

He turned off the faucet, numbly, and rummaged around the cabinet for bandages. The only thing he could find was a loose piece of gauze that he hoped was at least somewhat sterile. It applied a shitty pressure and the blood was already dyeing the cloth red.

"Let me see."

Newt hadn't heard Hermann approach and he almost jumped again when he appeared right next to him, first aid kit at hand like a peace offering. The bastard.

"I don't need your help," Newt grumbled, tightening the knot on the shitty gauze. He was still mad at Hermann for bursting in and interrupting his line of thought. Now he couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about.

It would come back to him. Probably. But he was still pissed.

"It's either me or going to the Med Bay, and I'm sure they'd love to see you again."

Newt winced, then bit the inside of his cheek. The gauze was already drenched. He avoided looking directly at it.

He kept a mean expression firmly plastered on his face as he shoved his bloody hand out. Hermann's overbearing attitude didn't change as he rested his cane on the side of the sink and took the injured hand in both his own without another word. He moved the bandage aside to inspect the cut and started working on mending it.

Newt kept his eyes on Hermann the whole time. He could count in one hand the times his lab partner had touched Newt voluntarily, and the fact that more than half of those had happened in the last three days wasn't consoling. Hermann was also putting more care into it than the biologist usually imposes on these kind of injuries, disinfecting and wrapping each finger individually. Newt thought it was just to spite him, but he didn't say anything, lost in the sensation of Hermann's skin touching his.

He thought something more would come through the ghost drift—a memory, a feeling, anything—but all he felt was warmth. There was something tingly about the sensation, though, like they were two wires conducting electricity. Newt suddenly remembered about the Kaiju nerves on his operation table, the ones going spoiled because of his blood. That should urge him to tell Hermann to hurry the fuck up and let him go, but he didn't move a muscle. He just stared at the corner of Hermann's jaw and at his shadowed, focused, eyes and felt like a thief — stealing details of Hermann's face from a closeness he would never normally have, and storing them away. Even though he didn't know what to do with them.

"I see you've been busy," Hermann said, indicating the operating table with a nod of his head. 

"I sure have," Newt smirked, happy that he could goad Hermann while seeing his close-up reaction. "I've decided I'm gonna make a Frankenstein creature out of Kaiju parts and then marry it."

The mathematician wrinkled his nose, his eyes darting to the brain in the tank on the opposite side of the lab. He looked at it with something like pure disdain on his face, like he wanted to pulverize it with his eyes, before looking back at Newt.

"You're going to be very happy together."

Newt's smile faltered but he made a comical pouty face.

"Aw, don't be jealous. You're obviously invited to the wedding—ow!"

Hermann tightened the gauze too hard. Newt saw him flinch too.

"Sorry," Hermann said, without sounding sorry at all.

Newt huffed, letting his lab partner secure the last finger before taking his hand back at once.

The bandage set neat and clean on his fingers. The other tiny scars that dotted his hand in stark contrast.

Newt looked back at his lab partner, massaging his palm. Could Hermann still feel the sting of the cut? The pulsing pain in his head? The trembling in his bones and the turn in his stomach for having eaten nothing but coffee and protein bars all day?

He probably did, or he'd never care so much about Newt. 

"And you?" he demanded. "Have you been busy?"

Hermann's shoulders tensed a fraction. A conflicting expression crossed his face as he turned his back, busying himself with hiding the first aid kit back in his desk's drawer.

"What is it?" Newt jumped up. He tried to concentrate hard on the flow of Hermann's thoughts, deep inside his brain. It wasn't easy to pinpoint, like looking for something in a dark and unfamiliar room. There was a vague sense of guilt, guardedness. It became confused and complex the deeper Newt looked in, but one thing became immediately clear. "Oh my god, you're hiding something!"

Hermann's posture went as rigid as a statue, hand still resting on the drawer. Newt circled in front of the mathematician, forcing himself between him and the desk.

"Dude, if it's some sort of secret, you should just tell me or I'll get too curious and snuff it out of your head."

"Don't you dare," Hermann snapped. "This connection doesn't exist for you to snuff around in my head," he snarled out the last words.

"I'll nag it out of you then, it'll just take longer," Newt challenged, but at the dangerous look on Hermann's face, he dropped his grin. "Okay, I wouldn't look into your head if you didn't want me to. I'm not that much of a dick. But whatever it is, I promise you can tell me."

Hermann's mouth was set in a tin line. He kept his severe gaze firmly on his face, flaring his nostrils in a huff, but after a moment he pulled a folded envelope from his dress jacket and slid it over on the desk. The title of the report was almost unreadable under the red letter 'Top Secret: for your eyes only', but their names could be distinguished, along with the caption Hermann had asked Newt to approve before submitting it as their latest K-sci report.

"We have been placed under surveillance, with orders not to divulge any information regarding our involvement with stopping the Clock outside of the PPDC."

"What?" Newt's voice screeched. He scanned the new guideline attached to the report. The red underline of the main text marked all the points where Hermann wrote about what they saw inside the drift, and what they apparently couldn't divulge to the public. The part about the Breach's architecture made Newt especially insane. It was the most accurate and exhaustive analysis that has ever been put on paper. Any scientific journal would pay Hermann his weight in gold for an exclusive, and the PPDC was just going to shut them up? "This isn't fair!"

"It's protocol," Hermann said placidly.

"It's censorship!" Newt cried. "They can't do this to us!"

"Of course they can. Especially after your little show at the meeting."

"Please," Newt snarled, "this is just their eternal way of pulling the breaks on us. We did something that could change the course of history as we know it, and they wouldn't even listen to us!" he screamed it up to the ceiling, where he hoped their chairs and walls would tremble. They won't, and it didn't even make him feel better.

Hermann pinched the bridge of his nose. The blank sternness finally leaving space for the rising of a deep exasperation, a mighty grievance that Newt knew all too well, especially directed at him.

"How are you more concerned about a disclosure act than about the consequences of drifting with a Kaiju?"

"Because it's bullshit," Newt growled. "And I don't like being told what to do."

"Clearly," Hermann deadpanned.

"Hey, don't act like you want this! I know you hate it too."

"I understand it," Hermann straightened his back, looking all too haughty. "We are in a critical situation and they're taking precautions."

Newt laughed bitterly.

"Against us? What are they scared of — that we're gonna grow fangs and start spitting acid?"

"You're impossible. Your recklessness and disregard for safety is what put us into this mess."

"Oh, I'm sorry if I didn't make the Pons with built-in seat belts, but first generation Jaeger pilots rode like that too, and I don't see you calling them reckless. At least we don't have to deal with nuclear radiation poisoning, aren't you happy about that?"

Hermann let out a breath through his nose, and Newt suddenly felt how angry he truly was underneath the surface. 

"You were reckless," Hermann hissed. "You made your experiment out of garbage, with no regard for what would happen to you. You went against the Marshal's orders — behind my back — and now that the unimaginable consequences of your actions are letting themselves known, you want me to be happy because you didn't manage to kill us both in the process?"

And that was it. That was the tipping point. Newt's body shocked from the inside out and he closed his hands into first. The cut started bleeding again, and that surging pain only made him angrier.

"How about you stop blaming it all on me for five fucking seconds!" Newt shouted. If it hadn't been for his willingness to look at the Kaiju beyond the devils everyone thought they were, they would all be dead now. Was Hermann so brainwashed to think that what they'd done was somehow wrong? Was it not acceptable to save the world by putting your mind on the line? Would he have preferred it if the two of them had punched the living hell out of a Kaiju inside a metal suit? "There was never a 'safe' way around it. And I built those Pons before I knew what I know now!"

"What you know now?" Hermann repeated, his breath caught in a scornful half-laugh, something manic that didn't belong to him. "What you know now is that we are compromised. We could have a permanent connection to those monsters, and you would rather get turned into a case study than getting rid of it?"

"Yes!" Newt screamed, breathing hard. Hermann's eyes bulged, and in the dismaying quiet that followed Newt shuddered, realizing what he'd said.

Any other moment, he would have basked at the idea of Hermann knowing his thoughts before Newt had time to sort them out, but it was unsettling now. He hadn't planned that far ahead, but it was all coming together faster and faster — and yes, yes, Newt wanted this connection with the Kaiju to last, he realized.

It was all he wanted.

His throat gripped, and just as he felt the pathway where his thoughts had escaped from, the rolling wave of Hermann's mind invested him harder than he'd expected. It's different than before. There was a memory, deep in there, tinted in blue and carrying a deep and otherworldly dread, but the surface of it, where Hermann's consciousness operated, was made of nothing but pure geometric constructions.

Hermann thought without images. A different brain architecture, as Newt remembered Gage calling it, and it didn't translate well to his.

He could understand Hermann's feelings, some words, when they hit a common note as his, but the rest was all numerical patterns, syntactic categorization and conceptual abstractions. Beautiful but unknowable ideas, and Newt half-hated himself for not being able to look the other man in the eyes in that moment, and he hated himself even more for what he said next, but it got out of him uncontrollably — just like the rest of who he was as a person.

"Or maybe we're like this because we weren't compatible enough." The pattern of Hermann's thoughts altered, and there was genuine sadness creasing the bond for a moment, in a way he knew he wouldn't see reflected on Hermann's face if he dared to look up. "Highest compatibility rate ever registered out of a fluke. Just because I made those Pons to let anything pass through."

He and Hermann were vastly different, inside and out. Two universes with no overlaps, except for their unwilling shared work experience and a regretful and misleading correspondence tying them. They would never merge seamlessly.

He should have known.

"And the consequences are a very impressive bleed-through," Newt went on, wiggling the fingers of his injured hand. "And all the knowledge of the Alterverse in our minds. Knowledge we could use, but can't — because everyone, including you, is too scared of it."

"You're mistaken," Hermann said icily. Newt risked looking up only to see that severe expression back on Hermann's face. The difficult wave of his thoughts retreated into a buzz in the back of Newt's mind, where it never seemed to go away completely. "This isn't fear. It's caution."

Newt sustained his eyes, searching, but nothing wavered or softened in them.

He scoffed. He really should have known.

Newt pushed away from the desk, leaving Hermann and the report right where they were.

"Try to at least respect those guidelines," Hermann said after him. "Before you get both of us in trouble."

"Wouldn't want that," Newt responded sarcastically, but his heart wasn't in it. "Now if you'll excuse me I have to go back to my samples before the blood spoils them."

Hermann probably made a disgusted face but Newt didn't look back to catch it.

They ignored each other for the rest of the day. Hermann eventually went back to his post, staring at his monitor and facing away from Newt. The blackboards framed him in a perfect symmetry, like he was bowed in prayer in front of an altar.

Newt put his headphones on, making sure the music was loud enough that Hermann could hear it, and went back to Otachi, losing himself in his work once more.

And if, during the day, Newt massaged the palm of his hand a little too much, he'd just blame it on the cut.

Chapter Text

Hermann's breath fogged in front of him.

The darkness of the room was encapsulating and pressing. He felt immobilized, laying in the bare skeleton of his bed.

A whimpering noise came from somewhere on his left. He turned to see a white curtain moving, as if hit by a breeze. It was familiar; it looked like the blinders separating the cots in the Rangers infirmary. A warm light, flickering like a candle, shined weakly behind it and the wailing sound became more defined. Pained, desperate gasps that made Hermann feel a pang of sadness and guilt in his chest.

Newton must be feeling Hermann's aching in his sleep, even when his own leg was numb from the medicine.

Raising shakily from his bed, Gottlieb went to open the curtain.

The fog from his breath lingered in the cold air after it formed, clouding the dark room.

The cloth fell at the lightest touch and blinding light invested him, so strong he had to shield his eyes.

In between his fingers, Hermann saw a wooden floor stretching in front of him, ending in a row of spotlights. Beyond that, only darkness. He couldn't see if people were on the other side of the stage, looking up at him, but he had the sensation he was being watched all the same.

His breath caught; his loud heartbeat was the only sound he heard, echoing in the disorienting space, until footsteps hit the pavement.

Newton, silhouetted by the light, approached the center of the stage.

"Geiszler?" Hermann called, but the other man didn't turn to him.

Hermann watched from the wing as the biologist opened a large case he carried with him, extracted an electric guitar, attached the cord to an amplifier and put the strap over his shoulder. He started playing and music filled the theater, otherworldly and mesmerizing.

Gottlieb found himself walking closer, pulled in by the spell. The notes repeated after a few verses as Geiszler stroked the cords with his eyes shut and his brows furrowed, as if he was trying to get the sentiment through his fingers and into the thick air.

Hermann had almost reached the center of the stage, when suddenly he recognized the song. The words coming to him as if he has always known them.

“With your feet on the air and your head on the ground,

Try this trick and spin it…”

Hermann sang, and finally Newton turned to face him. He didn't look surprised to see him, not missing a beat in his tempo.

“Your head will collapse,

But there's nothing in it.”

Hermann didn't feel intonated at first, but he was starting to pick up the right pitch, his chest raising and falling with every pause he took to breathe.

“And you'll ask yourself…”

Newton walked around him in a circle, eyes on Hermann. The music boomed all around them.

“Where is my mind?

Where is my mind?”

The cord of the guitar tangled around Hermann's feet and cane as they drew closer. Almost no space was left for Newton to move his fingers on the strings.

“Where is my mind?”

Hermann's breath caught in his throat.

He took a step backward as Newton took one forward and the cord tightened around their legs as they both fell. The song ended on the wrong note and Hermann's stomach dropped as air rushed to his ears—

Hermann gasped awake.

His alarm was going off somewhere in the dark and he grunted, rubbing his eyes. His feet were tangled in the sheets and every movement to untangle himself caused further pain in his limbs.

Day two since the closure of the Breach. Day two since regularly attempting to have a normal sleep schedule that didn't involve lab couches or infirmaries.

Day one since confirming Newton and him had a very high, very vivid, post drift bleed through that could manifest in any number of ways, the extent of which were still undetermined.

Hermann made a mental note to add 'odd dreams' to the list of symptoms.

Rangers sharing dreams wasn't unheard of, at least. Dr. Gage had been very thorough, during the meeting the day before in listing all the known side effects to give them a sense of what to expect in the next weeks. However, the doctor hadn't been very specific in saying if 'sharing dreams' meant he and Geiszler would be living the same dream, or if it's merely dreaming of the other person as if they were there. He'd have to ask for that clarification, eventually, before running into any more uncomfortable invasions of each other's privacy.

He stepped outside his quarters and made his way to the lab. Five years ago, when Hermann had first arrived in Hong Kong, the department of K-science had been buzzing with people. It had been the pride of the Shatterdome, with the best minds of their century dedicated to the same cause working under the same roof. The dormitories on level 180, the closest to the labs, were assigned entirely to K-science personnel and Hermann had been assigned room R03, one of the only ones with a lavatory. It had been a concession for his disability - one that should have come automatically, but in truth he had to fight for weeks before having. The room was meant for higher-ranking officers, and making an exception had taken him and HR through a bureaucratic nightmare.

The most ironic thing was that, years later, when only he and Geiszler remained, Newton had moved into a bigger room reserved for spouses with no effort at all.

The biologist had been so pleased with himself when he'd told Hermann about how he'd sneaked into Maintenance's office and stolen the key right from under their noses.

Hermann had been furious - of course he had - but no one had come to evict Newton or to fire him, and room R29 remained his to this day.

Thinking back on it, Hermann wasn't sure why he held such a grunge over the matter. It wasn't Newton's fault the system was so unprioritized, and it wasn't like those living quarters were being used by anyone else. No higher-ranking officers or a couple of spouses had transferred to their sector in over two years, and no one else would come now. In a way, Newton had fought for his room too, he conceded. A fight of endurance, in both their cases. And once the Shatterdome would be dismantled, and every single one of them would have moved on to work and live elsewhere, no one would care about what room they had occupied.

"Hermann!"

Gottileb was brought back to the present and he turned around to see Newton running up the corridor to catch up to him.

"Am I late? I was talking to my uncle on the phone and he kept me forever," he said once he reached Gottlieb's side, bouncing his weight from feet to feet like he couldn't stay still. 

"It's alright," Hermann leaned heavily on his cane, thinking about the phone calls he would have to make eventually. "I was just heading to the lab."

"Let's grab some breakfast first, it's not like we're in a rush."

Gottlieb grimaced but realized he was right. They had been given no further instructions from Marshal Hansen or the Council yesterday. They were still deployed officers, but they had no pressing matter at hand.

No end of the world crisis. No working around the clock.

They could afford a small delay, he supposed.

They made their way through the maze of halls, Newton walking by Hermann's side while telling him what his uncle was up to in Boston, and how people living by the coast were celebrating at the beach for the first time since K-day. The oceans not touched by Kaiju attacks were still highly polluted, and Newton fervently speculated on how marine life could recuperate now that they were gone, and what biologists could do to solve the problem of Blue poisoning.

Hermann hardly followed the technicalities, but he didn't mind the other scientist's idle chat. It was nice, seeing Newton so lively and full of energy, especially after the fight they had the day before. It was often like this between them—arguments new and old getting put aside to be picked up later. Hermann was thankful for this particular reprise. He didn't mind compartmenting that particular argument, even if he could feel it looming under the surface.

The corridors were busier as they made their way into the heart of the Shatterdome. They caught a crowded elevator going up, and he and Newton found themselves pressed into the back wall. The biologist was still talking rapid-fire, but Hermann was distracted when he noticed several J-tec workers eyeing them and muttering under their breath. Hermann looked away from the group, pretending he didn't notice, and instinctively put a little distance between himself and Newton.

When they arrived at the mass hall it was busier than Hermann had ever seen it. The lighter tone in everyone's conversation was palpable. The stress of living on the edge, not knowing if tomorrow was going to be their last, was wearing off.

Hermann felt a lot of eyes on him, but when he scanned the room, he couldn't spot anyone looking. 

Newton walked on, unaware, or maybe uncaring, of the stares, and Hermann trailed behind. He was starting to wish he had just headed to the lab.

They got in line for their rations, and behind the counter, Hermann caught the eyes of a woman serving lentils. She elbowed the man next to her and muttered something to him, her hand covering her mouth, and her companion's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he looked right at where he and Newton were standing—

"Hermann? Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Hermann shocked himself. The workers weren't looking in their direction anymore, and he trailed his eyes back to his lab partner.

"The North Sea," Newton spelled out for him as if that was supposed to clarify anything. "What do you think about the marine fauna there?"

Hermann blinked, wondering how he had even gotten to that topic.

"How would I know?" he replied with a bit more annoyance than he intended. "Isn't that your area of expertise?"

"I'm just curious, dude," Newton loaded his tray as he spoke, miffed. "Since you lived in Germany for longer than me, I just wondered if you'd been to the North Sea before K-day. No need to be a dick about it."

"Elegant," Hermann rolled his eyes but sighed internally. He hadn't meant to antagonize Newton on something so frugal. Not before breakfast at least. And since there was no point in being dismissive over this, he added. "I have been there only a few times, when I was a child. There was a town in the Baltic that my parents liked, so we went for a week or so in the summer when me and my siblings were children, but that was it. I'm sure any scientific journal would satisfy your curiosity more than anything I could tell you."

"Eh, it's alright," Newton shrugged but a smile played on his face. "I'm more after the feel of it anyway. Hey, maybe I'll get that out of the ghost drift."

"Keep your voice down," Hermann hissed, looking around for indiscreet ears. "I'm not allowing you to look inside my mind for something so foolish."

"Stuck up." Newton grumbled.

Hermann bit down on the insult that was already on the tip of his tongue as the other man carried both their trays away to the back of the hall.

He pretended not to notice the looks they were receiving from the other occupants at the far end of the table Newton had picked.

They ate their food immersed in a tense silence, disturbed by the intense noise of the cafeteria. Hermann couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't trigger that same discussion to start anew; Newton had a talent for diverting a conversation exactly where he wanted to, and there were already too many witnesses.

He was still mentally debating on a safe topic, when a familiar voice called from behind him.

"Morning, doctors."

Hermann turned his head just as Tendo Choi sat on the empty stool next to him, resting his mug on the table. Newton responded cheerfully to the officer, but Hermann only nodded, hoping he didn't appear rude.

Choi didn't seem to mind the mathematician's silence and sipped his coffee as he and Newton chatted. Hermann sneaked a wary look at the people at the end of the table, but they weren't looking in their direction anymore.

"I still don't have everything," Newton was saying with a sigh. "They recuperated a lot of muscle tissues and detoxified the skin, but everything else might be starting to decompose already. The organs break down the fastest, and it's less and less likely they'll get to the brain and secondary brain before they get drenched in ammonia."

Hermann choked on his tea and was about to let out a strangled "what" when he remembered himself. Tendo patted his back awkwardly as he coughed into a napkin.

"You alright, Doc?"

"I'm perfectly fine—" another cough, "thank you."

Newton gave him an intense look: a narrow-eyed, searching stare, that Hermann had no doubt was the same he gave to his disgusting, blue-strained pieces of Kaiju. It was unsettling.

"I didn't expect you to still be hung up on the Hong Kong batch," Tendo reprised the discussion. "Not after the news from the Pacific."

Newton's head perked up and he forgot all about his ill attempt to stare down into Hermann’s brain.

"What do you mean?"

The LOCCENT officer frowned.

"Haven't you heard about the Kaiju's carcasses reemerging?"

It was Newton's turn to choke, and in the silence that followed his strangled "What?!" sounded very loudly. Many heads turned to look at their table and Hermann sent Newton a warning look, which the biologist promptly ignored.

"You really don't know?" Tendo asked in a hushed tone, his expression drawn. "They were sighted last night close to the island of Guam. They're suspected to be the remains of Raiju and Scunner."

"Why did no one tell me?" demanded Newton, face turning red.

"I don't know. I thought Herc would have informed you, he told me he had a lot of work coming up for you two. I thought this was what he meant, but I suppose there must be something else going on. Don't blame him," he added, seeing the look on Newton's face. "The situation isn't easy. Especially for him."

"Is he going to be discharged?" Hermann inserted himself in the conversation before he could think better of it.

Tendo sighed and leaned back on his stool.

"It's hard to say what will happen, but it's pretty clear that if this Shatterdome stays operative, Herc will not be its Marshal."

"That doesn't surprise me," Newton muttered. "If I'm honest, I thought we'd all be canned by now. What are the odds of us staying operative?"

"I don't know," the officer said apologetically. "It's all in Mako's hands."

"Mako?"

Tendo laughed lightly.

"You're really behind on the gossip, brother."

Newton shrugged and made a noise that could be interpreted as 'yeah true, but I've been busy inventing an entirely new way to get permanent brain damage, so.'

"She and Becket are going on a World Tour celebrating the victory," Tendo explained. "That's all everyone is talking about. A TV crew will follow them to every major city touched by Kaiju attacks and in every populated area in-land. There are refugee camps that are developing into functional cities. Oblivion Bay is going to be an especially difficult stop."

"The Jaeger cemetery?" Hermann grimed.

"The very same," Tendo nodded. "A channel will be dedicated to broadcasting their Tour, showing old footage of Jaeger fighting, reportages and documentaries, all of it running 24/7."

Newton snorted.

"That's a nice propaganda machine," he commented bleakly.

"I don't disagree," Choi replied, looking into his mug with a frown on his face. "What's happening right now in the Pacific is staying out of it, of course. They can't afford to show the real damage. Hansen had to fight the UN Council before he even got approved to send a team there to monitor the situation. They'll try to clean and dispatch the poison and the bodies, but not everything has made it to land, and it's next to impossible to set up a camp in the middle of the ocean in those conditions. The weather has been threatening, with tidal waves and tsunami warning, and it seems like it will only get worse." He took a breath before adding. "I've been assigned there, on the monitoring station."

"When will you leave?" asked Hermann, because Newton had gone quiet, almost rigid, and because it sounded like the most appropriate thing to ask.

"In three days. We'll leave the day after Mori and Becket. I'm still putting a crew together, but no one seems eager to go."

"I'll go," Newton interjected. "With Hermann. We could be useful there."

Hermann clenched his jaw, but Tendo smiled, sipping his coffee to cover it up.

"I have a feeling you're going to be more useful here."

"I don't like your 'feelings'," Newton blurted out. "If you know something, just tell us."

"On you two, I genuinely don't know much. Compared to other news, you are the real top-secret one, and a very heated topic of discussion all over the Dome. Word has spread about your involvement in stopping the Clock, and when the acting Marshal locked up all your files, people became more and more curious."

Hermann and Newton exchanged a wary look.

"That doesn't explain why we can't come to Guam with you."

"It's not that simple. Our orders are just to monitor, assist the locals, and clean if we're able to. If the conditions become too dangerous we will evacuate immediately. It's a rescue mission more than a scientific expedition. Besides," Tendo rested his elbows on the table, and Hermann watched the back of his neck as he whispered conspiratorially. "Mako and Raleigh aren't the only ones under the spotlight. They are keeping an eye on you, too. Be careful."

Abruptly, Tendo sat up, a relaxed expression back on his face.

"Well, it's been a pleasure, but I have to get back to LOCCENT. You'd think the workload was less with no more Kaiju attacks, but they must have missed the memo. See you around, doctors."

Tendo collected his empty mug and stood, walking away before Hermann or Newton could say anything else.

The buzz of the cafeteria was more acute in the silence that followed.

When Hermann locked eyes with Newton he felt the other man's questions whirring around in his mind, his thoughts confusing with the ambient noise, and Hermann couldn't extricate any of them.

Newton was spying in the direction Tendo had left, wildly throwing his gaze around the hall. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and Hermann's clearest glimpse was that of rumbles and a cracking ceiling. Then, all at once, Newton stood too, abandoning his tray, his unfinished food, and Hermann, and bolting in the opposite direction as Choi.

"Geiszler." Hermann called after him, but Newton didn't even look back as he strode to the exit. They were attracting attention again.

Hermann hesitated, looking down at their trays, before following after Newton, trying not to limp too heavily. Anxiety dragged behind him like a weight tied to his ankles.

When he finally reached Newton, he was already at the lifts pushing repeatedly at the call button until it arrived. Hermann was able to slip inside just as the doors began to close.

"What were you thinking?" he spawned around angrily. "Was it really necessary to cause a scene?"

Inside the cart, they were thankfully alone. Newton only spared him a wild look as he paced the small space like a caged animal. His expression was telling Hermann he was driving furiously through a myriad of paths in his mind, but still his body acted on pure instinct. Hermann grimaced at the sight. That impulsivity was how one of the smartest people he's ever known ended up bloody and convulsing on a laboratory floor.

"What is your plan here?" he circled in front of his lab partner, trying to get Newton to look at him. "Are you going to take a boat out in the middle of the Pacific by yourself?"

The biologist gave a stifled and broken laugh, teeths flashing in a sneer. "That's just the back-up plan. I'm going to talk to Herc first."

"And what would that accomplish? If he wanted to send you out there, he would have called you already."

"I don't know, okay!" Newton threw up his arms in frustration. "This doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't they send me? If they had another xenobiologist, even a shit one, I would understand, but there is no one else!"

"There are lots of explanations as to why." Hermann said, eyeing the floor numbers go up.

"Name one." Newton challenged.

"You were just hospitalized."

Geiszler laughed again, this time bitterly, his whole body leaning back against the wall.

"So it's about my well-being now? I don't think anyone objected when Pentecost sent me to get another Kaiju brain to drift with."

I did object, Hermann almost said before biting down on his tongue.

"That's the other reason," he retorted brusquely instead. "You told them you think you have a connection to the Kaiju, something you, by your own words, cannot control, and you want to be sent in the middle of the ocean to retrieve more of their corpses personally?" He stumped his cane heavily and Newton jerked back and finally stopped pacing. "Be honest with yourself. Do you feel unaffected enough to handle it?"

Newton stood still, face contorted and eyes fixed on Hermann as the movement of the elevator resolutely shot them up. Eventually, his shoulders sagged with a disappointed sigh. He leaned against the wall and massaged his face, his glasses hanging crooked.

"They are going to ruin that batch too," he muttered.

"You heard Choi," Hermann said uneasily. "There is nothing there worth saving. It's all poisonous."

"It's all worth saving. But it's not just that," Newton avoided the mathematician's eyes, passing his hand over his mouth. The action seemed involuntary but Hermann noticed how he touched under his nose, as if expecting it to start bleeding. "The bodies of Raiju, Scunner and Slattern were engineered with a fail-safe. If they bleed, they would have done a lot of damage."

"How—"

"You know how," Newton shut his eyes forcefully. "The drift is a two way path. We know everything they knew, and the more I concentrate on those memories the clearer they get and – shit…"

He pulled his hand away to reveal a smuggled trail of fresh blood.

Without thinking, Hermann grabbed Newton's outed wrist.

"Don't! Don't..." He didn't know how to finish the sentence.

Don't think about them. Don't hurt yourself.

Under his fingertips, he felt Geiszler's pulse pick up its rhythm as their eyes locked, and the ghost of inquietude and concern passed between them. It was getting harder distinguishing between their emotions, especially when they align like this.

Geiszler's eyes were wild and intense. He closed his fingers into a first, hiding the blood from view, but didn't take his hand away.

"Hermann. We have to know," he murmured, his eyes aflame. He stepped closer, like he had in the dream. Their elbows pressed between their chests and their hands still connected. "We have to." The words came out almost strangled, pleading, and Hermann could feel that there was even more Newton wanted to say but that didn't make it out into the space between them, and something squeezed painfully inside Hermann's chest.

For an insanely confusing moment all Hermann wanted was to say yes, to say that he'd do anything, but he was overwhelmed by the sentiment of it. By what it might mean. His thoughts didn't sound his, they sounded like the awakening of something mysterious and untamed inside of him, desperate to close the gap.

Hermann forcefully got that part of himself under control again and regarded where he was still holding onto Geiszler's wrist, unable to look him in his blood-ringed eyes. Newton wasn't what one would call a duty-bound person, but he never backed down when it came to doing what he thought was right, and, deep down, Hermann admired him for that, even if he'd never admit it. Now Newton was asking him to go down the dangerous path of understanding where their connection ended and what lay on the other side, and the worst part was Hermann knew it was the right thing to do. What he promised Miss Mori he'd do.

The air grew warmer inside the lift, until the upward motion was arrested with a jolt and the doors opened behind Newton's back. Hermann looked up, disoriented, and a movement down the hallway caught his eyes.

Outside the office that used to belong to Marshal Pentecost, a woman dressed in a yellow cardigan that hugged her thin frame was speaking animatedly with Hansen, and Hermann's eyes widened in recognition and stupor. She looked paler, smaller, and her blonde hair was longer compared to the last time he'd seen her in Berlin. It now reached past her shoulder, hiding part of her slim face, without her usual ponytail holding it up, but there was no mistake who she was.

"Lightcap?"

Chapter Text

The inside of Hansen's new - borrowed, inherited - office creeped Newt out.

He didn't know why he'd expected to find it any different. Maybe because everything else has changed outside. The end of the war has brought an air of renewal and optimism that even Newt, who had spent the vast majority of the time after the War Clock had stopped in his hole underground, could feel.

However, Pentecost's office looked just as it did when the man was alive.

It felt weird, being here without him. It felt like intruding. His calligraphy set was neatly resting on the corner of the desk, his spare uniforms were stacked in the cabinet near the wall, his shaving tools were resting by the sink. Pentecost's presence lingered like a ghost in the empty room he'd once occupied, just like it did in all the Shatterdome. The weight of his death pulling everything in like a blackhole, and it made Newt's stomach sink.

He wondered what Pentecost might have done, right before he had to wear the Ranger suit for what he' d probably guessed was the last time.

He could almost see him, in his most unyielding, stoic expression, making sure his belongings were ordered and his legacy was secure, before quietly stepping out.

Hansen's dog sniffed Newt's hand from under the table, drooling copiously on his thigh. The little creature could probably smell the dried blood on his fingers. The biologist pulled it out of his reach, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears with his other hand just as Hansen sat behind Pentecost's desk.

"I was about to call you in, doctors. I'm glad you preceded me." The acting Marshal said, resting his uninjured arm on the wooden surface. He looked a little worse to wear than he had during the meeting the day before. There were darker bags under his eyes and more lines creasing his face, as if he didn't get enough sleep, or the little that he got was poor. Newt could relate, somewhat. When he had looked in the mirror that morning, he'd looked similarly sleep-deprived and exhausted, but he knew Herc had more weight to carry than just dreams of an empty stages and Hermann's melancholic, but strangely beautiful, voice haunting him.

"There has been some recent development I'd like to discuss with you. But first," Hansen looked behind himself at, honest to God, Dr. Caitlin Lightcap, who was standing close to the edge of the desk, her arms tightly folded around her frame and her eyes firmly set on the two scientists. "I suppose I don't have to introduce you, do I?"

"Not at all," Newt said, smiling brightly up at her. "Your fame precedes you. Hi, Newton Geiszler — you can call me Newt."

He extended his hand across the desk and Lightcap reached over to shake it.

"Hello Newt," she said. "Your fame precedes you as well. And hello to you too, Gottlieb. It's been a long time."

"It has," Hermann answer formally, but sincere regard seeped into his voice. "It's good to see you. I trust you have been well."

There was a pause, and surprisingly Newt could guess what Hermann was thinking even without clearly visualizing it. The letters they had shared stopped before Newt joined the PPDC, in 2017, but Hermann had enrolled two years before that, assigned to the Berlin branch where the Jaeger program was born and where he helped code the Mark Is. He had worked with Lightcap there and had told Newt about it through their correspondence. She had been a source of inspiration for younger Hermann, but now, years later, the evidence of Lightcap's well-being wasn't mounting in front of their eyes.

Newt didn't know her well, having seen her only a handful of times during PPDC fundraise and official events, but her reputation preceded her enough that even someone like him could notice the difference in her.

The energetic and charming Pilot and neuroscientist that had shined through in interviews and lectures was nowhere to be seen. In the flesh, Lightcap looked graceless and skittish. She talked fast and in big blurts, followed by quiet lapses of silence. Her hair looked dull and flat, falling over her face, her nails were bitten to the skin, and her bright and a little crocked smile came and went intermittently, shaking on her face as she worried her lips with her teeth. Her whole attitude lacked the confidence Newt had seen, and admired, in her.

She looked like a ghost of her former self.

The only thing that had stayed consistent were her eyes: a clear blue that shines with curiosity and intelligence.

Newt kept getting flashes of a younger Lightcap - timid eyes and longer hair falling over her white lab coat - overlapping with other images of her, ones that Newt recalled too. Her hair cut short, unevenly, and her smile shining as bright as the Ranger suit she had worn for battle. Two completely different personalities that now seems to unwillingly share a body.

Newt shook his head, pushing the images away. All this bleed-through was worsening the headache that has been building up since he'd woke up convulsing to Hermann cradling his face.

Lightcap drew back at Hermann's words, shrugging and folding her arms around herself.

"I've been well enough. I'm keeping up with my research on Brain-Machine interfaces and mapping the drift architecture. I've encountered a few dead ends, but I'm hoping something will change soon. But you," she raised her eyes and looked at them with flaming interest. "Have you two been well?"

Newt saw Hermann frown from the corner of his eyes and he shared the sentiment.

This sounded like a trick question.

Interesting.

"Not too bad," Newt answered promptly, "considered we drifted with a- ah!" Hermann hit him on the shin with his cane. Newt covered it up with an awkward laugh, beating the cane away with his foot.

"There is no need for that," Hansen sighed. "Lightcap knows everything."

"Does she?" Newt said with a sly smile, darting his eyes from the acting Marshal to the neuroscientist.

The protection channel the PPDC had put them through meant that everything regarding their contribution during the last leg of the war was sealed. Lightcap wasn't a PPDC officer anymore. It was pretty well known information that she had deserted the Corps six years ago, right before the closure of the Jaeger Program. So either she had been directly contacted by someone, or the information had gotten leaked.

Hermann's eyes widened, reaching the same conclusion.

"Are you responsible for this?" he glared at Newt, pinning him with one of his homicidal glares. 

"What? No! It wasn't me, I didn't tell anyone!"

"And I should believe that? You called your uncle today!" 

"Yeah, but I didn't say anything about the drift! I know how a stupid NDA works, I'm not a fucking–"

"Enough!" Herc shouted, raising his hand to silence them. "Settle down and let me explain."

They fell quiet and watched as a shadow passed over Hansen's face before he continued.

"Pentecost always disliked the Council. They never relented, and they never trusted his judgment or his methods. It was always the easiest, most cost efficient solution above all else. Anything that would keep their positions safe before the lives and wellbeing of people. This… residual connection that you two have is another one of those uncomfortable problems they'd rather ignore. It was out of my hands before I could do anything. I had only one shot at convincing them not to archive the case and it was through another, let's just say, less orthodox way."

Newt's eyebrows shot up.

"You violated the agreement?"

Herc nodded.

"I sent your report to Lightcap oversea. I acted in good conscience, I was hoping to conduct you to her, but it seemed like she choose an alternative route."

He looked pointedly at Lightcap, who flinched under his gaze.

"I gave you want you wanted. I convinced them. What more could you have asked for?"

"Discretion." Herc muttered.

Lightcap sighed.

"It was going to get out one way of the other. This is a bomb waiting to explode, and the best thing we can now do is take control of the situation, not push it into the darkness."

"Ehm, what are talking about?" Newt interrupted.

Lightcap's eyes darted to him and she stood straighter, measuring her words.

"When Hansen contacted me, he said the doctors who analyzed your case didn't have the faintest idea how two individuals could be alive and breathing after a kind of drift like this and how, from that experience, they could achieve a post-bleed so intense it looked like an active connection. Hansen only asked me to take a look, but what I saw made me book the first flight for Hong Kong. And here I am." She drew a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I've studied the drift from the inside out, and in all my years I've never seen anything like this. A connection so deep and absolute, and yet you don't even… you're still yourselves. You didn't lose the core of your being in there, despise everything." She shook her head, her smile faltering, and Newt didn't miss the concerned expression that passed through Herc's face, even if Lightcap didn't notice. "Please, can you tell me more about the Pons you created?"

"Well," Newt answered. "It was stolen."

Herc massaged his tired eyes.

"They weren't stolen. I already told you, Geiszler. You will get you materials back. There are other things being prioritized right now."

"Like the other Kaiju?"

"They're being cleaned still, you've been to the site –"

"I mean the other Kaiju."

Herc raised an eyebrow; he remind Newt so much of Pentecost in that moment he had to swallow hard before continuing.

"The Kaiju's bodies that are emerging in the Pacific. They are going to make a lot more damage than you think."

"They're still conducting studies on it," Herc said, knitting his brows.

"I'm saving you some time. The toxicity is going to be the highest ever register, and it will render the sea indomitable. It's an environmental disaster, and it's already happening! They thought about it. The Precursors. Every single Kaiju was designed to overcome what we were putting in our Jaegers. The electromagnetic pulse? The corrosive acid? Do you think it was a coincidence? No, they were the perfect weapons against Cherno Alpha, Crimson Typhon, and you," he looked at Hansen death in the eyes. The man paled slightly, but maintained eye contact, ever the military man. "It’s the same with the blood. It will poison the ocean, and I don't even know at what scale yet, but you have to send me and Hermann there. It's too important!"

Newt looked sideways at his lab partner, who met his gaze. His shoulders were stiff and his eyes severe, betraying nothing. His thoughts were too far away; a fait buzz in the back of Newt's mind, but he could guess, even without knowing, that the idea of going to the Pacific worried him, and Newt felt a pang of regret growing in his chest.

He shouldn't drag Hermann into this with him, he knew. He always knew. But he couldn't bear the thought of being separated from him so soon. And what would even happen to their connection if they were apart for so long, with miles of ocean between them?

"Incredible," Lightcap whispered, bringing Newt back to attention.

Her eyes shone bright as she looked at the two scientists, and a trace of that brazen and intelligent woman merged on her face for the first time.

"Let me ask you another question, if you don't mind," she said, leaning closer confidently. "How clearly do you perceive each other?"

Hermann sat back in his chair looking away as Newt puffed out his checks.

How could he even explain it? He thought about their bond constantly. The impulses that came from Hermann compelled him, called to him, and Newt was learning to look for those sensations in the midst of the other incomprehensible and half-formed thoughts that whirled around in his mind.

It was conflicting. The memories he had seen inside the Cradles were often at the center of his thoughts; even if Newt tried to leave them be, it all boiled together. The memories replayed and more details were added on. The slop of the hill, the rush of the wind, the trembling of his body. He felt the bond growing steady in intensity, defining into clearer shapes with every passing hour. It seeped into his dream. It made him question the very foundation of what he knew. Just like when Hermann had started to sing, his voice mixed with the shapes and angles of his thoughts, and Newt was suddenly privy to something so fundamental and intimate he had no words for, but wanted to lean into, basking in that unprecedented and disorienting relief of knowing and being known without words, even for just a fleeting moment.

"It's hard to quantify," he ended up saying, managing to keep most of the emotion out of his voice.

Hermann didn't contradict him, but for the first time since stepping foot inside Pentecost's office, Newt felt the pull of his mind defining again.

There wasn't anger or hostility, like Newt had thought to find. He wasn't accusing Newt to rush in too fast, and he wasn't blaming him for dragging Hermann down with him. All Newt could discern from Hermann's abstract mind was a grievous feeling and a mounting worry that clouded everything else, and for a second Newt mentally leaned closer, until their individual doubts pooled together in a wordless, joined form at the center of his mind.

Lightcap nodded, seemly looking for that exact answer.

"Would you like to quantify it?"

Newt blinked. He thought he had misheard for a moment, until he felt Hermann abruptly pull away from him, the connection receding back to a cold buzz.

"What does that mean?" Hermann asked icily.

Lightcap and Herc exchanged another meaningful look, before the acting Marshal rearranged the stack of papers in front of him and pushed them over on the desk so the scientists could read.

It was a proposal plan, designated not only for them as K-science officers but also as researchers and drift candidates for an experimental study.

"In your report," Lightcap said, "you confirm the Kaiju were created organisms designed for war and their minds were connected. You were describing having information on the Kaiju that could change the way we look at this neural-overlay technology forever. If we could use that, it would be an incredible advance in the drift technology. Imagine the unexplored possibilities. We could construct a system that can adapt its connection procedures to variations in brain structure on each side of the neural-handshake."

Newt felt his heart hammer in his chest but he almost didn't notice. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, electricity running down his spine.

"I've began to formulate a plan," Lightcap continued. "And I believe the best starting point would be another drift, in a safe and controlled environment, to determining how well you actually do inside an active connection and if the calculation of your compatibility is accurate. The UN and the Council will approve this, if you two are on board.”

Newt looked over at Herc for confirmation, and the older man locked eyes with him and nodded.

At that point Newt busted out laughing. He couldn't help it. He felt hysterical.

Through half-closed and teary eyes, he saw Hermann looking at him like he'd finally gone crazy but that only made him laugh harder.

"I can guarantee you it will be perfectly safe," Lightcap hurried to explain, raising her hands. "I wouldn't put you in any more danger. We're trying to accomplish the same thing. I want to solve your ghost drift. I know this looks like a backwards way of going about it, but I have to understand what I'm working with to help you, and in the process we can study your connection to the Alterverse more closely too." Newt's spasmodic laugh died down. He looked at Lightcap and thought that maybe she understood, just like Hermann did, if the dead grip on the handle of his cane was anything to go by, that Newt's mind was made up even before her sentence was over. "And I think you know the importance of this far better than me, don't you?"

Newt smiled. The answer at the tip on his tongue, but before he could even open his mouth, Hermann stood up, his chair dragging soundly behind him.

"Could you please excuse me and Geiszler for a moment?"

From the look on his eyes, Newt was certain Hermann wasn't above dragging him by the neck if he didn't comply, so he grinned briefly at Herc and Lightcap and followed Hermann outside the office.

Not a moment too soon, Hermann closed the door behind himself and spawned angrily at Newt's face.

"That is absolutely -"

"Dude, listen -"

"- Out of the question!"

"No, listen! This could be our only chance to look into the Hivemind! " 

"Think for a second!" Hermann hissed harshly. "We don't have the faintest idea what drifting again will do to us. We're not Rangers."

Newt almost started laughing again but stopped himself.

"I'm not doing this to put on a bomber jacket and join their ranks. We're scientists."

"Exactly."

"And this is a job for scientists," Newt spelled out. "They're not putting us inside a Jaeger, that's never gonna happen."

"I'm not worried about that, I–"

The door opened again, quieting them, and Lightcap appeared on the threshold. 

"I'm sorry. I - I think I got off with the wrong foot. I don't wish to rush you into any decisions. I should have been more clear earlier, you're not under obligation here."

Newt and Hermann looked behind her at Herc. 

"That's true. I provided you with a solution. A solution that almost got me court martialed, I might add. However, I can't force you to do this. Your job here, as it was, is over. I would have liked to ask you in more discreet terms, but you have to decide what to do moving forward, if staying or leaving."

"Leaving?" Newt scoffed. "After all the restrictions the PPDC put on us to keep us quiet?"

"Those restrictions don't apply just to you," Lightcap said tightly. "There is a lot more they don't want the public to know."

Hansen cleared his throat and shot Lightcap a warning look that made her recoil.

"I'll give you two time to think," Herc commanded. "But make a decision soon." He nodded his dismissal and indicated for Lightcap to get back in the office. "A word, please."

Lightcap nodded weakly. She looked at Hermann and Newt one last time, a gentle plea in her eyes, which suddenly looked immensely tired.

"Please, just think about it. Consider the unique impact something like this could have," she said, her voice verging into desperation. "You could help so many people."

With that, she stepped back inside, and the metal door closed heavily behind her.

Chapter Text

The tower lights in the harbor basked the tarmac in a perpetual and artificial glow. The rain didn't make for a nice departure, but the weather had been terrible for days. Newt couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun shining in between the heavy clouds. Definitely not since the Breach was closed.

It was still early in the afternoon, but the sky looked gloomy and dark. Only the lights of Hong Kong shone in the distance, tinting in neon colors the otherwise monochromatic landscape. Newt trailed his eyes on the horizon for a moment, the sea and the sky blending together in a shade of identical gray. He didn't know if the point of contact he was staring at was right or not, but he fixated on it in an almost instinctive way.

The memory of the battle came to his mind as if from a faraway source, the images impressing behind his eyelids like the scenes from a movie. He hadn't actually seen the battle between Otachi, Leatherback and the four Jaegers, but he could see memories of it as if they were his own.

Next to him, Hermann shivered.

They were standing close to the cargo entrance, watching from a distance as the helicopter was being loaded with luggage. Mako and the Golden Boy she'd saved the world with were standing a few feet away, talking to Herc and a few other military goons that were supposed to escort them on their journey.

Mako looked well, Newt noted. She was wearing a black PPDC formal uniform, and her short hair was tied back, leaving just the blue strands to frame her face.

It wasn't officially time for goodbyes. There was a small television crew already with them; a camera operator and a sound technician, capturing the moment the heroes would depart from their last stronghold, probably to be used later in a spectacular montage. Newt and Hermann weren't supposed to be here, but the biologist couldn't resist. He hadn't talked to Mako at all since she came back from the literal mouth of hell. He'd been busy, and then she'd been busy, and then Lightcap…

Newt drew his gaze back to his lab partner.

Hermann looked like a mean wet cat without his parka. His dress jacket offered little protection from the rain, and it wasn't that Newt was doing a bad job at holding the umbrella steady between the two of them - because he was – he just had a lot on his mind.

They've been debating what to do about Lightcap's proposal for the best part of the last three days. This was probably the longest they have been quiet for, and to Newt, it was almost worse than their perpetual fight. At least when they argued their bond felt like a living thing. It was like having Hermann both in front of him and inside his mind, trying to bring logic into his convictions. But as they stood side by side in the heavy rain, the link between them grew distant.

He had flashes of Hermann's memories, the random sparks of his aloof thoughts and contemptuous feelings, but none of these painted a clear picture on what Hermann really wanted to do moving forward, and Newt was stuck voicing the same options for days like a broken record.

On one hand, there was the expedition on the island of Guam. Newt had finally managed to talk Hansen into permitting him to join Tendo's team in the Pacific if he wanted, with a hefty degree of reluctance and disappointment, which Newt had never been inclined to take to heart by anyone anyway.

The possibility to study the environment of the last Kaiju sighting hasn't lost its fascination, even if Newt couldn't convincingly argue with Hermann about the validity - or safety - of navigating that biochemical disaster. He couldn't help there. Not really. Kaiju Blue was toxic in the best of circumstances, and they still hadn't figured out how to detox Blue in large quantities and in a non-sterilized environment. If Newt's assent of the situation from the fragments of information he had seen in his mind was correct (and he knew it was), no one in Guam would stay around for long. They had months at best before the situation would spiral out of control.

He also knew, deep down, that not going meant he would never see those Kaiju up close. Only a small part, if any, would make it to his lab or to his operating table, and all that additional information would be lost to decomposition and acid soon. Who could take that flesh and make sense of the toxin inside its cells but him. Who could study those parts and connect them to the bigger picture that was inside his brain.

But on the other hand, the work Lightcap had proposed intrigued him too much to refuse.

It represented the most concrete possibility to dig into the memory of the Hive. Drifting again to understand on a fundamental level what the Precursor put in the juice that made the Kaiju tick. To use their technology to do good instead of harm. He could solve the Blue problem from right here in the Shatterdome. Advance the science behind cellular regeneration by years, if not centuries. Study the anatomy of those creatures like he'd only dreamed of doing. Seeing if the link on the other side was silent, and put his mind and heart at peace for good.

And then there was Hermann.

The mathematician had been vague and guarded, and generally just a bigger annoyance than usual, stomping on Newt's ideas like they were the cause of all the evil in the world. At first Newt thought it was because Hermann found both options too dangerous, but he wasn't so sure anymore. There was a nick of doubt eating at the back of his skull that above all else wouldn't let him go.

Maybe Hermann wanted to leave. The job he'd held on to so strongly was complete now, and there was nothing to keep him here. Newt certainly wasn't a good enough reason to stay. So maybe, during all these agonizing days, Hermann was just trying to find a gentle way to tell him goodbye. Maybe he'd already accepted a teaching position in some prestigious university, somewhere sunny and far away from the ocean; a place that would never awake unwanted memories.

Maybe he would simply pack his bags quietly and leave without saying anything.

The thought made Newt a little ill.

That third option, the one to leave and move on with his life, hadn't been as tantalizing to Newt as it should realistically be.

For a moment, Newt imagined moving back to Boston. He could go back to teaching, get that seventh PhD he's always wanted. Be a celebrity on his own accord. Have a department of research full of undergrads, private funding that allowed him to experiment on whatever he wanted without the PPDC breathing on his neck.

He could finally create something that would change the world, and see his name immortalized forever in history books.

Dr. Newton Geiszler, the man who...

Newt emitted a soundless sigh.

He still didn't know how to end that sentence.

The rock star, the scientist, the doctor, the legend. Those titles were never quite enough for him, and he knew that the gaping hole that was his ambition would never be satisfied by stepping down into a more comfortable life.

Hermann didn’t know, and Newt would rather damn it all to hell than admit it out loud, but without the war, the Kaiju and his work, he had no purpose.

He'd been aimlessly going through life before K-day, striving for a higher reach, and nothing has ever made him feel as important as the Kaiju had. Nothing has ever made him feel as needed. That's why the idea of not tapping into the residual connection to see more was so inconceivable to him.

He couldn't step down from the podium, and he couldn't choose the mission in the Pacific either. There was only one option left, but without Hermann that couldn't happen, and Newt refused, categorically , to outright ask Hermann to stay. He couldn't bear that rejection. He couldn't expect Hermann to feel the same need to stay rooted to him and to the Kaiju that Newt felt.

But time was running out. Tendo and his team would depart tomorrow, and they needed to make a decision. Neither of them could afford to stall, and if that alternative route dissipated from Newt's grasp and Hermann decided not to accept Lightcap's proposal, then he'd be left with nothing.

He looked at the helicopter again. Herc was talking to Becket off to the side, and just as the biologist searched for Mako among the other officers, she spotted them, half hiding in the shadowed part of the launching platform - where Hermann had said they would be out of sight and Newt hadn’t believed him.

Newt saw a smile play on Mako's face, before she turned to talk to the main group. She must have told them to wait for her, because the next thing she did was she raced down the tarmac.

"I was hoping I'd catch you before leaving," Mako said upon reaching them, taking shelter under their umbrella; Hermann made room for her by almost stepping out into the rain but Newt angled it so he was covered as heavy drops hit his own glasses.

"We wouldn't have missed it for anything," Newt beamed at the young woman.

"I've heard what you might do, with Dr. Lightcap. I just wanted to tell you that I admire you both for it. You're still fighting."

Newt's smile faltered on his face.

"Yeah, ehm…" He looked up at Hermann for help but found him staring at Mako like he was about to start crying. Weirdo. "You know us; we're all for the cause. Always have been."

"Thank you, Newt." Mako told him sincerely. "I didn't get a chance to say it before, but Raleigh and I wouldn't have made it inside the Alterverse if it wasn't for you and Gottlieb. You are heroes as much as we are, and I won’t forget that."

Newt was touched. He hadn't expected her to thank him.

He smiled, proudly, feeling that hole in his chest closing just a little.

Hermann was still looking at Mako as if she was a saint, the second incarnation of Joan of Arc, and Newt kind of got it, in a less melodramatic way.

"Thank you, Miss Mori."

Mako shook Hermann's hand who then took the umbrella as she hugged Newt, something she might not have done since she was a teenager.

"You sure about this?" Newt asked quietly, holding her tightly. "It's a big world out there."

Mako chuckled, the sound reverberating against his shoulder.

"I'll be fine. I hope I'll see you soon, doctors. Good luck."

She stepped back into the rain and ran back to the helicopter.

Newt leaned over the railing, resting his chin on his folded arms, watching as Mako embarked and disappeared from sight.

Behind him, Hermann was lost in his own thoughts, staring at the scene ahead, and Newt observed him from his slouched position. His hair was wet, pressed on his forehead, his jumper was a darker shade of brown where the rain had soaked it and his cheeks and nose were red from the cold. He hadn't noticed Newt was out of the shared cover of their umbrella or he might have moved closer. The idea sent a wave of affection towards the man that Newt had a hard time ignoring. It also made him feel guilty, somehow.

The shapeless waves of Hermann's thoughts invested him again. It was always buzzing at the back of his mind, lately. Sometimes it took form – but mostly it stayed abstract and unknown like this.

The times it wasn't shapeless, it was memories, constructions, ideas. Sometimes that mixed in with flashes of Kaiju's memories, and in the lingering silence of his and Hermann's words, shouted or hissed at each other, Newt would see fragments. Red gas, lightning, blue strained flesh, ungodly roars.

He missed the moment the helicopter lifted off. The red light of the radar looked like a shiny eye in the distortion of the rain.

They watched in silence a little longer as the aircraft raised higher and turned tail, leaving in the direction of the ocean.

"Wanna go back inside?" Newt asked, once the noise from the turbines disappeared and only the sound of the rain remained.

Hermann only nodded.

The elevator ride down was quiet. Painfully so. Newt hardly remembered a time when it was this quiet between them.

Maybe seeing Mako had been a bad idea. He briefly wondered if it complicated their decision, seeing how much the young Ranger seemed grateful for their work here, but he quickly dismissed the thought. It wasn't Mako's fault. Newt already feared that if Hermann ultimately decided to stay it would be because he felt morally obligated to do so. Newt never bought into that, it was all military propaganda, and this was their future and their decision to make, but he knew how loyal Hermann was to the PPDC; he just loathed the idea of Hermann choosing to drift again just to be useful to them. That wasn't why Newt wanted to do it, at all, and maybe Hermann would be quick to call him selfish and a hypocrite, but he didn't care. This time it wasn't for them.

The elevator stopped at their floor, the doors opening raggedly to the cold hallway.

They met no one, and the silence stretched between them like a rift.

Once in the lab, Newt lingered at the center of the room, feet on each side of the dividing yellow line. He looked up at Hermann's blackboard, the equation that had saved their collective butts still written on it.

It was a little funny to Newt how no one had come to collect it and put it in a museum right next to Trespasser's skull.

Such an important piece of history, and it sat collecting dust in a forgotten lab underground.

And the genius behind it was just letting it.

Hermann limped past the board without a second glance, heading for the small kitchenette to fix himself a cup of tea. The kettle was old and faulty. It made the water only lukewarm, leaving a vague limestone aftertaste, but they hadn't had the time or the money to replace it. The mug was the same one Hermann's used for the five years they'd been stuck down here. It had a drawing of the chemical components of caffeine, trigonelline and caffeic acid with the caption 'give me my morning cup of chemicals' written on it. It used to be one of Newt's, originally, but he never took it back. It was chipped on the side but Hermann still used it regularly, consciously drinking away from the thin crack going over the word 'morning'.

In that moment, Newt was almost tempted to tell Hermann to leave.

To get out of here and build a new life for himself. Away from the stagnation of their lab, away from the lingering horror of the war and from the weight this institution was still putting on them.

To get a new mug with an even funnier chemistry joke, a kettle that would work, the best tea money could buy, and never, ever look back.

He almost opened his mouth to say all of that – but in the end it was the same treacherous thing that always betrayed Newt.

His need to know.

It was like an itch under his skin. An impossible thirst that he couldn't satiate. An agonizing call for adventure that he couldn't resist.

It made him a great scientist and a terrible human being.

"Look," Newt began because he simply couldn't take the silence anymore, and if they were going to end this, then they needed to end it right now and be quick. He dreaded the thought with a sickening passion, but he couldn't stand not knowing anymore. "I know you are not happy we could be plagued with memories of the Hive for who knows how long, and I know you didn't sign up for a lifetime tied with me." Newt forced his gaze to meet Hermann's. "But can't you give this a chance? Isn't there something you want out of this–this… connection to the Kaiju? You studied them for the better part of your life, too. There must be something."

Hermann bowed his head looking down at his mug, the steam coming up in a tiny spiral.

"Of course there is," he said almost to himself, "however..."

He trailed off and Newt felt something shatter inside of him, imagining how that sentence would end.

The combination of words that could follow relegating to 'however… this isn't worth it,' 'however… I would rather get out, now that I can,' 'however... I never want to drift anymore.' And how could Newt fault that? How could he ask Hermann for more when he's already given up so much and for so long?

"Or you could leave." Newt blurted out, desperation and anger growing inside of him like a bubble ready to pop.

Neither of them had said this out loud yet, but it's out now and Newt swallowed as Hermann looked at him with his brows gritted and a confused expression on his face, as though he'd no idea what Newt was even talking about. That only hurt him more.

"The war is over, and these fuckers already took so much from us. Our best years, our entire lives basically! All to stop the Kaiju, but they never even cared about them. I only got to see one up close because I put myself out there, and I only discovered the reason why they came here because I drifted with them. I only ever wanted to understand them, and I won't let them take this away too. We won't be a case of study if we're also the ones studying it, we could could be in charge. We could control this."

The mathematician was rigid as a statue now but there was something in his expression that made Newt braved on. He chose his next words carefully even as Hermann's eyes were tearing him apart from the inside.

"You're thinking about the Kaiju corrupting us, but there are no more Kaiju left. There is just you and me, and we've gone from knowing, what, 15 percent of the Alterverse to knowing a 100 percent of it. Every week, month, and year spent in a lab, studying and theorizing, were crumbs compared to what we know now. To what we could know now. So what if our minds have become a small, garbled, human Hive? Would that be so bad? The Breach is closed, the Precursors are dead, and the Alterverse is destroyed. Everything they ever were is in our heads. We can't lose it. We can't waste it. This is our legacy."

"Legacy?" Hermann asked, measuring the words in his mouth as if it was a strange but fascinating new concept.

"Yeah," Newt nodded reassuringly and resolutely. "Imagine how many great things we could do with this encyclopedic knowledge sitting in our heads. So many human inventions could benefit from it. We could change the world, Hermann. But I can't do this without you," Newt added, because it was needed, and because he felt it, and as the words left his mouth he knew there was no more room for bargaining. No other way to end this. "I won't do this without you. But if you want to leave, you can. I know this is a lot, and I…" he closed his hands into fists, the cut on his fingers hurt at the pressure but he didn't let go. "I wouldn't blame you."

Hermann didn't answer at first. His gaze flickered to the recorder still on Newt's desk and up to the tank behind it.

Newt saw the side of Hermann's throat as he swallowed, the composure of his face faltering for a moment as he shut his eyes and heaved a resigned breath. His tea mug still resting on the countertop of the kitchenette, forgotten.

Hermann's gaze finally landed back on Newt and the biologist held a breath. This would either make them or break them, he thought, and he's a little desperate for it to be a make.

All their years together, all their fights, petty bickering, insane shouting matches, piling at their feet as Newt recalled the happier times too. The complicity, the solidarity, the loyalty. The years of only knowing Hermann though his written words: those dreadful feelings of friendship and intimacy that still sneaked up on Newt and he could never fully ignore, no matter how hard he tried. If Hermann wanted to finally be through with him, this would be the end, and the drift and the letters would become something similar. Pieces of Hermann that would live forever within Newt that he could never get rid of, only tuck away quietly and pretend they were never there.

"I'm not leaving," Hermann said at last. "I had already decided that much."

"W-what?" Newt stammered, taking a step back, feeling the room spin. "Oh come on, don't tell me you didn't get a shit ton of offers from the best universities on the planet to pick from?"

"Hardly," Hermann shrugged. "Having no public recognition has its disadvantages. Have you gotten any?"

The biologist ran a hand through his hair furiously, wheezing out a nervous laugh.

"I honestly don't even know," he confessed, all of his secrets spilling out of him like an open wound he couldn't suture fast enough. "I haven't checked. But I don't care. I don't want to go back. I told you, I want to do this."

Hermann seemed to consider it, his eyes trailing on his face and his mind as far away as it's ever been, but Newt dared to let himself hope that the spark he saw in his eyes meant something. Meant what he wanted it to mean.

"I'm a statistician," Hermann declared. "I try to isolate patterns that occur in a determinate and restricted window of time. It's what I do best."

"Yeah," Newt said, not really understanding where he was going with it. "I know that."

Hermann moved to his blackboard, taking a long look at it, and then erased part of the equation. Newt yelped.

The mathematician looked at him from over his shoulder. "I know this by memory," he said evenly.

Newt believed him. He could feel the order of numbers in Hermann's head, pressing, secure and far away. The feelings attached to the numbers and to his predictive model were too complicated for Newt to untangle, but what Hermann thought of his work's instrument was simpler. Sometimes the blackboard was almost an impediment. He could never write fast enough to match how his brain was calculating it. He was always rows ahead, forced to slow down.

Newt gulped. He watched as Hermann took a piece of chalk and wrote a series of numbers. His vision circled back to an idea, a line of thought that had something to do with Mako but Newt didn't know what.

"A nuclear reactor exploded on their home planet," Hermann said as he wrote. "How far can the radiation expand and catch on the Alterverse's atmosphere? How would the chemical components of that air react?"

Newt frowned as Hermann turned again.

"You want to know if they're still alive or not. This will give you the answer," Hermann tapped the chalk on the board, as if it was obvious - the logical conclusion to the pending torment that had kept Newt on edge for days. It's almost nice, being presented to it like a fact, a valid assertion, and not a guilt-driven phobia that was eating him alive. "Maybe there is a way to determine whether or not that's a possibility. A predictive model, if you will, to calculate the odds of how much damage a nuclear reactor exploding on an alien world could do, and the probability of its habitants having survived the blast."

"Yes…" Newt said slowly. "Yes, that's genius! The Alterverse's atmosphere alone is such a wild composition of chemicals. The oxygen level must be higher than it's on Earth. It's heavily ionized to the point of polarization, that would have been insane to study up close! We need to retrieve a lot of data and fact-check everything! Ah, dammit–"

Newt put a hand under his nose as it started to bleed again. Hermann's expression closed suddenly.

"We cannot do it like that," he said sternly, extracting a piece of clean cloth from his pocket and handing it over. "We will need to be smart and find a safe way to look into the connection. Something that won't make our brains leak out of our ears, possibly."

"Our ears are not where it's leaking from," Newt grunted, shoving the tissues up his nostril and tilting his head back. "But I agree. Luckily we're nothing if not smart." He felt electrified and looking at Hermann only made him feel more elated. He had a hard time wrapping his head around what had just happened. It felt unreal. A wide smile spread on his face, his mind going a mile a minute, but all plans could wait for a little extra confirmation and a little extra officialization. "There is only one thing that truly matters right now." Newt smirked. He reached over and grabbed Hermann's hand, turning it over in his. "Will you keep working with me?"

The mathematician retracted his hand immediately as if burned.

"There is no need for this." Hermann screeched.

"Humor me," Newt kept smiling, but he let his grin turn into something more sincere. He extended his hand this time, waiting for Hermann to take it.

The mathematician hesitated, a strange expression creasing his face, before he finally extended his hand and carefully closed it around Newt's bandaged one. A handshake, not a fake wedding vow, but Newt would take what he could get.

"I will," Hermann said, sounding so solemn and Newt knew he got it and was buying into it.

"Alright!" Newt exclaimed, shaking their hands vigorously. "You're not going to regret this! I already have so many ideas on what we could work on, and I agree the PPDC is definitely the best place for that, at least temporarily. I still need to get my hands on those missing Kaiju parts, especially the Baby. It's too valuable!"

"Please, don't call it that," the mathematician made a face, looking a bit red. He retrieved his hand quickly and Newt let go, still grinning, feeling lighter than he had in days, possibly years, and as secure as ever in this plan.

So what was a military organization going to do? He had Hermann, and his work, and the depths of their connection to the Kaiju. Nothing on the outside could give him the same.

Chapter Text

Newt stared at the closed door to Gage's office leaning against the opposite wall. He tapped his foot on the tile pavement and impatiently waited for it to open.

After four full days of medical examinations, getting poked and probed with hardly any time alone to think, he thought he'd liked nothing more than a moment of reprise. But it was the opposite. He was tired and cranky, the harsh lights hurt his eyes, and the silence made him queasy.

Being on both sides of the experimentation process hasn't been as glamorous as Newt had envisioned.

They managed to collect a lot of useful starting data, compiling extensive lists on their physical condition and neurological state, monitoring anything they thought could be useful. Each day, Newt and Hermann repeated the MRIs, along with less intrusive brain scans, looking for the same elusive thing, and each day the results were the same. The area physically affected by the drift wasn't as evidently as the mustering-out prediction had made them believe, and their strong ghost-drift didn't appear in any significant way. It made the whole process tedious and frustrating.

Newt knew the connection wasn't gone. The buzz at the back of his skull was a constant presence now — a background hum he found himself tuning in to during lonesome moments and quiet stretches of time, trying to piece together what came from the other side of it. 

Their drift was scheduled for the next day, and it couldn't come fast enough. Newt was itching to look inside that flow again.

He threw his gaze down the hallway to his right, where Lightcap had set up a temporary office in the octagonal lab.

He hesitated a moment, eyeing Gage's closed door again, before he walked closer and sneaked a look through the porthole window.

He spotted Lightcap inside, hunched over one of the computers and typing furiously. The brightness of the screen casted a dark and imposing shadow behind her.

Newt couldn't read what was on the monitors from this distance, but the diagram of his and Hermann's brain scan was projected on one of the holoscreens, the intervals Gage had highlighted noticeable even from afar. There was a new entry next to it, with words filling the rectangle box as quickly as Lightcap was typing them.

Newt bit the inside of his cheek as he watched. For how brilliant Lightcap was, Newt didn't like how secretive she was being. Four days and he and Hermann had only exchanged a handful of words with her. She worked alone, informing them of her plans and decisions through Hansen or Gage, and spent the rest of her time out of everyone's sight.

The most Newt had seen of Lightcap was the day they finalized her proposal — the day after Mako and Becket had left for the World Tour. The Council had sent an array of legal representatives and it'd taken them hours to go through their terms. They missed Tendo's departure because of it, but at least the long negotiation meant Hermann's plan for a new predictive model could slip in as part of their bargaining. A good victory, especially considering Newt couldn't get them to include the exclusive treatment of all Kaiju parts coming from the Guam mission. He'd been fuming, ready to explode on all of them, if not for the threatening look on Hermann's face.

Don't push it, Hermann had seemed to say with his eyes. Do you want to end this before it even begins because you couldn't keep your mouth shut?

Newt had run his tongue over his teeth. He wished so badly he could send his thoughts directly to Hermann without the trouble of shouting them. He wished he could be as colorful with his words as he was in his mind, especially in that setting. But he had to bite his tongue, saving his cutting remarks for later.

However, if Newt was a ticking bomb, Lightcap was a volcano already erupting.

She seemed to have left her shyness back in Hansen's office for the way she'd made her demands, sure of herself and dominating the negotiation, contempt barely kept in check.

Newt'd found himself observing her tirade, the walking contradiction that was Lightcap and her fiery and muted personality, as a corner of his mouth raised in an astonished smile. The representatives had held their ground for as long as they could but against Lightcap, who seemed to rise even above her legendary status before thier eyes, no real argument could be made. Even Hermann had sat rigidly to attention, as if the violence was directed at him and not in his defense. Newt had wondered mistily if Hermann knew the difference, or if he just registered Lightcap as an authority figure and that was enough to keep him in check.

The representatives hadn't fumbled for much longer after that, and for some concession a generous size of the funding reserved for Lightcap and the Post-drift department had been passed on to K-science as well. Newt'd almost asked where the money had been hiding all this time, especially when what they were going was salvific for the rest of humanity, but that outrage had to be kept quiet too. And if anyone could read the disdain on his face, or rooming inside his mind, no one had dared to mention it.

Among the many tests they were scheduled to do, a psychiatrist re-evaluation of their data-code had been necessary, or so Gage had said from his end of the table during the negotiation, after Lightcap had paved the way.

Newt distorted his eyes from the window, staring back at Gage's closed door.

He tried to cast his memory back to the evaluation he had done when he first joined PPDC. It was hard to imagine they were going to be the same.

At the time, it'd been a whole department of psychiatrists, and hundreds of people enlisted. There was no time to linger. If you were remarkable, if you had a strong, provable and usable connection to someone you could maybe have a chance of moving forward. They'd ship you off to the Jaeger Academy in Kodiak Island to either become a Pilot or be discarded later during the months of training and testing.

Newt hadn't made it, but he had been remarkable, and that was the only part he remembered in more detail. He'd been discarded with a pretty spectacular negative mark, by their standards, and it would have been funny – was funny, for years – until Newt actually had to drift with someone and that valuation loomed dangerously over his head like a dagger.

A part of him wanted to rebel against the notion he was doomed to be undriftable, that his shoddy Pons were the only reason why they made it out alive. He wanted to rage against it until he proved them all wrong. But another part of him, probably the most unselfish one he possessed, was worried.

Newt couldn't help feeling like he was being blindsided. His Kaiju parts, the connection to the Hivemind, Hermann, he could only keep those if he stayed. And so he did.

He would make it worth his while if it was the last thing he did, but he didn't like jeopardizing his work by handing it over to people like Gage, breeded from dealing with Rangers, and to Lightcap, brilliant in her reputation but so closed off and cryptic it made Newt second guess.

There had been too many concessions already, and the more days passed with disappointingly flimsy results and limited freedom to operate, the more Newt felt increasingly like he might have made a mistake.

He felt the forced constriction of the PPDC close in on him like a vice.

A mouse caught in a trap he'd seen coming from miles away.

Even now Newt was only going along with the re-evaluation in the hope to gain a few points closer to Hermann in those godforsaken abyssal ratings, but maybe that was pointless too. Maybe he shouldn't have trusted it upon them. He should have taken it into his own hands to find a way to make it work. Build new Pons from scratch and eliminate the problem of incompatibility from the source, like he had once.

Down the hallway, the door to the office finally opened and Hermann walked out looking gloomy.

Newt pushed himself off the wall.

"That bad?" he asked once his lab partner was within whispering distance. Hermann didn't answer but he shot Newt a funny look, one that Newt could swear meant the mathematician felt sorry for him. Newt grimaced. So it was even worse than he thought. He couldn't even picture something that would turn Hermann to pity him.

"Dr. Geiszler," Gage called from the threshold holding the door open, and for half a second the psychiatrist reminded Newt of his uncle. The grizzled, bushy beard and square built almost fooled him, and his chest squeezed painfully. "This way, please."

"Joy," Newt mumbled, letting sarcasm color his tone as he tried to push the mental image out of his mind.

He shot a final glance at Hermann, who followed him with his eyes. Nothing could be shared and only a faint feeling of apprehension passed through the connection, despite Newt's perked senses. He wanted to send something reassuring back, but he didn't know how, and the door was firmly shut between them before he could do it with a smile.

Gage walked across his office without a word and sat at his desk indicating for Newt to take a chair in front of him. The room hadn't changed much since Newt had seen it a few days ago. Boxes and files were still scattered everywhere, but at least the desk looked less dusty. 

"Before beginning with the re-evaluation, I've gone through your dossier," Gage said, taking his reading glasses and a datapad. "And I'd like to ask you a few questions to fill in some gaps, if you don't mind."

"Alright," Newt shrugged. "Shoot."

"It says here you're currently employed as a xenobiologist, chemist, engineer and strategist for the Defense Corps. Enrolled in 2016 and first assigned to the Tokyo Dome, current director of the last division of K-science, along with Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. Ex professor at MIT, where you were head of the biology department. Pioneer researcher in artificial tissue replication, and you've got," he leaned forward and squinted. "Six PhDs."

Newt smirked.

"I know. Amazing resume."

"How old were you when you started college?" Gage asked seriously.

"Thirteen. I was their second youngest student ever. I could have been the first, but I lost a year with all the bureaucracy shit I needed to move to the States."

"Did you move with your whole family?"

"No, it was just me and my uncle."

Gage raised his eyes at this.

"Have you lost your parents young?"

"No, nothing like that," Newt answered, and anticipating the next question he added, "They're both very much alive."

"And how is your relationship with them?"

"Fine. Fine-ish. I mean, it's not bad."

"It's not good either, then?"

"It's good enough," Newt responded tightly. "And they don't matter right now, do they?"

Gage looked at him from above the rim of his glasses.

"I'm just trying to get a complete picture, but alright. We can go back to it later. What about other significant relationships in your life?"

"I was raised primarily by my uncle. We get along great. I don't have any other relatives that I talk to or know of, and I don't have any other notable relationships to report."

"And what is the nature of your relationship with Gottlieb?" Gage asked next.

Newt narrowed his eyes.

"We're lab partners."

Gage hummed, scribbling something in his notes. Newt's teeth set on edge.

"How long have you two worked together?"

Newt stiffened.

"Um, five years." It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. They started working together in Hong Kong five year ago, but that wasn't how they met. They met for the first time three years before that in Berlin, but Newt would rather do open surgery on himself than recount that disastrous day. "I'm sure that's nothing impressive," he added to change the subject. "There're Ranger duos who have known each other their whole lives, right?"

"That's true, but that doesn't always indicate whether a connection is strong or not. And they all had less drift residue than you."

"They also never drifted with a Kaiju," Newt shrugged. "Maybe we're normal in our own way."

"Maybe," Gage conceded with a pointed look. The expression reminded him of Hermann, those times when Newt said something arrogant or crude and he was debating whether it was worth it or not to lower himself to his level. Hermann always did. "You know, usually Rangers have a comprehensive recorded history on their relationship, but I was prepared to find nothing on your account, having never been in the system. You'd imagine my surprise when I went through the HR files."

He took a stack of yellow papers from the floor and threw them on the desk with a thud. Newt's smile died on his lips. Seeing the bundle of complaints all together, enough pages to fill a novel, made a certain effect. Five years of fights, petty bickering and crazy outbursts all in a neat collection. 

Newt heard himself scoff, feeling suddenly irrationally angry. Gage didn't have the faintest idea who he or Hermann were. An hour long conversation and reading some HR complaints didn't change that.

"Who cares about that stuff? Not even HR ever gave a shit. As long as we got the job done we could have killed each other for all they cared."

The psychiatrist remained unfazed, staring him down. Newt's blood boiled.

"What? You wanna know why I sent those? Haven't you just finished talking to the guy," he indicated the closed door behind him, and a ruffling at the back of his mind livened suddenly as if summoned by just the thought of Hermann. "Wasn't it enough to guess why? He's impossible. Some days we can't even talk without shouting, it's inescapable! He's rigid, and pompous, and controlling! You can never do right by him, there is always something he'll criticize. Always!"

What was he doing? He'd stepped into this room to prove he and Hermann were close, that they were capable of drifting again, and here he was listing all the reasons why he hated Hermann.

A restlessness shook Newt from the inside out and he felt guilty remembering the other days, different and fewer apart, where the understanding was stronger than their petty fight and obnoxious points. The days where Newt could almost think they were friends again, like they once were.

It was a wistful and hazardous thought. One he always struggled to suppress.

"He sent way more complaints about me than I have about him anyway," Newt added next, feeling a little raw. "For me it was mostly for revenge or because he was getting on my nerves. I never want to... end our thing." He finished weakly regretting it even as the words left his mouth. 

Gage didn't say anything at first, he studied Newt quietly and his face looked menacing without even trying. Nothing at all like his uncle.

At length, he sighed, massaging his bead absently.

"I really don't understand," Gage murmured. "Your ratings aren't inaccurate. You really are the most unstable pairing I've ever worked with. And yet, you two are more compatible than some of the best Rangers out there. Even my sons, they..." he trailed off and cleared his throat, turning to Newt once more. "I'm only removing Gottlieb's prohibition against drifting. It's superfluous now, anyway. You're not stepping foot in a Jaeger."

"What does that mean?" Newt asked.

"The CORO patterns range. That zero in Dr. Gottlieb's ID stood for a medical note excluding him from drifting, probably due to his physical condition."

Newt leaned back on his chair, his head spinning as he recalled the numbers. He'd scored an 11, all those years ago. But that meant that Hermann's number wasn't 120... it was 12.

"We've been one point apart this whole time?!" Newt screeched incredulous. "Does Hermann know?"

"I told him," Gage said slowly. "I also told him it's more complicated than that. The CORO pattern doesn't guarantee that you can handle the drift, just that you have a solid connection. One point difference would be astounding, but not when every other parameter is working against you. If this wasn't such a peculiar case I'd advise you to never drift again."

Newt scoffed, letting out a bitter laugh.

"You have no idea how many times I've heard that," he bragged, but he gripped the sides of his chair. There was a pressure building up in his temples, and the buzz that he associated with Hermann got more intense. "I was 'advised' not to drift with a Kaiju too, and you know where we'd all be if I hadn't done that."

"You don't understand," Gage looked at him sourly. "The drift is silence, and what you're planning to do is the opposite."

Newt closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the pressure of those memories back in his mind. It wasn't the right time, but he was trying to be welcoming, not knowing what triggered them, desperate to hold onto them when they came.

"I may not know what a normal drift feels like, but I know what a drift with a Kaiju feels like." Newt forced the words out, tilting his head back. "It isn't silent. It's a shouting mess . It feels like taking your disembodied head, connecting it with wires and plugging it into a supercomputer. Their knowledge is like an organized highway of information. It's like a database, and they all share access to it. Now it's me and Hermann in there and no one else. I want to know everything I can about what lays inside this connection before it disappears, and I'm not giving up on it!"

He finished, almost shouting. His head was spinning and he could taste blood. He wiped his nose with the back of hand and sure enough the trail of blood was there. Gage pushed the same box of tissues to him wordlessly, but Newt didn't take any.

"I'm not sure you can recreate that. You're talking about using the drift to mine memories, and that's never been done before. Even Lightcap should know better."

Newt's attention perked up at that just as the pressure in his temples eased.

"Really? Did Lightcap already experiment with this?"

"I'd rather not discuss that." Gage grumbled.

"Oh, come on. She disappeared for six years and now she waltzed back to study me and Hermann, we deserve to know why."

The psychiatrist averted his eyes and Newt followed his gaze to the framed picture of Bruce and Trevin Gage smiling and hugging their father resting on the desk in between them.

"It's a two way street," Newt said evenly. "You're asking me all these things about myself, I should get some in return."

To his surprise, one corner of Gage's mouth raised in a half-smile, almost hidden under the beard.

"My sons were the first Rangers to understand the importance of easing the mind from the stress of drifting. Maybe it was having a psychiatrist for a father, but I can't take the credit. I was brought along, but it was their idea ultimately. It was a lot of trial and error, like everything at that stage, but we perfected a methodology together and in turn I trained other psychologists, worked with more and more Pilots, and we created the Post-drift science department. I did everything for them," Gage concluded with a fervor Newt had never heard from him. "All of this, my career, my work to help Rangers, all the good that came before and after was for them."

"And Lightcap?" 

"Well, I'm not Lightcap, am I? It's not my place to talk about her experience."

Newt sighed and sank back into his chair.

"However, you must forgive her," Gage added more seriously. "She's still a brilliant scientist but her bedside manners haven't been the best." 

"I don't mind the bluntness," Newt rolled his eyes. "I get it. That always got me further in life than being polite ever did."

Newt scratched his arm. The sleeve of his torn-up leather jacket raised a little revealing the tattoo of Yamarashi, and Gage followes the stylized inked lines with his eyes. Newt was used to the stars, basking in the insults and disdain he received with superiority and mirth.

He braced himself for it anyway.

"Tell me, Dr. Geiszler—"

"Newt," he grumbled.

"Is drifting again worth your life?"

Newt frowned, surprised by the question. 

"Of course it is!" he said.

"Is it worth Gottlieb's?"

Newt's mouth twisted and he hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not even as a lie to get what he wanted.

"Good. At least that." Gage nodded, seemingly coming to a sudden, deeper understanding. "Tomorrow, you must stay focused inside the drift. If what you say is true and you have the memories of the Kaiju in your heads, I don't know what you might see during the Neuronal Handshake, but you mustn't latch on. Chasing the Rabbit is extremely dangerous. There is no control over it, and your partner has no way of helping you if you get stuck."

Newt blinked. The pressure in his temples increased again, with an uncomfortable throbbing behind his left eye.

"So you're not stopping us?"

"I can't. Lightcap already finalized everything with the PPDC, I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. But you are capable of drifting again, just remember you're establishing something real in there, and there is no domination. Nothing to gain, and nothing to find. You understand that?"

Newt was struck; he didn't know what to say. With Gage's blessing, even coated in warnings, the only thing now standing between him and the Kaiju's knowledge was Newt's own mind, and an old and uncomfortable insecurity crawled its way back to the surface. He was impulsive, unstable, destructive. What if they were right about him? What if he could never see inside the Hive the same way again? What if he followed the Rabbit?

Suddenly, an idea crawled its way into Newt's mind.

What if he followed the Rabbit?

Newt remembered what the Handshake had been like, how being in that mental space with Hermann had been nothing like his first solo drift. What he remembered most was the split second they'd been entwined and boundless, immersed in Hermann's mind, so analytical and precise. Hermann was confident in a way that made Newt focus on the chaotic mass in his own head, and in that he found a sense of security he didn't think he'd ever felt before — or since. And then the scales tipped, and he felt like he'd been sucked down a the drain of a sink. There was only them and the abyss, and all the answers Newt had been looking for laid bare before his hungry eyes.

The drift was immense, and there was so much beneath the surface that he hadn't even scratched yet.

And Newt wasn't afraid of it.

Whatever happened tomorrow would be a discovery. A small step or a leap toward understanding. Either way, it was information, and that would never be useless.

What the hell, Newt thought. If I'm just a mouse caught in a trap, I might as well eat all the cheese before I start to chew myself free.

"Don't worry," Newt said, his lips curling up. His nose started bleeding again but he hardly noticed. "I'm not going to cause problems on purpose."

Chapter Text

Hermann clenched the satellite phone in one hand, waiting for it to ring.

He'd found shelter and privacy in a secluded corner on one of the roofs, behind an air vent that blew out some residual heat after making its round inside the massive building. The rain had left space for a mostly clear evening and a few stars were emerging behind the clouds, shadowed by Hong Kong's light pollution.

Hermann knew he should have made time for this phone call days ago.

He could claim that he'd been busy, which wasn't entirely a lie.

The preparation for their test-drive had filled the entirety of their days, suffocating any attempts Hermann made to work on the skeleton of a mathematical formula for the new predictive model.

Not that he had much to work on.

Without data, he and Newton couldn't accomplish anything yet, but they'd agreed on a plan. They were going to construct a database to record the Hivemind. A bank of information for anything that came from the drift all connected together to form broader rules and premises to make up the architecture of the Alterverse.

It was an ambitious plan. An algorithm for the conceptual representation of data at a high level of abstraction, something a little more involving compared to what Hermann had attempted with his first predictive model, or even the time he coded the first generation of Jaegers. They were essentially talking about feeding the Hivemind's entire knowledge, filtered through them, into a computer-intelligence which would in turn translate the information, carry it out, match the patterns with what it had in its database and then, if the premises were satisfied, it would be able to answer a question.

No one had succeeded in doing something similar to this before, not even on a smaller scale.

There had been attempts to map out what happened inside the drift between two people: recordings, synaptic diagrams, brain scans and even visual reconstruction, but nothing had ever come close to covering everything. Now they expected to accomplish this not only between two people, but with an entire glomeration of minds working as if they were a singular structure.

Even conceptualizing it in its entirety gave Hermann a headache.

It wouldn't be like creating a Computerized Personality, or an AI to control the interface of a Jaeger, it would be more similar to building a semantic network as big as the Hivemind itself - with nodes representing rules, concepts, and states, anything the connection could provide. It would be like building a brain, a model very similar to the human memory in which reasoning was, in its most abstract form, a realization of connections.

Hermann sighed into the night air. He had no idea if it could be done, and he wasn't used to working with this degree of uncertainty. It was uncomfortable. It created holes in his perception of possible outcomes and the future was muddy because of it.

One way or the other, the first step of the plan depended on gathering more data, and so drifting again was essential, least Newton actually gave himself an aneurism with his continuous insistence on reclaiming those memories.

Hermann had no idea how he was doing it. It didn't come naturally to him, looking into the connection.

When he got any flashes of memories everything he saw was fuzzy and out of focus, and it always hurt.

That's how Hermann knew it must be straining.

They had no more time to waste and so, on the evening before their test drive, Hermann had decided to call his sister.

Better not to risk waiting after the drift. He could be hospitalized, or worse, and he loathed leaving pending business on hold.

Better to just get it over with.

Hermann was staring right at the phone when the screen illuminated and it started ringing but it still startled him.

He took a standing breath and brought the device to his ear.

"Hello Karla," he greeted his sister in German.

"Hermann," Karla responded. Her voice was cordial and even, but Hermann could hear the happiness in it. "Finally. I was beginning to think I would never hear from you again."

"I know, I apologize. I've been busy."

Karla laughed lightly on the other end of the line.

"I bet you have. I've heard the celebrations in the Shatterdome lasted for days."

"That's an exaggeration," Hermann said, looking down at his shoes. He was standing close to a puddle and he could see his shaky reflection in the muddy water. “But I was only there for a few hours,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how much the whole affair lasted for.”

"I wish I was there," his sister hummed. "It sounded quite cathartic."

Karla had worked briefly as an engineer in the Berlin branch before moving to the private sector. She hadn't stayed in the PPDC long enough to see its downfall or to have to choose between holding on tight to your beliefs or following their father into the construction of the Costal Wall. She had steered clear of it all, but Hermann knew she regretted not being more involved, even though they'd never openly talked about it.

"It was," Hermann found himself saying. "In a way. But it's over now, and everyone is still working as best as they can. At least until we stay operative."

There was a quiet lapse coming from the other line to the point Hermann almost thought he had lost connection.

"You mean you'll stay?" Karla asked at last.

"Well, yes. My job here isn't over."

"Yes, it is. Hermann," he heard her release a breath. "I doubt they'll keep a Breach physicist around much longer. What more can you do there?"

Hermann worried his lip. He'd rehearsed the perfect mental speech, without breaking directives or giving Karla too much to question him on, but his conviction always vacillated in the presence of his family. Every Gottlieb had the power to make him falter, and Hermann hated that.

"They haven't dismissed me yet," he said as firmly as he could manage. "And I have some work I want to finish, it's too important to leave it behind and I don't intend to. I'm going to stay until they'll allow me to, that is final."

"Is Geiszler staying, too?"

The question disarmed Hermann and he was forced to pause. He hadn't expected Karla to outright ask about Newton and there was no way she hadn't noticed his hesitation this time.

"Yes, but that is besides my reasoning or interest."

"Right," Karla said. If Hermann didn't know any better he'd say his sister was teasing him. "At least be careful. Don't let them lock you up there."

"Of course not."

"And call me more often. Mother still asks about you, you know."

"What did she say?" Hermann asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Not much," Karla murmured apologetically. "She mostly asks if I've heard from you. I think she is willing to talk, Hermann. Well, a little more willing than Father is anyway."

"That's not much."

"No," Karla sighed. "Not even close. But I think that, deep down, she's sorry for how things went down."

The corner of Hermann's lip pulled up, but he smothered it out.

"Was Father very irked?"

Karla left out a bitter laugh. She understood he meant how Hermann had stayed on the winning side while the project Lars Gottlieb had financiered had crumbled to rubbles under the footsteps of a Kaiju. Hermann wondered what his father would do now - where his engineering company would embark next, if they still had enough money to embark anywhere.

"You know how he is. Even in a perfect utopia he'd find something to complain about. There is no pleasing him."

Hermann fell quiet. He suddenly recalled the word Newton had used a few days ago to talk about their work. Legacy.

The term had sparked something he couldn't name inside of him. It was like feeling the gentle pull of the brain inside the tank, several floors below him. Or maybe it was Newton't mind producing the same effect.

Hermann dragged his foot on the graveled ground, kicking a small rock into the puddle and distorting his reflection.

"So nothing changed."

"Ah, but everything changed.” Hermann heard the smile in Karla's voice, and it was just a little contagious. "The war is over."

The glinting of a plane passing over the night sky caught his eye. The stars weren’t as bright as they used to be in the country when he was a child, but it was still a nice view.

"I suppose this is as perfect as it can be."

There was a noise on the other end of the line, followed but a thud, like of a door shutting, and then a familiar voice sounded from a distance.

"Hi, honey. Are you still home? I forgot my wallet, and I had to run back -"

The last word stopped abruptly, maybe after seeing Karla was on the phone. Hermann felt like he had missed a step going down the stairs. The bottom of his stomach dropped to the center of the earth. He was sure he must have misheard; maybe his mind was really playing tricks on him. No one spoke for a beat, and the longer the silence dragged for the less certain Hermann became.

"Is that Vanessa?"

There was a ruffling noise, followed by muffled voices.

"Karla," Hermann said sharply. He didn't know what was happening and his head was spinning. He stepped away from the air vent suddenly feeling too warm. He gripped his cane more tightly for extra stability. The gelid air hit him in a gust of wind and he shivered but at least it sharpened his senses.

"Yes, it's her," Karla's voice came again after an interminable minute. "She's here with me right now, and I… Hermann, I have to tell you something. About Vanessa and I." He heard his sister take a steadying breath, and Hermann instinctively held his. "We are together."

"What?" Hermann heard himself saying, voice coming as if from far away. He didn't even sound shocked, or amazed, he sounded downright fearful. He swallowed hard. "I-I mean, I…" It wasn't much better. He was stammering, cold sweat pooling in his forehead. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you both." He concluded weakly.

"I've been meaning to tell you for a while," Karla said hurriedly filling his stupor, her voice inching into a nervousness so unlike her. "I didn't know how, or if we would even make it out alive. These last couple of months have been intense, and scary, and I just… I didn't want to die a coward. If it was all going to end, I wanted to have something real before it was all over. I hope you understand."

Hermann stared motionless into the skyline, mouth agape.

"I understand," he said, shivering again for reasons that had nothing to do with the wind.

"I'm happy you're alright with this. It means a lot to me to have your support."

"Of course, I…"

"Is that him?" A smaller pause, another ruffled noise, and then Vanessa's voice sounded loud and clear through the device and Hermann's heart started hammering in his throat.

"Hermann?"

"Vanessa," Hermann gulped. "Hello."

"Hermann!" Vanessa sounded delighted just to hear his voice, and despite the shock he felt the same sentiment bloom in his chest. He supposed it's been a long time since he called her, too. "It's so good to hear from you. How are you? It must be so chaotic down there." When Hermann didn't answer - he didn't know how to – she said more uncertainty. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you. I wondered if you might have been too busy to answer, but I never even tried, and I'm sorry."

"No, it's quite alright. I-I really was busy," Hermann said. He looked at city lights, searching for better words to express his sentiment. "And I'm sorry, too. That I didn't call, and that I… didn't know."

"Are you upset?" Vanessa asked. She was always blunt and to the point. Something she had in common with his sister. Hermann blinked, a bit of clarity and calmness finally coming back to him.

"No," Hermann let out a breath that fogged in front of him, and found it was true. Mostly true. True in the way it mattered. "I'm not. I'm surprised, that's all."

Hermann, Karla and Vanessa had shared a flat together when they lived in Cambridge, before K-day. Hermann still considered those the most serene years of his life - right until he'd made a mistake after the other and ruined everything. He only had himself to blame, but that had nothing to do with this. He and Vanessa had ended their relationship on a mutual sort of understanding. They weren't happy as lovers as they had been as friends, and Hermann had been so ashamed of how he'd handled it at the time. He'd hurt Vanessa, he'd disappointed both their parents, who had been friends for years and had been overjoyed by their union. Hermann's mother still talked about it, up until one of the last phone calls Hermann had with her, three years ago.

But the worse thing was that, when their relationship had ended, despite the guilt and shame that clothed the whole affair, deep down all Hermann had felt was relief.

Even now, there wasn't an ounce of jealousy, or resentment.

He should feel some type of way about his sister dating his ex-fiancé. But he didn't.

He was genuinely content for them.

However, the idea of Karla and Vanessa together had opened a deep-rooted fear that Hermann was having a hard time wrapping his rational brain around.

"I had no idea," Hermann said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his inner turmoil. "How long have you been together?"

"Just a few months. Since November actually, but I feel like we've danced around it for much, much longer," Vanessa answered; there was a sweeter tone to her voice as she said it. "We've been idiots. Or at least I've been one. Karla was always… the person I gravitated to, even without knowing. Sorry, you probably don't want to hear any details about me dating your sister."

"No, it's alright." Hermann spoke into the receiver, his mouth a separate entity from his body, running on its own accord. "You sound happy."

"Well, don't sound so surprised," Vanessa joked, before adding earnestly. "I am happy."

Hermann stared out into the distance, where pale stars dotted the horizon and the ocean was calm and dark.

"I'm glad."

There was a small lull in the conversation, one so similar to the familiar stretches of silence that always trailed behind him and Vanessa back when they were friends. The sort of silences that happened naturally when you lived with someone and saw each other every day, where you didn't need to fill every moment but still felt comfortable. Maybe it was in those silences that Vanessa knew him better.

"Are you happy, Hermann?" she asked, as perceivable as ever even without seeing his face.

The wind blew stronger and clouds covered the stars again. Only the city lights remained in the growing night. Not even the moon shined down on him.

"Yes," Hermann answered weakly, looking down into his puddle; he couldn't make out much of his reflection anymore, distorted by the tremors of the wind. "I'm okay."

"That's not what I asked," Vanessa pointed out, "but alright. I hope we'll see each other soon. I missed you."

"I… I hope so, too. But I can't leave right now. They need me here." He could sense Vanessa was about to protest, maybe with even more intensity than Karla had earlier so he added quickly. "I have to go now, I'm sorry. Say bye to Karla for me, please."

"Oh. Alright," Vanessa answered uncertainly but thankfully didn't push it. "I have to go as well, but please call again when you have time."

"Alright."

"Take care."

The line went dead in his ear and Hermann lowered the phone, looking at the city and feeling more outside of it than ever before.

Later, Hermann dragged himself back to the lab, unsure where else he should be, and was unsurprised to find Newton still there.

He was sitting in front of the brain tank with a notepad in his hands, a pencil hanging between his fingers. Peering closer, Hermann saw nothing written on it, just a series of lines crossed over filling half a page.

"That's a very unscientific way of taking notes."

Newton jumped, startled, but caught himself before dropping his pencil.

"I'll let you know I'm finding it really helpful," he grumbled and crossed over another group of four lines. "Reproducibility is the first step to probability and simple methods are often the most effective, Herr Doktor ."

"And what are you trying to prove exactly?" Hermann asked, making his way to the kitchenette for a cup of tea.

"How many times I get distracted while staring at her."

Hermann stopped in his tracks.

"Her?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you," Newton smirked, indicating the brain. "I named her Alice."

Hermann looked at the tank, then back at Newton and let out a long-suffering sigh pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't even know where to start with that.

"That number tells me more about your attention span than it does about a potential connection to the Hivemind. Your scientific method is questionable at best, your name choice is grotesque, and your test subjects are reductive."

"Then pull up a chair, Hermy."

Hermann stared back at the blotchy alien, who in turn stuck one of its tentacle extremities on the inside of the glass.

"No, thank you."

"You're so ungrateful," Newton huffed. "I even made tea for you."

He pointed in the direction of the kitchenette, where a pot on the stove was over-boiling and spilling over so much it caused the flame to go bright orange.

"Newton!" Hermann rushed over to turn the stove off. Hot droplets slashed his hand, burning him.

"Ops," Newton said sheepishly. "I could have sworn I put that to boil a minute ago." He paused for a beat too long and Hermann looked back, catching his cloudy expression, but he shook it off quickly. "Anyway, you've been gone a while, that I know. What were you up to?"

Hermann sat the pot down on the counter and briefly considered lying, before remembering his lab partner could probably tell the difference with the lingering connection. But Hermann had never been a good liar to begin with so maybe Newton could always tell.

"I was talking to my sister."

"And is she alright?" Newton asked when he didn't elaborate.

"She is alright." Hermann said simply, fixing his tea.

"That's good. You used to tell me she was the best of the Gottlieb bunch. I hope that's still true."

Hermann froze. He remembered when he told Newton something similar to that, and it belonged to a time long before they came to Hong Kong. A time neither of them made any mention of whatsoever. If Newton also remembered where that knowledge came from, he gave no indication of it.

Maybe he wasn't associating it to the letters.

"She has her moments." Hermann responded with what he hoped passed for a casual tone.

Newton was still staring at him, the green of his eyes altered by the yellow light of the tank and Hermann averted his gaze feeling a shiver travel down his spine.

As he thought about Karla and Vanessa again, he couldn't shake that cold fear still rooted in his chest.

For a moment, he could almost imagine being back in his father's spacious and gloomy office as his old man loomed behind the desk, drawing circles in the carpet and refusing to look at his son.

"I don't know what I did wrong," Hermann remembered saying. His voice had been too small, too scared. His father had stopped to grip the backrest of the tall chair and looked down on Hermann with nothing but harshness and distaste in his eyes. 

"Of course you have no idea. You're just a child. But if I don't act now and correct this part of you, you'll be afflicted for the rest of your life."

Hermann had shaken in his seat. His legs had been just long enough to reach the ground, but no matter how solidly he planted his feet he could not stop the tremor.

"I'm sorry." He still hadn't been sure where he had gone wrong, but he would not ask. He knew better than to question his father, especially when he was so angry. He just knew it had to do with Fredrik.

Hermann never had friends growing up. He didn't know how to act with people his age. He had gone from being homeschooled by an old and severe teacher to an all-boys high school to get his diploma; that had been the first real school Hermann'd attended.

It hadn't been a pleasant time. The boys picked on him, made fun of him, and never had the same interests as him. Everyone in his class was a minimum of three years older, and at eleven years old, Hermann surpassed even the smartest of them. He was rewarded, but not liked. He'd spent most of his days tormented by bullies, leaving his cane behind, pretending he didn't need it, so maybe they would have one less thing that made him stand out. It never worked.

On his third year, the school counsel had advised Hermann to join a club and Lars and Hannah Gottlieb had agreed, on the condition it didn't interfere with his other studies. After all, they were planning on keeping Hermann in that school for just a year longer before fast tracking him to college. They couldn't compromise that.

At the Math and Science club Hermann had been both relieved and terrified to see there were kids his own age too. That's where he had met Fredrik. He'd been just a few months older than Hermann, with dirty blonde hair, freckles all over his face, and a good deal chatty.

He'd gone on and on and Hermann had been too shy to even respond at first, but eventually they became friends, and Hermann had cherished that so dearly. He could have listened for hours as Fredrik talked about his passion for insects, or his video games collection, or about the love they discovered they had in common for the stars and galaxies. But whatever his father had seen in their friendship had been wrong enough to castigate Hermann and force him to drop the club and never see Fredrik again.

He had understood later what it was his father had suspected, and Hermann become hyperaware of it, doing anything in his power to chase away any idea that ever came to his mind. Scared that Lars might have been right about him all along.

There was a well-known and infesting shame always trailing behind him at the memory of that day in his father's office, and Hermann never shook free of it.

Even now, decades later and as far away from his father's good grace as he could be, Hermann had blocked those feelings so thoroughly that he had no clue what he even wanted anymore.

No idea if he was happy or not.

Hermann hadn't had to consider his own happiness in so long. This mission, the reason he decided to stay, wasn't because of something he wanted. He was needed here. Newton's suggestion to leave the PPDC and live somewhere else was a ludicrous fantasy. A kind thought, but one that simply didn't factor in. An inconsequentiality in the grand scheme of things. He couldn't stop to worry about what he wanted when what he needed to do was simply more important.

Karla shouldn't live like that. She was an adult, living safely in England where even Hermann had been at peace.

She didn't share that same dread Hermann shared. And that was a good thing.

Hermann sank in a nearby chair clasping his hands together on the handle of his cane and leaning forward, resting his forehead on his knuckles and closing his eyes for a moment.

They were both happy.

And that was a good thing.

"Hey," Newton said, recalling his attention. "Have you had dinner yet?"

Hermann raised his head, feeling suddenly immensely tired. He was hungry too, but the idea of rush hour at the mass hall was unbearable to him at that moment.

"What if we went out?" Newton said without waiting for an answer.

Hermann blinked, not quite sure he followed the trajectory.

"They have food in the city," Newton tried. "Arguably better than the one in the cafeteria."

"The food isn't so bad in the cafeteria."

Newton huffed, and jumped up from his chair.

"That's how I know you've never gone out to eat. Come on, it'll be fun!"

"We have the test drive tomorrow," Hermann reminded him. "I doubt a night out would be appropriate. I'd rather get some rest."

“We'll be back by ten—eleven tops! I know a lot of cool places. Have you ever had dumplings with blue food coloring? They call them the 'Kaiju treat', get it? they’re pretty damn good."

"That sounds disgusting."

"They make it without the blue stuff, too. Come on," Newton dragged his words with a dramatic slouch of his shoulders. "I'm not above begging you."

Hermann sighed, hoping he wouldn't come to regret it.

"Alright. But we come back at ten. And I don't want to eat anything Kaiju themed."

Newton grinned.

"I know the perfect place."

Chapter Text

Newt would have liked to say he knew Hong Kong like the palm of his hand, but five years hadn't been enough for him to learn it completely. He constantly discovered new streets and corners, ancient stores and restaurants running since before K-day that an almost record number of Kaiju landings hadn't managed to shake.

The rain had left space for a humid but pleasant night, and Newt led Hermann through twisting roads and busy streets, leaving behind the overcrowded neighborhoods surrounding the Shatterdome for the relatively quieter old district. 

Hermann looked like he'd lost any sense of direction the moment they'd stepped outside and he shivered in his dress jacket. However, to his credit, he hadn't complained much. Contrary to that, he hadn't spoken more than a few words since they left the Dome and he seemed so lost in his own thoughts Newt was beginning to think he wasn't gonna get much of a conversation out of him tonight, which was a pity but Newt didn't mind it, he supposed. He's used to fill the silence between them when Hermann wasn't in the mood to keep up with his tangents, and he's starting to get acclimatized to having his lab partner with him in such a simple way, outside of their underground coop. The buzz of the city was a welcome accompaniment to their walk and there was nothing dangerous or life-threatening forcing them here.

It felt so normal. Despite the prickly sensation at the back of his mind getting more intense the closer they got to the hazard zone.

It brought Newt back to the night after the closure of the Breach, when he'd felt that ripple of something else inside his head for the first time.

He'd been waiting behind the taped lines as the Extraction Team worked on the body of Otachi, like ants crawling on a fresh carcass, and Newt had fought hard not to feel affected. Not to feel like insects were crawling on him.

It'd made no sense. The link to the Hivemind had been a faint echo by then. Just a memory from inside the drift. It wasn't like what he'd felt it in the lab, or inside the Cradle with Hermann. They were both humans, and what they felt was nothing more than the aftermath of their minds dancing inside a blender.

But... Newt began to think it might have left a different mark on him. 

It was making him twitch, see things in the agitated work of people dressed in bulky and protective gear, stripping away the toxic parts from his body.

Otachi's body...

Not his.

Otachi's.

Hermann had warned him. He'd suspected they could be feeling the echo of something coming from the Kaiju before Newt had time to work it out himself, and Hermann  wanted nothing to do with the lingering connection, coming from either of them. And it had stung.

The body had been mangled and divided in half. The sword that cut through Otachi's flesh had been swift and clean while gravity did the rest.

It had stung, but only for a moment. Then, it was like floating. He was safe, drifting in the water, inside a cocoon that nothing could touch.

The body would decompose into bones, but the air would stay poisonous. It would get to the sea, it would get in the clouds, it would get in the rain, and it would never stop. The poisonous particles entering humans, animals, fish, becoming part of them. Kaiju by assimilation, mutated from the inside out, with no cure.

And they called Newt an abomination, a worshiper, a disgrace. They had no idea how it would get under their skin and slowly, unavoidably, kill them.

Newt'd felt bile rise to his mouth.

He'd left the site in a rush, blood rushing to his ears as he'd pushed his way out of the perimeter as if it was physically constricting his lungs. He needed to go see the Kaiju Baby and his Pons, but the spot where he and Hermann drifted had been emptied. Just debris had been left behind. The claw marks on the concrete had created deep furrows and the corrosive Blue scratched Newt's throat even through his breathing mask; a sign it hadn't been detoxed yet.

The sharp pain in his temples could have been from the fumes, but he strongly doubted it.

The connection was failing him: it felt like a knife was pushing through his skull and it was making him lose himself in the distorted, blue-tinted, feelings of being a giant – part of a colony of killers that saw them as nothing more than ants. But Newt wasn't one of them. Either of them. He was now something distinctly else. Not Kaiju, nor human.

He had been lost in a haze filled with memories he couldn't explain. Lightning striking an ionized sky and a painful completeness inside of him. He was seeing double again, just like inside the bunker, when Otachi had chased him down — recognized him.

His footsteps echoed in his mind, guiding him to the point where it all changed. He had the distinct impression that the closer he got the more clear the Hive felt, and to be feeling that way Newt had convinced himself he must have been close to one of them. Tiny and alive, and frantically calling for him. Scared and lonely, cut off from the source of his self. The only thing it had left was Newt's voice, and even if it was alien and difficult to understand, it was better than the loneliness. Better than the silence.

Then the fantasy shattered, and it was another memory he was seeing. An innocent one: Mako in the lab, smiling confidently up at him.

"Thank you."

It'd been so different, so human, that it'd made Newt blink back to himself and away from the haze.

He had been in the middle of the Bone Slug district when he came through. The skyline marked by the Kaiju's skeleton and red lights dancing from the facades of the buildings, and Newt had an instinct, almost like a six sense, to check inside Hannibal Chau's den for the missing body.

He'd taken the steps to the apothecary two at a time, and even though the door had been bolted with a sign that read ‘out of business’ (Newt would have laughed if the pain in his skull hadn't been so strong to almost make him buckle). He'd broken the window and sneaked inside, but the place had really been deserted; with broken glass, powders and spices scattered all over the floors and counters. The fake shelf that conducted to the secret chamber had been partially open, which was the most telling part. It'd dragged noisily on the floor when Newt pushed it open the rest of the way. The red neon coming from the broken window was the only light source, enlarging his shadow and making the dark feel pressing. The light almost didn't reach further inside and the smell of ammonia and other chemicals was overpowering, coming from the tables where a few hours before he'd seen a live Kaiju parasite.

Newt had searched and searched for what felt like hours, but found nothing. No trace of the Baby, no trail of shiny Blue blood, no secret passage that led to his stolen Pons. Nothing.

Eventually the sensation had faded from his mind, retreating to a buzz at the base of his skull, and so did his certainty.

He'd lost the Pons, the tiny helpless Kaiju he'd drifted with, and Otachi laid as a mangled carcass in the streets.

People were still riding their celebratory high, but Newt felt nothing but a terrible defeat.

When he'd dragged himself back to the Dome late in the night he stopped outside Hermann's room, tired to the bone and disappointed in himself for not being able to see what Hermann had already predicted.

Always a step ahead of everyone. Always right.

And then suddenly the ringing inside his head had picked up in intensity again, and Newt understood something even Hermann hadn't.

The connection was more than just the aftermath of a Handshake.

It was more than just a ghost drift.

It was alive.

It was the Hive itself, and they were the last part of it.

Definitely not humans anymore, regrettably. They were something alien now, and Hermann... Hermann was all he had.

Newt hadn't wanted to feel different from him too, and in that moment he'd just wanted to see Hermann, even for a moment, to quiet the strom that was happening inside his mind.

And Hermann had heard him, and had opened the door.

Every moment after that had been better. Or at least, it had more clarity.

In the present, Newt threw his gaze over his back to look for Hermann and found him lagging behind. Newt reahed back and took hold of Hermann's arm not to lose him in the crowd and lead him through a narrow alleyway, dabbled with iridescent puddles and covered in graffiti.

"Scenic route," Newt smirked.

Hermann wrinkled his nose, but didn't comment.

The alley opened into a parallel street, less busy with foot traffic and lined with quaint restaurants and vendors. Wooden boards with dangling lights were placed in between the narrow street to shield pedestrians from the rain and illuminating the way. Hermann gazed around them in evidente surprise, his eyes shining when they caught the lights.

They didn't have to walk for much longer; pretty soon Newt stopped in front of the familiar place. The old flickery neon sign of a crab holding chopsticks and taking a warm bath inside a bowl of broth greeting them.

"Here we are!" Newt announced turning to his lab partner.

A skeptical look crossed Hermann's face as he took the location in, from the busy tables outside to the shouts coming from the small window showing into the kitchen.

"Charming," Hermann commented drily.

"Hey, leave the attitude at the door," Newt warned him. "This place is a Hong Kong staple and you'll never have steamed fish this good in your life."

"It will most certainly be lyophilized fish."

"Yes, and they make it taste divine. Not like the stuff they serve in the cafeteria."

"I rather think the food inside the Shatterdome isn't terrible," Hermann argued, following Newt inside as he made a beeline for the large menu hanging on the wall by the counter. "You're fortunate you don't have to work for rations, Geiszler."

Newt snorted. "Aren't I just," he muttered a little too bitterly. He still remembered when food started to become scarce and living along the coasts became frightening. Many migrated inland, entire towns left empty and forgotten while in the overcrowded and expanding landlocked cities resources were never enough. Even inside the PPDC some things were still hard to come by, even if they were privileged with aliments like real meat, fruit and coffee more often than not. Newt knew that he's as lucky as he could get given the circumstances. He'd been able to work, to eat, and send money to his uncle back home. But he still resented that framing.

His luck was being the best and least disposable scientist the Corps possessed.

His luck was reduced to how much they needed him for their ends. How useful he was to them. How much they could consume out of him.

More of an asset than a person.

Newt shocked himself out of that dark corner of thoughts and proceeded to enthusiastically list his favorite items off the menu, while giving Hermann suggestions and holding up the line behind them. Hermann started to look mortified when the woman behind the counter went from mild boredom to annoyance. In the end, Hermann ordered the prawn wonton noodles and Newt nudged him approvingly on the side, getting the same for himself.

They picked a table in the far end corner of the restaurant, right by one of the windows which gave Newt a nice view of the street outsider and framed Hermann sitting with his back to it.

The waiter that placed the steaming bowls of ramen in front of them grounded unpleasantly. Newt suspected he didn't particularly like the pair of them, but that didn't faze Newt. Malicious compliance has never stopped him from getting what he wanted once in his life.

"So," Newt restarted their conversation, stirring his food and studying Hermann closely after he took his first bite. "How are you liking the food?"

Hermann stared down at his bowl, pausing imperceptibly as if he had to work to analyze the taste of it.

"It's quite good," he admitted and he sounded almost astonished. "And it's not blue."

A wide smile spread across Newt's lips.

"I'll get you to that other place one day. Or even to the Bone Slug district for some 'authentic Kaiju meat'," he made air quotes and Hermann grimaced. "Don't ask me what's in there because I'm not sure. Though, I know some lab in the States tried to replicate Kaiju meat for consumption and it apparently wasn't that good. It tasted like a rotten chicken and fish combination."

"People really are inventive," Hermann commented sardonically. Newt barked out a laugh.

"I know. I'm so glad I didn't patent my discovery on artificial tissue replication. It's a gift that keeps on giving."

"You must be proud it's being used for such foolish studies and not for anything serious."

"Give it time. A genius like me is only born once every couple of centuries."

"How lucky we are to be in your presence then," Hermann replied, but it lacked the sarcastic edge of his usual insults.

Newt blinked, then snorted quietly.

There was that word again.

Luck.

It seemed inescapable tonight and, in an irrepressible surge of memories, Newt thought of his mother.

One memory in particular pushed forcefully to the forefront of his mind. He must have been thirteen or fourteen, freshly new to being in college and to having a mother at the same time. He might have been naïve, and maybe a little clingy, too awestruck by her presence in his life to notice all the warning signs. His mother had been like a myth to him back then, a vague figure he'd known so little about. His dad never mentioned her. His only accurate information came from Illia, though Newt had the sensation that even his kind and goodhearted uncle had little good to say about Newt's mother.

But when it turned out Newt was a genius, blessed with a unique mind that needed to be nurtured, all the miscomprehensions, scorns and dismissals he'd recived until then suddenly turned into praise. Newt'd always liked receiving attention a little too much, even back then, and when his extraneous mother found out her embarrassing mistake of thirteen years ago had luckly produced a one in a million genetic jackpot, she'd waltzed right back into Newt's life and, god... he'd been so happy.

The memory that tormented him now was nothing special on the surface: his mother leaving Newt at the airport to go back to Boston after summer break. Newt'd spent a few weeks with her as she completed her tour in Europe. The opera career of Monica Schwartz was still at its peak, and his mother's talent had taken Newt's breath away.

She sang like an angel, and from his spot backstage, Newt had seen her energy, how she erupted on stage, giving it her all and basking in the receiving admiration. The measured smile on her face was always indicative of how the night had gone to anyone who knew how to read it, and Newt had learned by then how meticulous she was as an artist. Cunning and demanding, taking in only what made her stronger and discarding the rest.

"Be good in college," she had instructed Newt outside the gates at the airport. Her head held high and imperious and that same calculated smile on her face. "Make me proud."

More of an asset than a person. Even to his own mother.

"Right," Newt gave a weak laugh. He didn't know what to say for a moment, his mind completely blank of topics or funny quips that had kept him entertained all night. He dared to gaze up at Hermann and was surprised to find the mathematician's eyes already on him, fixing him with a curious look as if Newt was a complicated equation he was trying to figure out.

The noise of the restaurant and the rain hitting the windowpane were tuned out as Hermann's now familiar but indecipherable wave of thoughts invested him. It was more geometry than numbers this time and Newt didn't pick up anything from that abstraction, except for a pretty shade of green.

Hermann dropped his eyes first, and the image went away.

"You could work on the artificial tissue again yourself," Hermann suggested. "It could give you something to focus on."

Newt hummed in consideration, but discarded the idea.

"There is no point. It's already outdated by their standards," he didn't have to specify who he meant, he could see from Hermann's glare that he knew exactly who they were. "And I want to focus on the Pacific Ocean now. I've been thinking about it a lot, actually. I think the key is in decomposition. And Reckoner." Hermann frowned and Newt hesitated only a moment. He'd been careful not to talk about their test drive so far; he'd noticed how his lab partner mentioned it less and less the closer they got to it. It almost felt like a bad omen saying the word ‘drift’ at this point. Not that Newt believed such silly things. But the temptation was too big, so he swallowed tickly around the sudden lump in his throat and explained. "The Bone Slug Kaiju. It was a powerhouse. Built like a tank, and resistant like one too. It made landfall in a very uncomfortable place. It destroyed so much of the town they had to put it under siege for years. They never even moved the body, they only tried to detox the Blue, but it was already too late. All that poison had seeped into the ground. They tested the soil in 2022 and then again last year, and the organic compounds aren't breaking up anymore. It's like the Kaiju decomposition has a rapid acceleration and then a deceleration, but it stops dead – ah, dead – after a while, and nobody knows why." A smirk creeped on Newt's face and he looked at Hermann roguishly. He felt his temples pressing as he strained his memory back to the part of it that belonged to the Hive. It was always hard, always bloody, and always tempting to look. "But we know."

Hermann tensed, his eyes darted around them, but no one was sitting close enough to overhear and Newt pushed on before Hermann could stop him.

"The formaldehyde. Post-mortem hydrogen sulfide, carbon dioxide and methane start a fast decomposition of the body, but the formaldehyde stops it. It prevents complete autolysis from occurring so some toxic cells can never dissolve."

Newt had to shut his eyes, leaning his head back. The lights in the restaurant hurting him just as much as the memory of the Project. A majestic plan to wipe out what was left of humanity, at that point probably scattered and decimated, and complete the terraforming process at the same time.

"They thought about that?" Hermann asked quietly, the horrified sentiment traveling back to Newt in a crushing wave, wiping out any fascination he felt.

Newt cracked one eye open.

"Yeah," he answered with some difficulty, a weight sinking in his stomach. It might be gradual, starting out in the ocean where the poison was spreading like a disease, but everything was connected. "Even if they lost, they made sure we wouldn't win either." He searched Hermann's face, seeing an extra line creasing the corner of his mouth, and stumbled to add. "But it could be a while. We've got time. And hey, maybe we might even find a flaw in their system tomorrow."

But Hermann wasn't even listening anymore. His gaze got misty as he looked out of the smaller window to the side, overlooking the alleyway where the rain started falling harder and people were rushing to get cover.

"If you're right," Hermann said somberly. "Then life won't go back to normal, for anyone."

"Since when do you believe me so easily?" Newt asked facetiously, trying to bring the mood to a more hopeful course, just for a little longer. Just for one dinner.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Hermann trailed his eyes back, giving Newt a stern look. "You have a tendency of running in the direction of what appeals to you the most, and we need more evidence to build a solid theory on. However, you haven't been baseless in your assumptions as of late, so I'm inclined to trust your intuition. Until proven wrong."

"Wow, man. I'm touched," he'd meant it sarcastically but it came off more earnest.

A drop of blood hit the wooden surface of the table. Newt hadn't even felt it, and Hermann immediately snapped back into his fully dispassionate attitude.

"Now the question is, can you be proven wrong?"

Newt stared at the blood on the table for a moment longer, strayed. Another drop joined the first one before he collected a few crumbly paper tissues to stuff under his nose.

"I don't know," Newt grunted, muffled by the tight pressure in his nose. If it wasn't the memory from the Hive it'd be the Pacific proving him right. He knew what he'd seen, what he'd felt, but he almost hoped Hermann could really do it: prove Newt, the Hive, and the evidence coming from the ocean all wrong and state that the world was saved, unmistakably, and nothing could take that away from them. "You're the projection guy, not me. Admit it, you're just pissy because I'm a step ahead of you in this."

"We are in the exact same position," Hermann scowled. "For now, yours are just suggestions. You don't know anything for certain."

"You're wasting your time with certainty," Newt rolled his eyes. "I know you love to be sure, but there are things numbers simply can't reach. Some things you just have to feel."

"You're being preposterous."

"And you are being unscientific!" Newt almost cried with frustration. "It's all abstract mathematics with you, but calculating all the variables will drive you insane one day. There will always be that 0,1 percent or 0,001 percent that you just can't see coming. You're trying to measure life - organic, breathing life - and you can't do that! You can try to calculate those patterns and behaviors all you want, but life always finds a way. You don't know if our brains will collapse tomorrow just like you don't know if the Kaiju are still alive out there. All you can do is project the ending you think numbers will lead you to, but you. Don't. Know!"

Hermann fell silent and Newt had to remember that they weren't their lab, safely and claustrophobically stored below ground. There was silence all around them and Newt was forced to take in the occupants of the restaurant, staring at them as the dust settled, before they went back to their own conversations and food, ignoring the scientist with low mutters and shakes of their heads. Newt turned back to Hermann, whose face was red with anger and his eyes were aflame with a resolve that was a little inspiring and more than a little intimidating.

"I will know," Hermann hissed, a drop of blood falling from his nose. "That is the whole point of this. Everything has an end, and despite your love for chaos, the Kaiju had a pattern and they had a code. And I intend to bring it all to a satisfying conclusion."

They split the check after they finished eating, bickering about it for a good five minutes, and then they walked back into the city in dragged and uncomfortable silence. Newt hadn't attempted to say anything more, and Hermann had been stoic and quiet for the rest of the dinner and the journey back.

Once outside Hermann's quarters, Newt turned to him to say goodnight but the mathematician didn't seem willing to listen. He slipped inside his room without a glance back and Newt was left in the hallway as the door shut between them.

Newt stared at it for a long minute, feeling like he had that first night after the closure of the Breach, right here outside of Hermann's room, and his hand migrated to the green striped tie he was still wearing loosely around his neck.

Their drift was in a few short hours, and now Hermann wouldn't even talk to him.

It all depended on how well they could get along and on how profoundly they could connect, and Hermann wouldn't even look him in the eyes.

He thought it wasn't possible to fuck it up so badly.

He hated himself for asking this of Hermann. The man deserved more than being tied to Newt. Hermann's mind was so clean, and perfect, and capable of spanning into calculations that would make anyone crumble with how abstract it was. But Hermann hadn't faltered — he'd hated the idea, but accepted it anyway.

He was looking for something too into the drift, that much was clear, and it was up to Newt to mute the ugly and fretful part of his mind to see it come to completion.

Chapter Text

On the morning of their test drive Hermann was sick to his stomach. 

He threw up his breakfast in the small toilet attached to the changing room (which was thankfully separated from Newton's), but even with the content of his stomach empty, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't be sick again. A lingering nausea accompanied him as he changed out of his regular clothes and slipped into the tight black bodysuit, and followed him all the way into the main experimentation lab.

The room looked crowded with Marshal Hansen, Dr. Gage, Dr. Lightcap, her two assistants, a medic team waiting on stand-by, a small group of J-tecs to take care of the Pons functionality, and the extra power generator and analog recorder making the large space feel much more cramped than it actually was.

They weren't in the Post-drift department this time. The mock-pods Lightcap had ordered from Kodiak Island was too big for the octagonal lab, so they'd been conceded the old training room where pilots used to practice with drift simulations. 

The Pods sat shiny and new on a raised platform at the center of the room. It had barely been used, left to collect dust after the Jaeger Academy was closed. This new system — affectionately called Mighty Moe 2.0 by Lightcap — was the best this technology had to offer.

And Newton and Hermann were the privileged ones to see it coming out of retirement.

Lightcap was working with the J-tecs at the control station, while Hansen and Dr. Gage were talking among themselves further back, framed by the large monitors that now showed nothing but the starting screen with the PPDC logo. No one paid attention to Hermann as he entered, and in the few blissful seconds of anonymity, he hung back by the shadows and observed the Pons from afar.

It was built to resemble the inside of a Jagger's head, but instead of the standing mechanism where pilots moved to control the giant body in tandem, a pair of chairs were lined at the center. Hermann looked down at his leg, feeling somewhat relieved that he wouldn't have to move during the test.

The chairs were simple; made of metal, with helmets hanging over the back and a series of wires, collecting neatly on the floor, ran all the way to the main control panels.

It would be a lie saying they didn't look suspiciously like electric chairs. 

Hermann felt a fresh wave of nausea at the thought. 

Footsteps approaching from behind caught his attention and Geiszler took his place next to Hermann. He was wearing a matching under-suit that hugged his body neck to toes. The black and conductive material was gilded with circuit lines that started along the spine and wrapped around his body in intricate patterns. These suits were made to be attached to the rest of the protective gear, but the scientists weren't facing any Kaiju today and had no need for the complete armor, just the parts necessary to drift. Hermann had been privately glad for that as well. Even if he didn't need to walk far, having the Ranger drivesuit on would have made it harder for him to do so. At least the under-suit wasn't heavy, even if it clung to his skin uncomfortably, compressing his chest and throat tighter and tighter each time he breathed. 

Next to him, Newton crossed his arms over his chest, looking aloofly at everyone preparing the Pons. He smiled up at Hermann when he caught his eyes, one corner of his mouth raising more than the other, but it fell again as he saw the look on Hermann's face, the sweat pooling between his brows, the tremor he could not seem to suppress.

"Hey," Geiszler said in a hush, nudging his ribs with an elbow. The contact sent lightning bolts down Hermann's spine. It felt like there was no barrier between them, as if they were skin against skin. It was possible the black material of the suit was sending sparks of electricity between them. "You okay, dude? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm fine," Hermann muttered, staring straight ahead.

"Are you sure?" Geiszler insisted, looking at him intensely. "Because you can say it if something's bothering you."

Hermann didn't respond. Ever since they started working together, years and years ago, Newton had made these kinds of remarks — almost prompting Hermann to dare the system and speak his mind. Hermann's irritatingly and disturbingly aware that some of the discomfort and anxiety he's trying to push away was not at all hidden when it comes to Newton, who had access to it in ways they couldn't comprehend fully. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to hide his feelings from his lab partner, and it would only be harder in a few minutes. 

Hermann's chest felt even tighter.

Hansen finally spotted them and signaled a the J-tec worker, who took the rest of the gear to meet them.

There was no more time to linger, but Newton moved in front of him, keeping Hermann in the shadows as he tried to take the first step forward.

"Listen, Hermann," Newton placed an innocent hand on Hermann's arm but the electric shock was perceivable enough to make them both flinch and pull back. "Shit!" Newton hissed, shaking his hand and closing it into a fist. "Just. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"What?" Hermann hissed, baffled. "What are you talking about? We have to go right now." he eyed the team and saw Hansen frowning. "Are you having second guesses?"

"No! No, I want to do this so fucking baldly. But dude, I..." Newton bit down into his lower lip, passing a hand through his messy hair and pulling it in every direction. "I don't want it to be like last time, and if this doesn't work—"

"It won't be like last time," Hermann interrupted him harshly. "I wouldn't have accepted otherwise."

"Right," Newton laughed bitterly. "Because this is all about science to you."

"It's about answers. I thought you'd be happy."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Hermann recoiled and Newton winced.

Vanessa's question resounded loudly in his mind he was sure even Geiszler could hear it. 

Are you happy?

The J-tecs were on them in the next moment. Hermann caught their perplexed expression, but he avoided their eyes as they were led to the platform.

They took their places in silence, sitting side by side facing forward. Dr. Gage appeared at Hermann's right, nodding to him and watching as a tecs fixed the wires behind Hermann's neck. The relay helmet was lowered onto his head; it was different from the one Newton had constructed. The metal was smooth and hugged the top and back of his head, leaving only the space that should have had the visor open. It didn't clasp around his neck like a collar, for which Hermann felt relieved. He struggled to breathe as it was.

Next came the spinal cord, clasped tightly along his suit. Needles pierced through the fabrics and Hermann could almost feel them touch his spine, holding him in place. He imagined them reaching the nerves inside his vertebras and he grimaced at the sensation, clenching to the armrests on each side of his chair. He was beginning to feel sick again. A vision flashed behind his eyes of being flat on his back on an operating table with doctors digging through his flesh as he felt nothing, just the vague sensation of pressure ending where his body went numb, and the horrid, wet sounds and stench of blood he wished he could block out.

The plans for today had been stipulated days ago. Neuronal handshake: five minutes inside the drift, enough to get an essential reading, look for any sign of mind corruption, and calculate their compatibility score. Everything happening now had been in the briefing, and Hermann had memorized each passage, familiarizing himself with every protocols and safety measures. But it was one thing to know what was supposed to happen next by a few lines of text, and another thing entirely to be staring down at the control station with the metal crown coldly resting on top of his head and Newton shifting and twitching in the chair next to him.

"Don't worry, doctors," Lightcap said. She was working at one of the consoles, the reflecting light of the holo-screen hit the lens of her glasses obscuring her eyes. “First tests are always a gamble, but today will go splendidly. With your projection from the mustering-out, it would be hard not to. Speaking of, once we get to those tests again we should definitely try a memory you have in common to see if we can make you interact more."

At her words, Gage stiffened. He was working on Newton's neckpiece and Hermann saw him give Lightcap an angry look.

"They're not supposed to interact inside the mustering-out," Gage reprimanded her before bowing his head and finishing his work. "That isn't a drift, it's the opposite."

"That's why we have to see if it happens again," Lightcap respond tightly before smiling at the scientists, resting her folded hands on the console. "Do you have any suggestions? Any particular memory that is important to you both? How about the first time you meet?"

Hermann's head shot up.

"No!" they blurted out together.

Hermann cranked his neck to look at Newton and found the biologist doing the same. Their eyes locked but they both looked away immediately.

"Alright," Lightcap said slowly. "I'm not here to force any bad memories to the surface. Not yet, at least."

That earned her another cold stare from Gage while Hermann's palms started to sweat.

He was so close to being sick again.

Hansen intervened this time. His good arm was holding the one in the cast close to his chest. 

"Let's concentrate on the present, please. I don't want anything to go wrong today."

"It won't," Lightcap said, determination hardening her features. "I assure you."

"All connections completed," one of the J-tec informed them, moving off the platform. "Handshake ready on standby."

"Very well," Lightcap gave a crisp nod, and everyone moved to their positions. "Let's begin."

"Don't think too much about it," Gage murmured quietly just for Hermann and Newton's ears. "Don't latch onto any memories. Let 'em flow. Clear your mind." He shot them a meaningful look that Hermann wasn't sure he was interpreting right. "Good luck."

He caught Newton's defiant stare directed at Gage before he left their side and joined the control team, leaving them alone.

All eyes were on them now. Hermann felt a fresh wash of dread overtake him.

He wasn't ready.

Lightcap started counting.

"Neuronal handshake in 10… 9… 8…"

Hermann sneaked a look sideways, finding Newton's eyes once more. The green of his iris shined in the bright light of the room.

The red ring of blood was finally starting to heal.

"7… 6…"

Newton's brows knitted, and Hermann's fear tied knots inside his stomach.

"5… 4…"

He was out of his element. He hasn't been able to see ahead ever since the Clock stopped, and every minute after that he'd gaped in the dark.

There was no more time to think, to stop this even if he wanted to.

"3… 2…"

There was no turning back. Nowhere to hide.

"1."

Hermann was bracing himself for the shock at the base of his neck, but on a new and regulated model the sensation felt entirely different — like lightning passing through him. His grip on the chair, the weight of the helmet, the voices in the room, they all disappeared at once in the booming seism that pulled him inward.

Inside the drift it was a storm of blue.

His and Newton's memories came all at once, from everywhere. Hermann recognized his first day at Cambridge, where he met Vanessa; the day of his graduation, his father and mother sitting in the front rows. He saw himself as a boy, hiding in the janitor's closet from the classmates who bullied him. He wasn't supposed to stay stuck, he reminded himself. Newton's memories were just as fast and demanding, but he urged on, barely absorbing them.

He was slowly coming to a stop, and when he opened his eyes, he felt like he was floating. 

The space adjusted and came into focus, taking the shape of his lab. But it wasn't really his lab. There was an ethereal quality to it, as if the blackboard and operating table with the Kaiju entrails were holograms and not really there. Soft light came from everywhere and dust danced in front of it. Or maybe it was chalk particles. Even his hands were impregnated with it — a layer of white powder that made them look ghostly white. He rubbed his fingers together to see it dissipate in the air, but not quite leave. 

Hermann heard a soft laugh from behind him. He turned, and on the other side of the lab there was Newton, immersed in the same soft glow. He seemed to be having a similar problem as him, but his hands were stained blue. He couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"Come on," Newton muttered, wiping his hands harder on his shirt. They left smudges on the white material but they turned clear and dried fast like water strains, disappearing completely. Everywhere but on his hands.

"It's not coming off for me either," Hermann said, raising his hand and rubbing his fingers demonstratively, making the chalk dust dance.

Newton laughed again and it echoed profoundly.

"At least yours isn't poisonous."

A disturbing memory played behind Hermann's eyes. A red strained corpse, his gloved hands trembling, the claws marks on the concrete as he dug and dug—

Hermann's eyes snapped open and he was in the experimentation room again, sitting next to Newton, whose eyes were fluttering open as well. His vision doubled, overlapping as if he was both here and in the lab at the same time.

"Values dropping," someone in the room said, Hermann couldn't identify who it was. "Left and right sides are calibrated, but they're oscillating between consciousness and first Subconscious Railing.”

"Cognitive parameters reading clearly, fluctuations within the boundaries of the curve."

"Nerve connection status green."

"Hypertension in the right hemisphere, compensating."

"Synchronization is still fluctuating. 85.3 percent and rising."

"Doctors, how are you feeling?" Lightcap's voice came next, booming inside Hermann's helmet. "Can you hear me?"

Hermann blinked in the chaos and Newton's thoughts collided with his.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God –

The drift space is the inside of our lab –

Makes sense, it's a place we're both familiar with and share –

We're sharing it inside our minds! –

That's so cool –

Hermann! Can you hear me? HERMANN –

"Shut up!"

Everyone in the room fell quiet and turned to him. Hermann felt himself regress.

In the next blink, he was firmly back inside his lab-space and Newton was looking at him wide eyed.

"You're being very loud," Hermann murmured, massaging his temple and leaving a trail of chalk behind.

"Sorry," Newton whispered with a small smile. It did nothing in this space, his voice echoing in the hollow corners of the room. It was disorienting, but Newton was still grinning, and the image overlapped with others — a series of instants Hermann couldn't place nor date where Geiszler was giving him that exact same smile, fond and easy. Those recollections made Hermann feel calmer, somehow. The pain in his mind receding and Newton's presence in it feeling less taxing.

"So, this is our headspace?" Hermann asked, looking around again. His eyes landed on his blackboard. The numbers were changing, morphing into others as the equation flowed.

"I think so," Newton beamed. "Do you like it?"

"It's just like our lab. What is there not to like?"

"Yeah, but we recreated this in our minds, Hermann. That's pretty impressive! Though, if you asked me, we could have gone bolder on the design."

Hermann opened his eyes again in the experimentation room to everyone looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry," Hermann said. For the way I shouted, he meant. Newton got it, if the way his thoughts weren't unruly convoluted anymore, but more of a calmer string, said anything. "We're alright."

"I can see that," Lightcap said, reading through the data pouring in. "It takes a little to adjust to the sensation of sharing a live connection. You're bound to get a little overwhelmed the first time on a more responsive model."

"One minute already passed," Gage intervened.  "We have a limit of five."

Lightcap huffed, her fingers clumsily shaking on the keyboard.

"I'm aware of that, Martin, but they did well on the Handshake. Parameters?"

"Oscillation is at 3.1 percent," one of Lightcap's technicians, a young woman with short black hair, reported. "Synchronization is at 88.4 percent and still rising."

"Left and right hemispheres are well calibrated," another, a young man with thick glasses, said. "Another small fall back into the first SR, less than five seconds. No signs of anomalies or corruption detected."

"See?" Lightcap indicated. "As long as they stay inside the safe zone we'll be alright. Let's begin the real work."

The techs and Lightcap started collecting readings, commenting among themselves more than with Hermann and Newton. They interpellated them a few times, asking for specific sensations or if they could move their right arm. Hermann raised his hand and was surprised to see Newton mimic the action in perfect synch. He closed his fingers together into a fist and Newton did the same. The tingling sensation Hermann had sometimes felt in his palm was so acute now.

"Synchronization raised of another two points. You're doing very well, doctors. You're now over the 90 percent threshold that would allow you to actually pilot a Jaeger."

Hansen hummed in approval and smiled a looped and relaxed smile behind Lightcap. Even Gage looked to be breathing a sigh of relief.

It works, came as a wonderful and relieved wave from Newton's mind.

His thoughts flew like kites; images and ideas shooting fast into bright and chaotic trajectories that filled Hermann with warmth. It felt like being in contact with a small sun, radiating its own energy and burning bright and alive.

It works, Hermann echoed and he saw Geiszler grin from the corner of his eye. Newton's unabashed mind started to form louder thoughts. It felt almost like music. An orchestra of sounds all banging together differently but forming their own hectic armory.

Newton's next thought was aimed directly at Hermann, easier for his analytical and compartmental mind to distinguish.

What do ya say, Hermann? Should we impress them?

Hermann hoped Newton either felt or saw him rolling his eyes. But in the next moment he felt Geiszler pull back from him unexpectedly. His mind retreating and the warmth dissipated so fast a cold shiver ran down Hermann's spine, where he acutely felt the spinal cord digging into his skin. 

There was a shift, and everyone in the room who was staring at a monitor jumped to attention.

"What's going on?" Hansen asked urgently as a beeping signal went off.

"Down on level one of Subconscious Railing again, sir."

"Left hemisphere shifting out of the axis."

"Anomaly detected. Blood pressure raising, support system compensating."

Newton? Hermann called inside his mind in confusion. Newton didn't respond, his thoughts were too far away, like he was mumbling from another room.

"Brain patterns morphing into level two of SR."

"Shit—"

"Get them out right now—"

"No, wait. Gottlieb, do you copy?" Lightcap's voice came louder through the com inside his helmet. "We're losing the reading on Geiszler. He's sinking too deep into his subconscious, if he falls any deeper or chases the Rabbit we won't be able to pull him out unless we interrupt. Don't follow after him. Whatever you do, do not follow him—"

Hermann felt a tingly sensation, a distinct tug at the back of his mind. When he turned his head in Newton's direction, he was once again in their recreated lab and Newton was holding onto his sleeve, a finger over his mouth indicating for him to stay quiet.

"Follow me," he whispered.

Hermann blinked and looked around the lab. Voices reverberated in the distance, shouting from the ceiling but getting lost between the layers of metal and concrete. Hermann felt half-awake now, sleepwalking into his own mind. There was more chalk dust than before — his hands looked completely white and incorporeal, while Geiszler's were strained blue to the elbows, dripping copiously onto the floor.

Newton led him over the yellow dividing line, which frizzed and branched like a tree drawn on the pavement, and to a secluded corner of the lab.

"What do you see?" Geiszler asked, stopping in front of a non-descriptive wall, worn down by humidity but anonymous. They were close to the fridges filled with Kaiju entrails, which glowed bright yellow and casted deep shadows on Newton's face.

"It's just a wall," Hermann responded, annoyed at the nonsensical question.

"Uh-huh," Newton nodded seriously, one hand under his chin as if he was studying a complex problem. The blue left a trail on his skin. "Just a regular wall, right? Nothing special about it. But have you tried looking at it from the side?"

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"No, do it! Trust me."

Hermann sighed but obliged the ridiculous request.

He moved past Newton, who urged him forward, and looked at the wall from a closer point.

Something changed before his eyes. There was a crack, a zigzagging line running up the wall, only visible when standing at the right angle. It looked as if the lab had been under a violent earthquake and the room had split in two.

Hermann followed the crack upward with his eyes. The opening thinned when it reached the ceiling, and the effect didn't seem to propagate in any other directions. He couldn't see anything inside. The rift, barely big enough for him to pass his hand through if he flattened it against the wall, was completely dark; only a tepid draft came through, and the distinct smell of the ocean.

Hermann stepped back, shuddering.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"I don't know yet. I just found it," Newton smiled. "It emits a tiny buzz, do you hear it?"

"Compromising factors detected. Mapping has started, but—" one the voices from above said before going quieter and disappearing almost entirely. The lab felt colder now.

"I think it's something to do with the Hivemind," Newton whispered, putting his face close to the slitter and closing one eye to look inside. "But how do we get in there?"

A protest died on Hermann's throat as Newton raised his hand and touched the crack.

Blinding light invested them like an explosion.

The share force of it threw Hermann off his feet and he landed hard on the ground. He screamed as shattering pain erupted on his side. It was as if a blade had sliced through him, gutting him like a fish. The wall of Kaiju specimens shrieked and twisted, boiling inside their tanks. 

Hermann gritted his teeth, tasting blood and dirt. He heard sirens go off from above and he pressed his forehead to the ground covering his ears to block the noise. 

He forced himself to turn and look for Newton, but couldn't see where he'd landed. As the dust settled, the air in the lab took the consistency of a fog, filtering all the light and making Hermann gasp in a thick, red darkness.

The sirens stopped at once, and Hermann stood, unsteadily. The ground beneath his feet felt hard and crumbly, coming apart in big shards under his feet. He stretched his arm in front of him, looking for the wall — they'd been so close to it a moment ago — and almost winced as the air around his fingers felt denser. The sensation closed around his fingers until Hermann had the impression he was being held. He started to think how absurd it was, the idea that air could be sentient, when the smell of it hit him and he coughed violently.

The vapors were foul, pressing warmly to his lungs and choking him. Sparks flicked all around as if the air itself was igniting and catching on fire.

Hermann covered his mouth, unsuccessfully blocking the stench, and gazed up with difficulty. There was nothing around him, just large shadows in the distance looking like a mountain range and open air made of suffocating gasses.

"Newton?" Hermann coughed helplessly, legs almost giving out underneath him. "Newton!"

Nothing. He couldn't even feel him.

The realization sent a wave of panic deep inside of him and he frantically looked around again.

Then, as he strained his eyes to see through the fog, a shadow moved.

The outline of a mountain raised above the clouds of smoke. A horned head opened its jaws to the sky and emitted a desperate, high-pitched cry that reached him slowly.

Hermann's jaw went slack and he stood rigid with terror.

Sparks burned, carrying the smell of putrefaction. Hydrogen sulfide, his mind provided automatically. He coughed again, lungs seizing. He would be dead if he breathed this air any longer.

The Kaiju closed its jaws and turned its head. Its eyes were lucid like mirrors but they settled right on Hermann as if it didn't need them to spot him. 

Hermann recoiled. His whole body reacted on instinct as he turned, bursting into a desperate run.

His leg burned like fire but adrenaline flooded his veins and pushed him past the pain. His vision blurred the edges of his surroundings, panic and fear warping his perception. The ground turned rocky and uneven but he tried not to slow down. It was a pathetic attempt if the Kaiju was chasing him, but still he pushed on, running like his life depended on it.

His foot caught on something sharp, tripping him, and he had no way of breaking his fall.

He rolled down a slope. Hard rock turned into dirt and wet grass, but Hermann didn't interrogate the change. When he slowed down, he picked himself up, trembling and in more pain than he'd ever been in his life, and he tried to move again. He saw blood flow down his leg. It dirtied the grass in black splotches. The sight made him light-headed. Heavy clouds had gathered in the sky and the first drops of rain weighed him down as his clothes got wet and his leg dragged helplessly behind him.

The house at the bottom of the small hill was exactly how he remembered it from the last time he was here, five years ago. It might as well have been ten, twenty, or more. The house wouldn't change. It never did. 

It should have stayed buried in the recesses of his mind, but it kept resurfacing with vengeance.

Hermann turned to face the way he came from. The fence was there as well, taller than it should be. The wind made the forest move in a waving motion. It looked like it was breathing; far more sinister than Hermann ever remembered it looking, not even during that harrowing day. 

The memory threatened to overwhelm him, awakening a flow of old agony and guilt. It'd been almost dark by the time he made it to the back porch of his house, trembling uncontrollably as his feet touched on solid pavement and he tried to force his leg to stand straight, almost losing consciousness over of the pain. He'd just needed to make it to his bedroom downstairs, where his cane and his medicine were. Where he could close the door and pretend to be asleep or unwell, and be forgotten by everyone else for a while.

He'd been almost lucky enough to make it.

But then again, luck didn't exist.

Hermann reached the porch and held into a wooden column, leaving a bloody handprint behind.

He didn't dare to look back again. He feared the Kaiju might be there, watching him. He could feel it move tepidly; a presence inside the forest, in the knots of the trucks, consuming all the light around it like a blackhole.

But he didn't dare to open the door either.

The certainty of what was on the other side froze him.

His parents would know he'd tried to climb over the fence. They would know he disobeyed, that he infringed one of the only limitations to his carefully selected corner of freedom. They would blame him, reprimand him, and after that would come more doctors, hospitals, days and weeks stuck in a lonely bed.

His small hand twitched, strained in blue blood, as he reached for the immaculate door handle.

There was something wrong about the whole scene, and somehow only the sight of the blue blood snapped Hermann out of it and made him pause.

He looked at his hands and then back into the field, immersed in the downpour.

"It wasn't raining that day," he said out loud. "I wasn't bleeding. This isn't real."

This time, Hermann's hand felt more secure on the handle — more adult. He resolutely opened the door, leaving the field behind.

He should be surprised not to step into his house, but the sight of a different place, even if unfamiliar, was a relief.

Hermann had stumbled into a living room, cramped and messy. There were toys and books everywhere and, in the middle of the chaos, set a toddler.

He could be no more than two or three years old, with dark brown hair and a happy smile on his face. He was humming a tune to himself while he turned the pages of a book laid on the ground in front of him, absolutely content and engrossed. He hadn't even noticed Hermann standing here.

"He's the smartest baby ever, you'll see." A voice came from the hallway, speaking in German with a Berliner accent. "I don't know how he took so fast to reading but I swear he's phenomenal. He's going to read my whole library by the time he's four."

Two people, a man and a woman, rounded the corner and came into the living room. The man looked so much like Newton that Hermann had to take an involuntary step back. His face was rounder and clean shaved and his hair was darker and parted to the side, but the cut of his eyes, the shape of his nose and his easy, looped smile were all too familiar.

Hermann looked back down at the baby and it all clicked together.

He'd ventured into one of Newton's memories.

Hermann recounted promptly all he knew about following the Rabbit, and soon realized how critical of a position he was in. Newton right now was most likely unable to recall he was inside the drift, and Hermann could only witness the event. He couldn't talk to him, or touch him, or do anything to interrupt this memory.

The woman next to Newton's father didn't resemble Newton at all. Her straight, light blonde hair was pulled neatly out of her stern and sharp face, and she looked around the messy room with a mixture of sorrow and disdain.

"Newton," the man called the child softly, making Hermann jump unexpectedly. "I'd like to introduce you to someone. Her name is Lydia, and she's very happy to meet you. Can you say good morning to her?"

"Good morning," Newton repeated with wide eyes and a big smile.

The woman – Lydia – didn't smile. She looked down at the toddler as if he personally pained her.

"I can't do this," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I said I'd take you back, but I can't raise the child of your mistress."

The woman turned and left quickly. Newton's father rushed after her, calling her name, leaving Newton and Hermann alone. 

Hermann breathed in sharply through his teeth and followed after them, driven by an emotional reaction he could only classify as indignant rage. 

He was already in the hallways, trying to demand an explanation, when his mind caught up with his body and he realized those people couldn't see him, just like Newton couldn't. They were just fragments of Newton's mind.

His outrage felt suddenly alien to him.

He tried to turn back, but there was nothing but darkness behind him. The corridor he found himself in was long and narrow like a tunnel, poorly lit like the halls in the Shatterdome. Doors were on either side, and Hermann could hear bits of distorted and fragmented conversations coming from inside each one.

He walked forward, leaning on the wall without his cane. The surface felt humid and slippery under his palm, paint flaking off as if due to water damage.

Hermann could make out some sentences as he approached the semi-open doors. They superimposed each other, getting louder, and then flickering off like subdued whispers.

He approached a door, opening it wider. It was too dark to see anything. It seemed as if there were too many people inside, quietly bundling in fear in the cramped space. The only noise was that of water dripping and of their collective hushed breaths — and then above it all, came the sound of Newton's laughter. The noise was muffled and... metallic, as if coming from inside a crackling recorder.

"She's looking for me," Newton shouted. "She's actually looking for me!"

Hermann craned his neck to find him but he couldn't see anything in the darkness.

He had the impression the walls inside the room expanded and contracted, as if they were the inside of a breathing creature. A chill ran down Hermann's body and he stepped back and shut the door, muscles stiff and heart hammering in his ears.

He moved on, absorbing the voices around him without attempting to look inside again.

The faraway laughter of children, the sound of porcelain breaking, the systematic announcement at an airport, someone fighting.

"He's just a kid!" Hermann heard; he recognized the voice of Newton's father again. "You would have him uprooted and moved to the other side of the world? Alone?"

"He wouldn't be alone," someone else replied, he sounded pleading but his voice was dripping with frustration. "I already told you, I'd go with him."

"You're not his father!"

"I might as well be! I take care of him, I gave him a place to live, and I'm always there for him! If it weren't for me he'd probably be in an orphanage right now—"

Hermann's mouth dropped open without making a sound. He moved on faster.

"Don't you dare say that," Newton's father hissed harshly, his voice cracking. "It's not true. You know I tried my best. I wanted to give him a family, I wanted to..." was the last thing Hermann caught.

His head spun as he persevered through the next wave of indistinguishable sounds. And in the confusion, Hermann finally made out something different.

Newton's thoughts.

Even if distorted and tremulous, feeling them was a wash of pure relief.

It was coming from further down the corridor, where the hall got darker and the walls more scaled. Hermann made his way faster, driven by a sense of urgency amplified by what he perceived coming from Newton's mind.

He was feeling trapped, his thoughts flushed in black and yellow, suffocating the natural brightness of his mind.

Hermann hesitated in front of one of the last doors, where he was certain Newton was, and where a booming, commanding voice echoed all the way outside.

He braced himself and pushed the door. 

The room opened to a narrow entryway with a tall ceiling. Hermann followed the path to a large auditorium, converted to an operating room. The wooden grandstands were packed with faceless people, staying in the shadows and not making a sound. At the floor of the room level there was a group of doctors in scrubs, gathered in a closed circle under a beaming light. The person speaking was out of Hermann's sight, but the curt and inflexible tone he used to deliver medical notions set wrong with him.

Hermann inched closer to the group, trying to understand what they were gathering around. 

He blanched when he laid eyes on the dead body on the silver table.

"And after a precise incision to the sternum," said the old doctor standing on one end of the table. He held a marker and drew a straight, dotted line on the body's chest. "We can pry open the ribcage with our instrument," he raised a forceps above his head for everyone to see. "Breaking the bones to allow for a clear view of the organs. Come on boy, make the cut deep to penetrate the muscles."

Hermann followed the doctor's gaze and a new sickening wave of terror welled up in his stomach.

He identified Newton immediately this time: he was the boy leaning the closest over the dead body. He couldn't be older than thirteen, and he looked very small compared to the adults surrounding him. He wore a surgical cap that covered his hair, with a few brown strands sticking out, and a mask that hid his mouth and nose. He was swimming in his too big medical scrubs. Only his eyes, behind his black framed glasses, were visible and they were rapidly filling with tears. He looked terrified.

"I said make the incision," the doctor commanded impatiently. "Show us what you're capable of."

Newton flinched and the hand holding the scalper had a tremor.

The full scope of Newton's thoughts invested Hermann.

I can do this. I've done this so many times before. But on animals. This is different. It feels very different. But I'm a wunderkind. I can do this, I have to do this.

Newton's hand was shaking too hard to hold the scalpel steady now.

The other doctors were looking down on him, ready to judge his next move.

Hermann pushed his way inside the group, struggling to reach Newton's side. He had to do something. Even if Newton couldn't hear it, he had to try.

I can't focus, I don't remember anything. I've never seen a death body like this before.

I feel like a child.

I am a child.

I shouldn't be here.

No child should be here.

Newton's thoughts got further and further away, overpowered by a growing ringing noise. The doctors' faces turned ashen, morphing into others. Hermann recognized Newton's father, looking down on his son with disdain and odium. He recognized Lydia, and Newton's uncle, whom Hermann had seen in pictures, always smiling with his nephew by his side. Now they all stared down at Newton with contempt. The old, imposing doctor had changed too, into a woman Hermann didn't recognize, but felt familiar. She had an angular face, with her chin held high, chopper hair in perfect curls, and green eyes that were staring at Newton in mockery.

This wasn't real, Hermann realized with a start. It was a distortion. A nightmare Newton's mind had built, just like Hermann's own tarnished memory of the fence. The difference was that Newton seemed too far gone in his own terrorizing panic to spot the wrongness.

He finally pushed his way to Newton's side and found him gazing up at the faces of his relatives, people who should love him, and he looked immensely small under their stares. But there was anger growing inside of him, too. A righteous fury that burned like a furnace, something Hermann had seen many times before and knew couldn't be extinguished. It scared Hermann now. He could see it overpowering Newton, directed into self-destruction, like a prophecy that was about to be fulfilled.

"Newton," Hermann whispered hurriedly, instinctively keeping his voice low, but desperately needing to get Geiszler out of this memory. "This isn't real, you must wake up."

Newton didn't look at him — didn't give any indication he heard.

The ringing grew louder and the light above them grew brighter, swallowing the auditorium. Hermann tried to get a hold of his own growing panic.

"Newton, you need to snap out of this."

"What's the matter?" said the woman that used to be the old doctor derisively. Her cruel smile rising ever so slightly in a controlled smirk. She looked like she knew exactly what words to use to send it all crumbling down. Newton's hands trembled uncontrollably as he stared up at her with eyes blown wide. "Oh, you poor thing. We all had so much faith in you. Are you really going to let us down like this?"

The face of the woman turned white like stone as she spoke, the blinding light burning her out of the memory.

"Newton, please—"

"Is this what you want?!" Newton screamed at no one, the pain in his voice sunken by rage.

"Newton—"

"You want to see me fail?!" he tore his mask from the bands revealing his spiteful grin and tears streaking his cheeks. "I'll give you exactly what you want!"

He raised the scalper with both hands and pointed it at his own throat.

"Newton!"

H had no way of getting Newton out, but logic was lost to him in that moment.

He bolted, reaching for Newton's hands—

Hermann's fingers closed around the blade, stopping it right before it collided. It cut through his skin but he didn't move a muscle.

When his action found resistance, Newton opened his eyes and blinked.

The ringing disappeared and a petrifying quietness fell on everything. All Hermann could hear were the ragged, unsynchronized rhythm of his and Newton's breaths, until their eyes locked and Newton gasped, letting go of the knife as if it'd burned him and stumbling back.

The scalpel stayed rigidly midair where Hermann's dead grip didn't relent. He emitted a shuddering sigh and loosened his fingers, lowering the bloody object gently into the metal tray with the other immaculate tools.

He felt slow in his movements, and when he looked back at Newton, his wild and horrified eyes boring into his, Hermann wasn't sure what appeared on his face.

"It's alright," he said as firmly as he could. It felt like the right thing to say, now that Newton could hear him — see him. The rational and domineering part of his mind that pushed for understanding screamed at the impossibility of this event, but in this moment it felt less urgent to him than just making sure Newton was alright. "We're inside the drift, and—" he raised his hand, realizing too late it was dripping blood. Newton recoiled, aghast, and in a wide turn of his lab coat, he ran out of the operating room throwing the doors open and rushing out. "Newton, wait!"

Hermann felt faint. He called after Newton once more, but the feeling sharpened in his mind and he suddenly felt like he was being turned inside out. 

His eyes snapped open to the wasteland, to the slitter in the wall, to the lab made of soft particles caught in the light. 

One last sensation of his lungs being vacuum-sealed and then expanded rapidly, and he opened his eyes to the experimentation lab.

He inhaled deeply, coughing as if he's just emerged from deep underwater. The lights were flickering yellow and the faces of everyone took a long time to come into focus.

Newton's mind was still there — screaming like an alarm. Hermann turned his head to see the biologist's ghost-white face, his breath coming in shallow gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly; half here and half still in the drift, still caught in the grip of that terrible memory.

Hermann's body gave an uncontrollable tremble, his muscles quaking with force. Gage and Hansen were in front of him, Lightcap kneeling over Newton, and Hermann wanted to scream at her to leave him alone, to give him space. He had to stop all of this before it was too late — before they asked Newton anything and he was forced to relieve it.

He could only think of one thing powerful enough to get everyone's attention.

"The Alterverse is burning."

Chapter Text

"Tell me again."

Hermann looked up. His eyes were burning, his head pulsed and he was cold. The medics had draped a stiff blanket over his shoulders as if he was a victim of a car crash but it did nothing to combat the spasmic shivers that overtook his body intermittently.

Newton was walking in a circle in front of him. Hermann could almost hear the turmoil inside the biologist's mind: a concert of noises, irritably loud and disturbingly hectic. Hermann tried to block it out in vain.

"I told you already," Hermann grunted, tired and aching, as if Newton's darned pacing was draining energy out of him too.

"I don't care. Tell me again," Geiszler insisted. His nose still had traces of blood from when they unhooked them from the Pons. The tan overalls the medics gave them to wear over their drive suits slipped off Newton's shoulder where he hadn't buttoned it all the way up. He visibly shivered from time to time but he either purposefully ignored it or failed to notice. The combination made him look sick, almost manic. "From the top. I touched the fissure, there was a light, and then what did you see?"

Hermann glared up at Newton. He recounted what he'd seen five times already: to Dr. Lightcap, who took down every detail of the changing in the Rabbit, to Marshal Hansen, who seemed more focused on the description of the Alterverse, and to Dr. Gage, who had asked the most uncomfortable questions about Hermann's personal memories. Newton heard all versions and had still asked for two more retellings while the medics did their check-ups on them.

Hermann's eyes traveled across the room past the Pons on the raised platform, to where Lightcap was working on the computer running on the noisy generator. The power was still out, and the yellow glow of the emergency lights bathed the large training room in an eerie glow. Hansen was hovering behind Lightcap's chair, his arms folded and his expression stormy. They were having what looked like an intense discussion but their voices didn't carry to where the scientists were. 

Newton stepped in front of Hermann, blocking his view and looking down at him expectantly.

Hermann sighed.

"You touched the fissure," he began just as he had before, matter-of-factly but unable to keep the grievance out of his tone. "I fell on the ground and I felt a sharp pain on my side. When I looked up, I wasn't in the lab anymore. The air smelled foul, and there were sparks everywhere, as if the air was on fire. I could hardly breathe. I tried to escape and I fell down a slope. That's when I saw my childhood home."

He stopped here, knowing Newton did not need the rest. The biologist didn't speak for a moment, biting at his fingernails as the blood smeared. He must have finally noticed it because he grimaced and drew his hand away, cleaning his face on the edge of his sleeve. Hermann could tell there was a swarm of questions biting down at the tip of Newton's tongue as he hastily sorted through his theories.

"Did you see a Kaiju?" Was the first one making its way out. "Was there any trace of them?"

Hermann's throat tightened. The figure in the red smoke came to his mind again as he tried to clear the fog that clouded his thoughts. Hermann hadn't mentioned that part to Newton - he hadn't mentioned it to any of them. He suspected it wasn't real, but solely a fragment of his imagination out to haunt him, amplified by the drift. Just like the memory of the fence or, going further back, the vision of the Kaiju at the harbor inside the mustering-out. 

There was precedent. Memories could be modified, it appeared, and that was cause enough to doubt everything. There was a layer of alteration to what he and Newton both saw, and ultimately Hermann couldn't even come to conceptualize what that shadow was.

It escaped his recollection, its image hid in the depths of his perception where he could not see it clearly, but even its vague sensation was enough to awaken a sickening and primitive terror inside of him that Hermann couldn't rationally dismiss. All he was left with was the feeling of being nothing more than a prey animal, running for his life in the vast plain as the beast chased him down, closer, closer, closer—

"No," Hermann heard himself saying, curt and dismissive. He held his breath until the shadow passed and he could think factually again. "There was nothing.”

Newton sighed, sagging his shoulders. Hermann couldn't say if it was frustration or relief, but it sounded like a bit of both.

"Good. That's good," the biologist murmured, collapsing into the chair next to Hermann. "Just the Alterverse then. Just… how is that fucking possible? How did you see it? Shouldn't you have been inside their minds? Looking through their eyes?"

Hermann said nothing. He massaged his hand absently. His fingers still ached from the cut that was not there. He curled them on the handle of his cane.  

"Maybe you saw the last memories of one of them before it died," Newton went on speculating, his foot began bouncing on the pavement. "That's what I saw with Knifehead. I wonder who it was. What it looked like."

"It was me," Hermann reminded him. "I was looking out from my own body. I know that because I ran away." And it hurt. He tightened his grip on his cane. "For now the facts are what I presented to you. If what I saw is to be trusted, which it might not be, then the Alterverse was empty and burning. What I can base this on is my own perception of the events. Although my personal memories were altered in my own replaying of them, they were built on something real. I couldn't tell at first, I was too immersed, but once I noticed the strangeness I was able to break out."

He thought about his childhood home again, how the crisp details of the wooden porch stood out against the vague recollection of the blue blood, fastly waning from his mind. That could be an indicative factor.

"The memory of my house and the Alterverse were connected," Hermann continued. "They were twisted, but there was a foundation of truth to them. It's as if the changes latch onto an existing memory instead of constructing one from scratch. Maybe that's how we believed it in the first place. It could help us recognize why and how it happened." 

Hermann turned to Geiszler, but still the biologist stubbornly looked at the floor; his nose had started bleeding once more.

"Newton," this conversation felt like pulling teeth, so Hermann forced himself to be direct, keeping his voice as even and neutral as he could. "Were your memories altered, too?"

Newton let out a shaky laugh. "Altered. Yeah, that's one way of putting it," he uttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "But you're right. It wasn't all changed."

"Then what was?"

"Don't ask me that," Newton said through his teeth. "You weren't supposed to see any of it."

You weren't supposed to touch the fissure, Hermann wanted to scream, but he still hadn't fully comprehended that part of the drift, and he wondered if he ever would.

"I don't want to ask, but we need to get to the bottom of this."

"That's not part of it," Newton shrieked and he sounded almost desperate. "That was just — my own damn mind conjuring things from when I was younger that it had no business bringing up. It won't happen again."

"Geiszler—"

"Just leave it!" Newton exploded. The people on the other side of the room finally stopped their own argument to pay attention to them, but it was too late for Newton to get hold of his volume. Gage and the Marshal were quiet now, but Lightcap still looked at her screen with the impatience of someone who worked with technology that had to strive to match her intentions. They were still gathering data, pouring in slowly from what the emergency generator thankfully saved, and probably deciding that was immediately more important than breaking off whatever was happening between the two scientists. Newton grunted and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Just… leave it. It won't happen again."

Hermann fell silent. He watched as Geiszler hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and screwed his eyes shut. He felt Newton's jittery intake of air as though it was an extension of his own, while ruefulness and disappointment weighed him down and coated his bright and ingenious thoughts, blocking anything from coming into a sharper focus.

He exhaled, feeling suddenly immeasurably tired. He recalled the sparks, the red smoke suffocating him, the panic and loneliness as he looked for Newton in that wasteland and couldn't even feel him. That had frightened him so greatly, but the opposite was equally as worrisome: how absorbing and exalting it had been to have access to Newton's mind, so clear and bright, inside the drift. 

He barely had time to make himself feel it, but he felt it now. 

The residual connection felt stronger than ever; even more than after their first drift. His senses interconnected to Newton's like they'd been glued together and then pried open and separated, but invisible filaments still connected the edges of them.

Dr. Gage had warned them. The division between consciousness and unconsciousness was paper tin inside the drift, and the danger of getting stuck in a memory was high for them. That was what Hermann had dreaded, to have Newton as an unwilling witness to his deepest torments. He couldn't have envisioned a more humiliating and saddening outcome. But it had happened the other way around.

Hermann had not meant to see it, that was the worst part. He hadn't meant to be a spectator to the hardest moments of Newton's past — but he had, and the only thing he could have done to stop it had turned Newton to hate him in turn. He didn't want to fight, he only wanted to untangle this bundle without having to cut it clean. But what he'd seen in the drift had been distressing enough to soften him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hermann extended his hand and rested it on Newton's curved back.

The biologist shivered at the lightest of touch, his hands dropping from his face as if they were at once too heavy. He turned his head, looking up at Hermann from the corner of his eye. The blood that had smeared on his lips accentuating how pale his skin had turned.

"It might happen again," Hermann murmured. "Our minds were connected, Newton. You couldn't hope to hide things from me, and I from you." He stared at his hand on Newton's shoulder under the yellow emergency light, his brain fried and his composure slipping, and finally realized that he could never get rid of his own memory of the fence. It would always haunt him. Only because Newton didn't see it now, it didn't mean he never would. He shaloowed hard. "You don't have to tell me anything, but you should know for yourself. Analyze where the true memory ends and the altered one begins. Find the error and evaluate its limits, that's how we figure out if there are points in common. That's how we can build a theory."

He moved his hand up, leaving sparks of electricity behind, and settled it on Newton's shoulder, squeezing his fingers. 

Newton gave another full-body shudder, and Hermann felt its tremor rattling him from the inside. It was like a chemical reaction happening, atoms slotting together and mixing, from Hermann's skin to the conductive material of the bodysuit and underneath it, to where Newton's skin burned. 

At length, Newton's gaze cleared and the veil of inquietude that had been there since he'd emerged from the drift disappeared. Hermann could almost see it replaying behind Geiszler's eyes: the operating room, the old professor Grayson (he's always hated the asshole), the faces of his father, uncle, mother fading rapidly, smoke and mirrors, and then Hermann's bloody hand extended to meet him.

"Okay," Newton said slowly. "Okay. I see what you mean. The real memory is clearer, there are more details. It seems so obvious now." His shoulders shook as a laugh escaped him and he turned to look at Hermann, his eyes sharpening. "You were real too, even if you didn't belong there. And you didn't even tell them." Hermann shifted his weight on his seat. Somehow, through his retellings, that event had slipped by unmentioned. "You know Pilots can't do that, right?" Newton's eyes narrowed. "They can't touch each other if one of them is stuck in a memory. Maybe that's another thing we inherited from the Kaiju."

"That's a wretched notion."

"Useful though. It's proof drifting works differently for us. It can be manipulated and we can get into the Hive's memories too," Newton huffed out a weak laugh. "I knew it. I knew it'd work."

"Work?" Hermann repeated, puzzled. Then the corner of his lips pulled down and his hand drew back as cold realization hit him. "You wanted to chase the Rabbit. You did it on purpose."

Geiszler's eyes widened in alarm when he looked back at Hermann. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the main power returning. They blinked as their eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

"Doctors." Marshal Hansen called them from the controlling station, indicating for them to come closer. Hermann and Newton exchanged a quick glance, before crossing the large room. The medics and J-tecs had been dismissed and only the five of them remained. Gage and Hansen were on either side of Lightcap as the neuroscientist was in her chair facing the holoscreen with the full diagnostic opened in front of her. 

Hermann let his eyes trail over the diagrams, dismayed. He'd done enough research on drift anomalies to spot a very disturbing element: where they reached a particular point during the drift their differential boundary, that should be anywhere between 20 and 80 in normal cases — and that Hermann read could fall to 10 or even 5 during extreme corruptive activity — was at a flat 0. 

Hermann swallowed tickly as Lightcap turned around in her chair and removed her glasses, massaging her sore eyes. 

"So. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Newton huffed next to Hermann and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Let it rip."

The corner of Lightcap's mouth raised in a half-smile, but it disappeared as soon as it formed.

"Very well. Bad news first. Your projection is a solid step up from what we calculated, and it confirms you're incredibly adaptive inside the Handshakes, but you were extremely unstable. Coordination fluctuated tremendously, reactivity time was all over the place, and you weren't talking, which is... odd, at the very least. You disrupted each other and couldn't recalibrate for the rest of the session. You were lost to our sensors for a while, even before the blackout. After Geiszler dropped to the third SR, the processor unit overloaded and burned every circuits just for the amount of information it was loading. After that we were in the dark until we pulled you out. Then of course, there is the Rabbit. I don't even know where to start with that, but one thing is for certain," she leaned forward resting her elbows on her knees. "You fell too deep."

A heavy silence fell. Gage and Hansen were quietly, staring them down, and Hermann had to drop his eyes.

"Now for the good news," Lightcap continued. "For a total of sixteen seconds your Neural Handshake held steady at approximately 98.2 percent. Right now you're among the most drift compatible pairings ever registered."

Hermann's lips parted in surprise while Newton's eyebrows shot up.

"They might not have beaten your record, Lightcap, but they sure beat mine," Hansen huffed noisily. He sounded bitter, but there was something else in his tone Hermann couldn't name. "They used to call anyone who beat the 95 mark ‘the upper-crust’."

"Holy shit," Newton whispered, breaking out of his astonishment.

That got the team to crack a smile. Everyone except Dr. Gage and Hermann.

"Yes, thats's incredible, but it's a completely artificial result," Gage said harshly. He stepped closer and his face was hit by the light of the holo-projector; Hermann was momentarily distracted by it showing their score. "I'm sure shattering the differential boundary has something to do with this, because with Mock-Pons it shouldn't be possible to achieve those depths. Whatever you did set off an intense chain reaction in your heads, and if the mustering-out looked like an active connection, this looked like something entirely different." 

Newton stifled a laugh. 

"That's because drifting with a Kaiju changed us," he said simply. Hermann was filled with dread at those words while the tread in his mind that tied him to Newton pulsed in excitement. "Your normal parameters don't apply to us anymore, clearly. But that's a good thing! We're finally getting somewhere." He looked Gage straight in the eyes and Hermann could feel more then hear the defiance in his tone. "We need to drift again, and go even deeper this time.”

"You can't be serious," Gage gasped. "You'll corrupt each other beyond recognition."

"We already shattered your differential boundary and drifted with two Kaiju, and our personalities are still intact! Your Mock-Pons are holding us back! We need to build a better one so we can drift without any barriers.”

"That could kill you!" Gage bellowed. 

"Then we'd be dead right now, wouldn't we?!" Newton screamed back. "This is how our minds are now, the sooner you accept it the sooner we can start doing some real work!"

"That's enough!" Marshal Hansen roared. Everyone fell quiet until Hansen took a breath and continued, addressing Gage and Lightcap. "Geiszler is right. There is no use coddling them. They're the ones in the drift, they're the ones who saw the Alterverse. If they tell us they can drift again to see more, I'm going to listen to 'em."

"But, sir—" Gage started.

"Study their case," Hansen interrupted him. "You can recuperate everything from the recorder, right? I give you both two weeks to make plans. Lightcap, I'm putting a few more J-tecs under you. Modify the Pons how Geiszler wants them. Carefully," he shot Newton a pointed look. "I don't want anyone to fry their brain on my watch. All clear?"

Gage sighed in frustration but seemed to have no more argument to back him up.

"Yes, sir."

"What about the Council?" Lightcap asked in a small voice. 

"I'll take care of them," Hansen groused. "I can keep them off your backs for now. They're gonna be busy focusing on the World Tour anyway, it shouldn't be hard. And you two," he finally turned to Hermann and Newton fully. "I'm giving you two weeks to rest. Medical check-ups every day and sessions with Dr. Gage every two. A drift like the one you're planning is gonna be a huge toll on the mind. I want you ready for what's to come, so make the best of this time. How does that sound?"

Hermann stayed quiet, resigned, expecting an exuberant cry of affirmation to sweep them both. Instead, Newton's eyes flickered to Hermann. 

"Left hemisphere takes the shots," Newton said, shrugging. "I'm doing what Hermann does."

Hermann blinked at Geiszler, who only gave him a looped, confident smile.

It felt like a twisted game. It wasn't Hermann's decision — not really, not anymore — but he still found himself wondering how binding the contract they'd signed truly was despite its menacing fine print. If there really was any chance for them to back down. But it was a useless thought. No one knew better than Hermann the importance of what they were trying to discover, how imperative it was that they went on with this reserch. Nevertheless, after everything Hermann had done to shield Newton from this very outcome, he felt a little sick to find himself as a willing participant of their shared downfall.

His gaze darted from Newton to the others and he felt that large room close in on him.

"We'll do it," Hermann said.

"Good," Hansen nodded. "Get some rest now. You're dismissed."

A warm wind caressed his face as Hermann sat on white sand. He breathed in, slowly, looking into the horizon. The beach was deserted and the sound of waves crashing on the shore was peaceful and undisturbed. No people, no seagulls, no children playing. Just the sea.

He looked up at the sun, but it appeared pale and opaque. Not the right brightness to be this warm.

"It didn't look like this," he said out loud, getting bored of the solitude.

"You're remembering it wrong?"

Hermann was so startled he fell on his side, away from Newton who was casually lying next to him, arms crossed behind his head and eyes closed. Hermann had not noticed him at all.

He sat back upright, placing a hand over his chest and feeling his heart speed up. Thankfully, his hip didn't hurt.

He was suddenly aware he was in a dream, so it meant Newton had either made his way into it or he was merely a fragment of Hermann's imagination. Better not to make any careless assumptions, he thought.

"You wanted a first person perspective. Well," Hermann indicated the dark sea in front of them. "Here you have it."

Newton snorted.

"You just admitted you're remembering it wrong. This can't be the real deal."

"What more do you want from me, isn't it enough that I brought you here?"

"Did you?" Newton cracked one eye open and looked up at him. The pale sun made his skin look almost grey. "Why don't you lay down too? It's pretty comfortable.”

Hermann examined the sand again. It was a light color, and of the wrong consistency. He could have sworn it used to be rougher when he was a child, but now it had the softness of flour. The sky and sea looked different too. The sky was a washed out carbon grey that gave out no brightness at all, and the sea was a swirl, as black as ink, that dirtied the sand whenever the waves crashed on it.

There was something eerie and surreal about being on a black and white beach with Newton, but the other man seemed relaxed and the sound of the waves was hypnotic.

Hermann laid down, stiff, the heat of the sand penetrating through his clothes.

"Why did let me decide?" Hermann inquired. It was like a Turing test, in a way. Questioning Newton to determine if he was real or the product of his own imagination. "I could have said no and ended the whole experiment."

"Better to have that choice," Geiszler said, his voice hardening. "They're trying to corner us into something, I just don't know what it is yet, but I'll find out. At least you didn't tell them you stopped my memory. That was a good call."

Hermann shook his head, still debating if it truly was.

"How can we work if we don't share all the information we have?"

"You and I know. That's enough."

"Don't you trust them?"

"Not as far as I can throw them, no. I'm trying to be cautious, like you said."

Hermann opened his mouth, but hesitated. Real Newton or not?

"This isn't like the beach I used to visit when I was a child," he said to change the subject. "It looks like it, somewhat, but that place was much more lively." The waves crashed on the shore, and Hermann and Newton listened to them for a bit. "We could visit it one day, if you want," Hermann ventured. "If we ever make it back to Germany."

It was wishful thinking, but this was all a fantasy anyway. One more couldn't hurt.

"Really?" Newton sounded downright hopeful.

"Yes, why not? I could take you there."

Hermann looked up at the pale sky until his body melted into the sand and he felt like he was disappearing. But it didn't hurt, so it couldn't be too bad.

"That would be nice."

Chapter Text

Newt opened his eyes to bleary light shining down on him. 

For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming, basking under the pale sun with Hermann by his side, but it slowly faded from his mind as dull wakefulness took its place and pushed the fantasy away. 

Without his glasses, nothing came into focus but he didn't bother looking for them just yet. He'd fallen asleep with the lights on, and his room looked back at him with blurry lines and violent colors.

Newt pressed his palms to his eyes, blocking the light but not the flashes of memories.

He's pretty sure he would have had a nightmare last night, he only didn't because he stepped into Hermann's dream.

"Fuck," he groaned and waited for the regret that he should be feeling at the thought he'd once again tarnishing Hermann's mind, invading it and resting unwanted in a space where he should have never been privy to.

But the feeling never came.

Hermann dreams in black and white, Newt thought instead. It suits him.

When Newt lowered his hands and opened his eyes again, his room was still too bright and he was still too tired to face it.

He owned too much stuff. He accumulated nonsensical trifles like he was a crow attracted to shiny objects that meant something only in the heat of the moment. Posters, pictures and drawings made for his tattoos covered every inch of the walls, while Kaiju figurines, band memorabilia, bottles caps, dead leaves, beach pebbles with carved fossils and other useless, stolen souvenirs occupied every other spare surface. Knick-knacks that cluttered his space and suffocated with inconsequential memories.

A museum of his attempts at conquering life.

Newt sighed, pulling himself up into a sitting position. His hip ached, making it difficult, but he gritted his teeth and swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at the contact with the chilly pavement. 

His forehead was sweaty even if he felt cold all over. He started gathering the clothes he could reach, bending down with some difficulty. He'd shredded them in a fury the night before because they'd felt as tight as the drive-suite had been, before taking two expired pills he'd been prescribed for insomnia back when he still pretended to be concerned about himself, and crawling into bed.

He took Hermann's tie off the floor and stared at it for a long moment, running his thumb over the green strips.

He never thanked Hermann for it.

He never thanked Hermann for a lot of things.

The memory of the operating room — or the distorted version of it — was still too vivid in his mind. Hermann had instructed Newt to focus on what was wrong with it, and now that felt like an inescapable command. Newt kept thinking about it, in excruciating details, and even if he now knew exactly what was real and what wasn't, it didn't do anything to stop Newt from reliving the moment with every replay. It was so grueling. 

Newt wasn't the type of person to dwell, especially when it came to his past and his many, many mistakes. That was what being a scientist was all about: making mistakes, trying again, solving the problem, being a rockstar! But the truth was that for the tiniest of moments, Newt had doubted himself, and it'd opened up the chasm that swallowed him whole. 

He hadn't expected those feelings to overwhelm him, or for it to feel exactly like it did when he was a kid.

Back then, Newt's worth was measured carefully. To his parents, he was the little genius they could parade around and keep on the palm of their hands, but only if he was pliable and smart and didn't have anything wrong with him. The second Newt tipped the scale, the masks fell off, and he finally saw just how much their affection for him was conditional.

Once Newt had pushed past that limit, everyone left him, and so he made sure to always pushed past it.

It was a test, really — stretching and stressing someone's tolerance for him until the band snapped and the truth was revealed. Newt was proud of his method. Even if everyone left him eventually, then it was better that way; Newt was free to be himself without owning anything to anyone, and everyone who who didn't want to witness that could stay as far away as possible.

It was always a win. 

Except that Hermann was still here, and Newt owed him so much.

It felt like he never did anything nice for his lab partner. Birthdays and holidays came and went with hardly a mention between them. There was never enough time, always something more urgent to solve, and they hadn't always been on the best of terms.

From weird coworkers who shared a lab and kinda hated each other, to drift partners who shared what was left of an alien race consciousness between them. Quite a jump, especially for Newt, who up until Hermann had proposed to go with him into the drift had never thought of his lab partner would expose himself and extend his hand first.

But maybe he'd been wrong all along.

Uncalled for, an old memory pushed to the forefront of his mind.

The first letter arrived on a Monday. Or maybe it'd arrived before that. It had the address of Newt's in-campus flat, but he'd spent the weekend at his uncle's place because his old man was worried about him and Newt had decided to cut him some slack and spent three days pretending he didn't have any restless energy to suppress. It was starting to get to him, being so misunderstood; just like when he was young and just starting out college. He pushed his papers at any magazine and journal who would publish him, posting the rest as free online research and blog posts. He was getting desperate. His fingers hurt for how much he typed and his throat was sore for how much he'd talked (yelled, really) to countless experts in every imaginable field, all with various degrees of consideration and skittish attitudes towards him. Newt hadn't told his uncle about the tattoo on his arm yet. The scientific community was a bunch of snooty prudes in the best-case scenarios, but the backlash had been exaggerated. Comments and eyes on him, full of crude judgment and disdain. He was sick of it. He wanted to show the tattoo to the only person whose opinion he really cared about in a more relaxed way. Except Newt was losing all conditions in which to be relaxed.

Coming back to his apartment should have started another restless and intoxicating parade in which Newt would fight for his life to get his theories on the San Francisco Kaiju attack to be heard and taken into at least a little bit of consideration.

Instead, he found the letter in his mailbox.

Newt set it on the kitchen table and fixed himself a quick breakfast. He was almost late for his first class of the day, so he eyed the closed envelope with uncertainty while sipping his coffee, eyes darting between it and the clock on the wall. 

It could be another hate letter. He'd gotten many of those, though they were usually digital — filling his inbox and the comment section under his posts. No one had ever taken the time to write on paper. He's almost impressed by the effort. Whoever this person was, must really hate his guts.

The name didn't ring any bells: Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, followed by an address in Cambridge, England. It sounded a bit snobbish; but then again, it was just a name. Maybe he's a cool dude. Maybe he even spared Newt a few bones worth of "although your ideas are interesting…" before dismissing everything he said and calling him crazy, or worse.

Curiosity got the better of him and Newt took the letter, tearing open the envelope with a satisfying rip.

The first thing Newt was surprised about was the handwriting. This Hermann guy wrote to him in a knobby and wavy calligraphy that somehow still managed to appear legible and elegant. It was like his brain went too fast to keep up with his hand and Newt immediately related to that. The second thing Newt was surprised about was just how much this guy wrote. Three full papers, front and back, filled in small and linear text. Way too much for even the biggest of roasts. And the third thing Newt was surprised about was what Hermann had written. A full dissection and exhausting analysis of one of Newt's thesis on the probability Trespasser wasn't the only Kaiju that would show up from the ocean, going in depth on Newt's speculations as to where they could come from and what they could be. Hermann tore apart most of his ideas, but he built on so many more, constructing a scientific hypothesis on future events. He talked about chances, and about the meticulous calculation of odds, looking at the Kaiju like it was statistics and numbers and not flesh and bones. It made Newt feel dizzy. He struggled to follow an abstract path like that, but that didn't mean there wasn't brilliance in it.

Newt spotted flaws in several of Hermann's suppositions, which completely discarded biological and environmental factors, but Gottlieb's intellect shined through the paper, sharp like the edge of a knife, and Newt was captivated. He hadn't felt so challenged and inspired by another person in a long, long time.

Hermann concluded the letter with a line that struck Newt so deeply he had a hard time breathing for a moment. He ended up memorizing it, reading it over and over until the words snuck in the knots of his mind and he could feel them becoming a part of him.

You have a bright mind Dr. Geiszler. I heard some distrust in your regard when I asked about you, but to me you sound like a sensible, if unheard and a bit nonconformist, voice among the chaos of panic and misinformation. It would do you well to remember that, especially in the face of what the world has come to. We need brightness now more than ever. If you would like to exchange ideas, you can write back to me at this address.

Best regards, Dr. H. Gottlieb

When Newt finally put the letter down, he stared into the kitchen wall for what felt like forever, dazed and renewed. His coffee had gone cold and he was late for work.

That letter had been the first of many. They wrote to each other for three years, on paper at first, then via e-mail when it became unbearable for Newt waiting weeks for Hermann's response from overseas. He's always been an impatient person.

He wished he had more letters now, something tangible to keep in the shoebox in the back of his wardrobe.

He never opened them again, but he'd kept each and every one, carrying them with him from Boston, to Lima, to Tokyo, to Hong Kong.

He always did like to collect once-meaningful things.

Newt didn't like to think back on those times. He put their correspondence behind him, one of those miss-step he was happy to not hold against himself. But lately he'd been wondering about the letters more and more. He kept thinking about what could have gone differently — or what could be different now.

At the time of their first meeting Newt'd thought that that was it, he'd never see Hermann again and their friendship was over, but twelve years and countless failures later they found themselves at that crossroad once more.

It wasn't so bad. Not at all. It made Newt feel warm inside and the prospect of drifting again sound less harrowing. The burning anticipation making him antsy and the weight of his doubts dissipated just enough to be exhilarating once more, like Hermann gripping his hand tightly and declaring he'd go with him.

Friends, Newt smiled to himself, looping the tie around his neck. I can work with that.

And it's about time he did something nice for Hermann in return.

Newt stared at the floor numbers, tapping his foot impatiently. Riding the service elevator had been a mistake. Sure, it'd been more convenient to take it right by the transportation base where he was dropped off rather than walking all the way to the landing hall or the Jaeger Hangar (now empty of Jaegers), but this elevator only went down so far, and scouting for another one to go the rest of the way has been as annoying and time consuming as it would have been if he'd taken the original route.

Finally, the cart stopped with a jolt and the doors opened.

The west corridor greeted Newt in quiet desolation and a pungent smell of humidity. He adjusted the package under his arm and started walking rapidly.

When he finally entered the lab, the first thing he saw was Hermann up on the ladder, immersed in his math.

It was such a typical sight that after days of chaos it felt almost comforting. How many times had Newt sneakily observed his lab partner like this, and how many times he'd never known what to make of the numbers he poured onto the board like something that needed to get out of him at all cost.

Hermann wasn't pausing his writing, the silence broken only by the sound of the chalk on the board, and Newt watched him for a moment, a smile playing on his face. There was something Newt vaguely recognized in the figures today, fragments of meaning, but he couldn't quite drag it out into the light to fully understand it.

"Looking good, Hermann." Newt said loud enough to break Hermann out of his concentration but not startle him and make him fall.

The chalk squealed on the board.

"You're late," said Hermann.

"For what?" Newt asked with an cheeky grin.

"Don't try to be funny," Hermann spun around irritated, he gazed down at his lab partner and his eyes trailed from Newt's face to the large bag under his arm and back to his face. He let his glasses fall on the chain around his neck with a puzzled expression. It amused Newt greatly. "Only because we were given time to rest, it doesn't mean we're excused from our responsibilities to sleep in."

"Ah, and I thought that was the textbook definition of 'resting'," Newt said humorously, leaning his shoulder against the frame of the blackboard. "Too bad I woke up at the crack of dawn and I've been running around town on a very important mission ever since. I would have loved to try this 'sleeping in' you're talking so much about."

"And I don't suppose you had time to send a message," Hermann grumbled, getting down so they were eye to eye. "I could have thought you had gotten kidnapped."

"Maybe you meant 'hoped'," Newt joked.

"Either or," Hermann said. Their gazes locked, the ladder between them, and Newt's skin tingled. He smiled as Hermann sharply turned away, dismissing the billowing linkage that seemed to ripple alive every time they got close. "What was this very important mission, anyhow?"

Newt followed Hermann to his desk, where the mathematician sat down with his back curved and busied himself at his terminal. Newt took a stool and wheeled himself over, scooting the package on the desk under Hermann's nose.

"I got you a present."

Hermann stopped typing, fingers frozen above the keyboard. He frowned suspiciously at the simple white box as if it could jump up and attack him. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Newt asked in fake indignation. "Can't a guy just buy his friend something to show him his eternal appreciation?"

Hermann huffed.

"Don't be absurd."

"And you don't be rude and just open the damn thing."

Hermann spared him another aggravated look, but he tentatively pulled the box closer and lifted the cover. He visibly froze when he looked inside. The hard line of his mouth smothering as he blinked rapidly, trying to process what he was seeing.

"You bought me a coat?"

Newt's lips pulled in a smile.

"I owed you one, didn't I?"

He'd gone to five different stores to find the perfect one, and his shiny new paycheck was burned in almost its entirety, but it was worth it just for the look on Hermann's face.

"Come on, try it on!" Newt urged him when Hermann still wasn't moving. "I wanna see how it looks on you. I still have the receipt in case it sucks."

Hermann grumbled but obliged, slow in his movement. He freed the dark overcoat from the box, unfolding it, and slipped it over his shoulders, smoothing it down. It was different from the bulky parka; it didn't make Hermann down in it, and he actually looked elegant.

Newt bit into his bottom lip trying and failing to contain his grin. So worth it.

"I suppose it is quite nice," Hermann said, looking down at himself, words broken by a pause in the middle. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Newt replied softly, his wide smile equal part proud and fond. Alright, maybe more fond than anything else. But he couldn't help it! Not when Hermann looked this good, with his awkward and wooden stance, his lean and freshly handsome figure, and his eyes meeting Newt's and then dropping instantly. It was just a very nice vision, and Newt found he couldn't look away.

Hermann cleared his throat, dropping his eyes once more. The tip of his ears had gone red.

"We should get back to work. I already started on some data analysis and I need your input."

"Oh?" Newt arced his brows looking back at the board. He read the string of numbers again, and noticed something he hadn’t the first time. "Wait, is that chemistry?"

"Among other things," Hermann confirmed, following Newt's gaze. "I've been trying out your method." He admitted after a pause.

Newt's eyes widened and he spotted a small pile of used and bloody tissues discarded at the base of the blackboard.

"Dude."

"I still reckon it is a dreadful and extremely unfocused practice," Hermann continued with a voice full of disdain. "However, it does bring on some sporadic results. I thought it was best to begin by compiling the Alterverse's atmospheric elements, and I was able to find some matches, but I don't have enough to go on with yet."

"I do!" Newt exclaimed. He flew to his station and started rummaging through old files in the back of drawers, hitting the keys of his terminal impatiently until it turned on. "The scientists at the Sidney Dome were doing a study on it before they shut them down, they were deducing the Kaiju's homeworld's atmospheric components from their anatomy. We should have all their work in our database."

Hermann came up behind Newt, reading from over his shoulder. "We have more than one legacy, then." he muttered.

Newt looked up at the screen where the dark background of the K-science logs reflected his and Hermann's faces.

"We have to put it all somewhere," Newt declared, his voice dipping with determination. "The K-science archive and the Hivemind. A supercomputer where they can be together and work off each other, and think as one."

"Mm... I agree with you." Hermann stated, sounding somewhat surprised by it himself; Newt's heart hammered in his chest. "However, I'm not sure our servers would be enough for that, and I'd like to keep it all physically in one place. We'll need to build something from scratch."

Newt nodded eagerly.

"Do you know what we can use as a base?"

Hermann looked hesitant for a moment, before replying, "I have an idea. But we'll need Marshal Hansen's permission."

They had to wait a while before talking to Herc. Officers surrounded him in a tight circle, awaiting orders. The stationed people in LOCCENT were all busy taking radio messages and instructing which frequencies to keep clear and which superior to report to.

Newt was surprised. He'd only seen the place looking this frantic during Kaiju attacks, and even then it was more controlled; everyone knew their position flawlessly, and no time was spared on fear, despite it running all over the Shatterdome like an undercurrent. Now this chaos seemed directionless.

Finally, Herc delegated enough responsibilities to free five minutes to dedicate to the scientists and he led them down a corridor where one of the War Rooms used for tactical briefings was empty.

"I don't have much time today," Herc said as soon as the doors were closed behind him. "The Council decided to pull the plug on a lot of stations. Way more than they should. This place is gonna run with a skeleton crew until new people come in."

"Already?" Hermann asked concerned.

"Better to eat the carcass while it's fresh," Herc pulled up a chair, sinking on it heavily. He gave Hermann and Newt a serious, evaluating look. "I'm glad to see you better after yesterday. What can I do for you?"

"Okay, so," Newt began emphatically. Next to him, Hermann rolled his eyes, knowing when things were about to take long before Newt got to the point. "You're probably — no, definitely — gonna hate this idea, but you can't tell us no. You shouldn't tell us no, because this could be the best thing we ever do for this organization – what am I even saying? This could be the best thing we do for the history of the human race! But we need something to make this ingenious plan happen. We thought this over from every angle, and we wouldn't ask for it if we weren't certain this was the best solution within our means. Of course, there could be even better solutions outside of our means, but—"

"Doctor Geiszler," Herc interrupted him tiredly. "Please, get on with it."

"We need Striker Eureka's spare parts," Hermann spoke before Newt could reprise his introduction. "Sir. Its cerebral servers, operating system, language process units, and the learning and computing module they developed for the Mark-5. All of it."

Herc frowned deeply, looking between the two of them.

"What do you need that for?"

"If we're going to put the Hivemind somewhere, we need something to contain it, and ideally process information too," Newt shrugged. "What's better than a Jaeger's brain?"

"But does it have to be," Herc choked out his words, his expression hardening. "My Jaeger?"

"Yes, sir." Hermann responded quietly. "No other Mark-5 were made. It was one of a kind."

Herc passed his fingers through his hair, sighing tiredly.

"The Council asked for all remaining Jaeger material to be transferred to Oblivion Bay. I'll see what I can do," he added quickly, raising a hand to stop Newt's protest. "Before I find you stealing scraps again."

"Scraps that are still missing," Newt bristled.

"It's on my list," Herc grunted. "As soon as I secure everything else. You're just gonna need to wait. Be thankful for this reprise. It's all very hectic right now, I don't even know what this place will look like in two weeks. At least you know you'll still have a place in it. Anything else?"

They both shook their heads, Hermann daunted and Newt worried that saying anything more could make Hansen change his mind.

"Good," Herc nodded. He stood up and crossed the room, but paused with his hand on the door handle. "It really was one of a kind."

The door closed soundly behind him.

Three days holed in the lab from morning until night and repeat gave them back a sense of normality they didn't know was normality.

They haven't received Sticker Eureka's parts yet (predictably), so Newt and Hermann kept working on extracting and comparing more data from old K-sci studies. Their daily activities became a bit repetitive, broken only by the dissections of the last Kaiju batch Newt was procrastinating on, the small television that Hermann had set up (tuned on the Tour Channel), and the medical check-ups (which were boring, but Newt accepted out of necessity for results).

Hermann coped with the examinations differently. Newt was beginning to piece together that his lab partner didn't like being touched by doctors. It was in the minuscule details: the way Hermann stood rigid at their presence, was revolted by the smell of disinfectants, and allowed those cold instruments and gloved hands on him while staring at a point on the wall, determined to endure. Newt received the fazed sensations through the connection and thought back on his own attitude, often drawing his own blood because the nurse would not be fast enough and reading over their charts, impatient and uncaring for the separation of their roles. They weren't patients, they were scientists, but Newt's view was different from Hermann's, who couldn't take control of the situation even if he wanted to. It made Newt wonder if the mathematician would be more comfortable if they ditched the medic team all together and Newt did everything for the both of them, since he was more than capable. But the idea felt invasive, somehow. He wasn't sure he could ask Hermann to be comfortable with Newt touching him as a doctor, and Newt wouldn't like Hermann looking at him with the restiveness he reserved to the medics.

And so, Newt's main source of entertainment remained the Tour Channel.

Newt and Hermann bickered about it non-stop, but it was hard to admit Newt only lamented for the pure habit of it. When the TV was on, Newt's eyes were glued on the screen. Sometimes it was out of scientific fascination, but other times (more commonly) it was because whenever footage of old Kaiju attacks were shown, fragments of memories resurfaced.

That's the position Newt was stuck in now. Sweat dried on his brows as he watched Hardship fight and lose against Romeo Blue. He flinched as if the Jaeger was about to hit him, too absorbed to even blink.

Hermann noticed — of course he did —– and turned off the TV with a click for the first time in days.

"I was watching that," Newt protested, coming back to reality and snapping a latex glove over the one he already wore.

"I know," said Hermann flatly. He's carrying a thick folder under his arm, and Newt wondered if paper conservation just didn't apply to the Shatterdome anymore.

"Is that Lightcap's report? Jeez, she'll have a novel by the time she's done with us."

"It's quite extensive," Hermann remarked, looking down at it. "And speculative. You would love it. Actually, Lightcap and Gage are asking for your contribution as well."

Newt didn't miss how carefully Hermann said the last sentence, like he was gently coercing Newt into doing something he didn't want to do.

"No, no, no. I'm busy," Newt quickly turned back to the operating table, separating another bundle of nerves from a piece of muscle. " I already told the medics, my work takes priority one, everything else is priority two. Three even. I'll see Gage when I see him."

In Kaiju, the nervous system looked like the roots of a tree and it came out from the flesh like strands of hair drenched in blue blood. He piled the clump of filaments on the metal tray next to him. They splashed with a wet sound that made Hermann reflexively jerked away, his face turning green. Newt took some pity on the guy (especially because he felt Hermann's nausea reverberate in his own stomach).

"How did it go?" Newt asked with some nonchalance, piecing together that Hermann had just gotten back from his session with the psychiatrist. Newt'ad heard Hermann leave, but it felt like not even a handful of minutes had passed. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to admit he lost an undefined chunk of time again. It must be more than an hour given how dry the blood on his gloved hands felt. He needed to find a solution to this problem before it affected his work.

"Quite awful, I'd say." Hermann sighed, and Newt's ears perked up because Hermann actually sounded tired instead of suppressing the hell out of every discomforting emotion he ever had until it reached Newt in splotched swells. "They're still very insistent on what I saw in the Alterverse. Gage's trying to make me recall more details, but no matter how many times they ask me it's always the same. I can't remember enough."

"That's okay," Newt reassured him, wanting to reach out and touch Hermann's arm but keeping his hands to himself. Physical touches magnified the effect of the bleed-through, and Newt knew Hermann must have realized the same if the way he generally kept Newt at arm-length was of any indication. Newt hated it, it was counterproductive, but he was biting his tongue. For now. Also, the bloody gloves he wore. "We'll get more the next time we drift."

Newt's already made a plan of action. He figured there was a sweet spot they needed to get to, between following the Rabbit and the last level of SR, and to get there they just needed to stay sharp and not get distracted by their own memories — no matter how intense they were. Easy.

Hermann's hard gaze landed on the brain in the tank, before he glared back at Newt. There was a tattering wave of dread coming from his lab partner that his expression effectively concealed.

"Dr. Gage made an interesting point about that. He thinks we could become unstable. Especially you."

Newt huffed, "Fat chance. I was trying to chase another memory, not my fault something else got in the way. I'm not even thinking about that anymore," he lied. He regretted it when he remembered Hermann could probably tell he was lying, and saying he wasn’t thinking about it made him think about it. "I won't think about that when we drift."

"You will," Hermann said with such assurance that it pissed Newt off - but then Newt thought about Hermann's model and felt himself recoil. Was Hermann attempting to calculate Newt the same way? Was it even possible to break down a person and turn them into a set of predictions? Into an algorithm? It made Newt feel small. And seen. He didn't know if he liked it. "The drift won't work if you try to block a memory. We risk falling out of alignment."

"I didn't know you were an expert," Newt grumbled, turning back to his work. "And we didn't fall out of alignment last time. You pulled me out."

That at least got Hermann quiet for a moment. Newt spied on him from the corner of his eye and saw Hermann's face doing something strange, his gaze softening and his mouth flattening into a thin line.

"You might want to reconsider your approach all the same," Hermann professed. "We're not as separate from the norm as you may think. Rangers had to manage their memories inside the drift for a decade. There is a science behind it now, and we should take advantage of that. I don't want to take a decade before getting the same results."

"You're so dramatic," Newt rolled his eyes but Hermann was already walking away, depositing Lightcap's report on his desk as he went. "It's not like Rangers took ten years each to get there." he shouted, but the statement sounded weak even to his own ears.

The thought of what Hermann saw, alone in his corner of mind, while Newt pointlessly struggled with inconsequential ghosts, was enough to make him realize how ruinous of a plan it was to repeat what has already failed once. He looked down at his hands, considering every favourable and unfavourable chance, cringing at how much of an Hermann-trait that was.

The scalper on his right felt solid and secure, but he could never truly forget how much he'd dreaded to pick it up once.

Newt didn't want to go through that memory again. He didn't want to talk about it either, but he suddenly understood why the presence of someone like Gage was important for Rangers. If it had to get out one way or the other, it might be better if he at least had some control over it.

"Fine," Newt groaned loudly, letting out a frustrated huff and dropping the knife on the tray. "I'm going."

"Not chatty today?" Gage scrutinized the biologist from the other side of his desk. Newt ignored him, toying with his pinky ring, turning it over so the skull faced up. "That seems uncharacteristic of you."

"You don't know me, man," Newt griped. "Don't pretend like you do."

"I have to know you. Or at the very least understand you, so that I may help you."

"Yeah, right," Newt scoffed, accompanying it with a roll of his eyes. "See the thing is I don't know if I need your help or your understanding. Keep all your judgments to yourself, the only reason I'm here is because I don't want to get stuck in the drift again, so give me some pointers or whatever so we can spend our future sessions doing something actually useful. For example, when can we start working on the Pons?"

"Lightcap has it," Gage responded, glaring at the closed office door. The neuroscientist was probably in the octagonal lab and now Newt regretted not stopping by there first. "She'll call you soon, I suppose. But I don't advise going forward with the modifications on the tolerance factors."

"You can't stop this," Newt told him gloatingly. "We're going to drift again whether you like it or not. The best thing you can do for Hermann and me is tell us how to get past the memory that blocked me, so come on! Lay it on me."

Gage shook his head, resting his hands on the desk.

"When an accident occurs during a drift session, may its nature be technical or psychological, it needs to be reported in detail so that Rangers can move forward and stabilize better and stronger connections with each other. You still haven't told me what you saw, Newt."

Newt narrowed his eyes. He hadn't expected Gage to call him by his abbreviated name, but he stubbornly stayed quiet and looked away.

"Why don't we start from the setting? Were you somewhere important to you?"

Newt's gaze had landed on a particularly dirty corner of Gage's office, where piles of books and Jaeger memorabilia, covered by a layer of dust, reminded Newt of his own room.

"Kinda," Newt murmured. "It was MIT."

"Mm, isn't MIT more important to you than just 'kinda'?"

Newt snorted at the understatement of the century, but it was hard to speak cohesively about his feelings regarding college. He spent so much of his life there – it was his home, his workplace, his battleground. He didn't regret leaving that life behind, especially after it became so suffocating, but he still missed it. To some extent.

"I thought a lot about what you told me during our first session," Gage said with a small tilt of his head, studying Newt carefully. "Starting college when you were so young must have been hard for you."

Newt bit hard on the inside of his cheek but tried to maintain his bravado.

"It was fucking awesome, actually. Once I got the hang of it and I started to hold my own, I was unstoppable."

"I presume your traumatic memory happened before this period then," Gage inferred with too much accuracy, stunning Newt into silence. "What happened before you were holding your own?"

"Exactly what you expect," Newt replied spitefully, but he didn't feel better about minimizing it. "I was a kid, like you said, and not everyone was thrilled with me being smarter than the vast majority of the adults I was surrounded with. But I didn't care what they thought. I knew what I was worth, and I was gonna show them all wrong."

"You were very confident even then, that's a good quality," Gage hummed and it made Newt smirk with pride. "So what happened in your memory to be that bad?"

Newt hesitated, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"One day during an anatomy lesson I got picked to make the first incision on the body we're studying. I thought it was my big chance to shine, but once I got there in front of everyone, I just... froze. And then I ran away from the classroom."

He hadn't seen that part in the drift for some reason. The altered memory had played out differently, more similar to how Newt's thought about the accident later on.

"You were afraid to fail." Gage stated. Newt frowned, unsettled.

"How the fuck did you get that so fast?"

"I'm good at my job," Gage said, smiling kindly. "Who were you afraid to fail?"

Newt felt his throat go dry. He thought about lying, saying any other name to bring the conversation anywhere but there.

"My mother," his treacherous mouth said anyway. “And my father, and... ugh, none of that matters!" Newt railed, standing up and pushing his chair back in a quick motion. "I'm over that shit! I've been for years!”

"Of course it matters," Gage responded placidly. Newt's blood boiled. "It's obviously connected to something bigger-"

"Screw this!" Newt screamed. "I don't need any of this, we're done here!"

Newt stormed out the office before Gage had time to call after him, slamming the door shut. He knew the psychiatrist was seconds away from coming after Newt, so he quickly made his way down the corridor, going left.

The doors of the octagonal lab were unlocked and Newt slipped inside, counting on Gage going to his lab to look for him first. Lightcap was at one of the computers, her assistants had doubled in number and were scattered around the room looking busy. They all turned to Newt when the biologist changed in, but he ignored all of them, going straight to Lightcap. 

"Let's get to work." Newt declared, rolling up his sleeves. He caught the eyes of one of the technicians. Newt remembered her from the test drive, and her wide eyes directed at his tattooed forearms was just extra fuel for his anger.

Lightcap regarded him impassively, her glasses hanging on the tip of her nose.

"Give us a few minutes," she told her assistants, who all hurried to leave. "Why don't you have a seat, Geiszler?"

"How about we skip that. I know the Pons are here, so why are we wasting our time instead of working on them!"

Lightcap huffed, chuckling lightly.

"No one here is wasting time. Time is one of the most precious things you can have during wartime, and old habits die hard."

"Then why aren't we hurrying up!"

"Because you can't force your way into the drift, Newt," Lightcap responded, suddenly serious. "You have to let go of what's holding you back first."

"Oh, fuck you too!"

Newt turned on his heels and was halfway across the room when Lightcap added, "It's the only way forward. Nulling tolerance won't help you."

"It helped me plenty the first time," he yelled over his shoulder.

"But you didn't see clearly, did you?"

Newt stopped, his hand on the door handle.

"Nulling tolerance got you through, but a drift without barriers is unstable and unfocused. If your goal is to fight, or to scout for information," now Lightcap's voice dipped as if she was saying something accusatory, "you need precision, and you need compatibility. Luckly for all of us, you and Gottlieb are more than capable of achieving that."

"But I can't!" Newt protested before stopping, his throat feeling tight. "I'm undriftable. I can't do it without a modified Pons. You saw what happened." And it would happen again. That memory was like a gushing wound and Newt's mind refused not to poke at it to see if it still hurt. It would happen again, and he couldn't stop it.

"Will you sit for a moment? Please."

Newt turned around to peer at Lightcap. She looked more muted today, deep-set eyes and wan face. Now that Newt knew her somewhat better, he was learning to see the signs of change in her: her mood swings, and the evidence those left behind. Sometimes, all she looked like was drained. Today seemed like one of those days.

He walked over and collapsed on the chair in front of her, keeping an eye-contact he hoped came off as defiant.

"No one is undriftable," Lightcap began. Newt scoffed immediately. "I would know. I've seen countless Rangers. So many different people, with so many different relationships connecting them, and all with their own history and baggage they brought inside the drift. Thousands of mistakes, regrets, fantasies. They all pile up, and the more you try not to think about them, the more you can't help but think about them." she looked up at Newt, her blue eyes shining in the harsh light. "Let me show you something."

She stood and walked to a pile of boxes pushed in a column by the wall. She opened a few and started looking inside; Newt could see from afar the only things in there were files.

"I brought my archive here with me," Lightcap explained when she caught Newt's eyes on her. "I was hoping it turned out to be useful again. Here," she came over and handed Newt a folder. The cover was blank, but he could tell from the original Jaeger Program logo and the discolored blue color that this was at least 10 years old. "One of the first instances of a pilot following the Rabbit."

Newt opened the file, intrigued, and was taken aback when he read the names of the Rangers on the top of the first page.

"You?" Newt asked Lightcap, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Yes, me," the neuroscientist smiled. "Fortunately it happened during training and not on the battlefield."

Newt read over the details quickly, but it was mostly technical stuff. It didn't tell him what he really wanted to know.

"Did it always happen to you after the first time?" he asked, his heart squeezing painfully.

Lightcap's lips pressed together.

"I was scared it would. It hadn't been a big setback until then, but the other test subjects who experienced it took a while to recover. And I could finally see why. It's a draining experience."

Newt dug his fingernails into his palm, blocking the flashes of memories again.

"You know," Lightcap continued. "I heard testimonies of some really traumatic memories sneaking up on subjects, really terrible experiences, so it was almost funny to me at the time when my memory was so mundane. I was sitting in the backseat of my parent's car and they were arguing in the front," a strained, far-away expression settled on her face as she recalled. "I was trapped there. I felt so hopeless and invisible. I ended up bringing all my bad thoughts and insecurities with me inside the drift, which led me back to that memory. I couldn't actually see him, but Sergio was by my side in the car, and he saw everything. He tried to get me out, but couldn't. I was only out of it when they cut power."

Newt closed his eyes, exhaling silently. He was glad Hermann had managed to pull him out, but he'd been wondering how much more of Newt's memory his lab partner had actually seen.

This confirmed Hermann could have been there for all of it, and more.

"How did you get past it?" Newt asked desolately. "How did you drift again knowing it could have happened again?"

"I knew I had to face it one way or the other. So much depended on it, I couldn't let my own mind be what stopped me from fighting. It's what Sergio kept telling him, and I didn't want to listen at first, but he was right. We talked about it, and I cried about it, but only when I dragged my fears out in the open and let someone else take a look at them, suddenly it wasn't so scary anymore. The next time I drifted, I saw the same memory again, but it didn't weigh me down anymore. I let it pass me by. And I never followed the Rabbit again."

Newt remained quiet, Lightcap and D'Onofrio's file open in his lap.

"Gage probably has hundreds of theories on the best ways to move on from this," Lightcap went on, seeming more animated now — less weary. "But if you don't want to confide in him, you should at least confide in Hermann."

Newt blanched and his head snapped up in alarm, senselessly fearing that she'd call him in or that Hermann was already at the door somehow.

"No, huh uh, I can't do that."

"He already saw more than you think, and I'm sure he wants to help however he can."

"But I can't," Newt repeated frantically. "I can't—I can't do that."

"Aren't you friends?" Lightcap asked gently.

Newt choked as a way of answering.

"This is what friends do," Lightcap said, driving the point home. "They lean on each other. I'm sure you'd do the same for Hermann if the situation was reversed. You're good partners."

Newt bit hard on his bottom lip. He wanted to say that he wasn't sure Hermann would do that for him. The man had always been an impenetrable fortress surrounded by tall walls. Newt's tried for so long to get past the barricades and truly know him. It took drifting to get inside that fortification, but even from Newt's privileged position among Hermann's thoughts and feelings, he still saw more walls.

But then Newt thought about how Hermann had declared he'd go with him inside the drift, how he'd stayed by Newt's side, how he'd touched Newt's shoulder when he was freaking out and sinking back into his own abyss.

He thought about the letters inside the shoebox, and their signatures right next to each other in the contract that bound them to the PPDC.

Newt still wore the green striped tie every day, and every day Hermann eyed it but never asked for it back.

He sighed miserably, his shoulders sagging.

He looked at Lightcap across the desk.

"This better work."

Lightcap's smile was confident again, and Newt never thought he'd see the day where he'd have to rely on someone else's courage when his own failed him.

"I'd bet my career on it."

When Newt walked back into the lab, after hours of aimless wandering through the Dome, he asked himself if it wasn't a little unfair for Lightcap to bet her esteemed and reflourishing career against the potential rupture of Newt and Hermann's fragile relationship. 

Newt almost regretted not having a better argument for modifying the Pons after all. 

His resolution hung unstable, rigged by the far more logical notion that it would be easier to never mention any of it to Hermann and push the incident in a dark corner of his mind before he, or anyone, could confront it.

It could be self-preservation talking, or it could be reason, but Newt had to roll his eyes and accept the other truth about himself: that both those things had always meant squat to him.

Even if it was late in the evening, he had no doubts where Hermann was. Newt found him at his desk, his back to the biologist's side of the lab and his face inches away from the computer screen. If Newt concentrated enough, he could hear Hermann's faint muttering in his head, like a buzz devoid of real words. But imagination and reality collided in a strange way in Newt's mind tonight. His thoughts traveled back to the dream he had a few nights ago, the image of the black sea and translucent sky pressing over other darker and more disappointing thoughts. 

Newt dragged a chair noisily across the floor and sank down next to Hermann, facing his side of the lab. Hermann was only pretending to be immersed in his work now, clanging his jaw in a way that looked to be grinding his teeth as well. Newt saw him sneaking inquisitive looks in his direction but remained quiet, their silence only broken by the television crackling when it sometimes lost its signal. Some sort of talk show was on, and Newt distantly followed it as he assembled a good enough excuse to bring up the drift again.

Thankfully, Hermann spared him the trouble of speaking first.

"Do I dare ask?"

Newt shrugged, resigned in part to having this conversation at his own expense and having Hermann hold the metaphorical knife to cut him open.

"Go ahead. Ask."

They were facing opposite directions, so Hermann had to turn in his chair to face Newt fully. The round frame of his glasses made his eyes look bigger.

"How did it go?"

"Awful," Newt answered sullenly, but a silly and tired smile spread on his lips and he had no doubt Hermann would take it as one of his classic exaggerations. "Absolutely terrible."

"I never said it'd be pleasant," Hermann grumbled, dropping his glasses around the chain on his neck. "Did it at least... help you?"

Newt's smile couldn't hold on for much longer, it faded as he spoke and it disappeared completely at Hermann's hesitant question. He had no idea how to talk about this, and he had no idea if Hermann wanted to listen to Newt talk about this. All he had was the way Hermann's eyes seemed to search him for answers while remaining as severe as always.

"Do you think we're compatible?" Newt asked.

Hermann looked mildly baffled, but he recovered his austerity in seconds. 

"I believe that's already been established."

"Yeah, but do you think we are?"

Hermann held his gaze, and Newt forced himself not to waver. The point of contact was as alive as ever, and inside the connection Newt felt Hermann's hesitancy as though it was a dispute he was having with himself.

This would be a lot easier if their minds were like the Kaiju — their whole unbidden experiences passed down like a guide map, no feelings attached. But humans weren't blank shells, and they carried everything with them.

"Because if we are," Newt blurted out, desperate to fill the silence now. "Then we're one in a million. You managed to wrap yourself around my wild bark of a brain when no one else probably could, and you can calculate the odds of that yourself and get back at me, but I'm positive it's a low fucking number. And if we aren't, then we're a byproduct of my experiment and I permanently, irreversibly, changed us. And now we're gonna drift again, and we're either gonna see the wasteland of an entire alien civilization we created or I'll see that memory again and I..." he trailed off, feeling suffocated. He didn't have the heart to keep looking at Hermann anymore, not with how his face became distraught at Newt's vomited words. So he stared down at his hands, full of little scars from chemical burns and years of working with sharp tools. Still as steady as ever despite it. "You expect a Kaiju to mess up with you, but that... that was all me, and I'm just..."

"Newton, listen to me," Hermann said sharply. "Having these types of thoughts won't help you. Whatever it is that Gage told you is only a part of the equation, especially when we withheld information from him."

Newt looked up, seeing Hermann blocking the scalpel pointing at Newt's throat in a flash behind his eyes.

"Well that one can be piled on the evidence for my second point," Newt responded flimsily. "Doesn't mean we're compatible."

"You're really dense sometimes," Hermann exhaled tiredly, but this didn't feel like their typical fight, or prelude to a fight. They both sounded too weary for it. However, Hermann pushed on, as stubborn as only Newt knew him to be. "We are compatible. We are so compatible, in fact, that it saved our lives. And whatever crisis or weird inferiority dilemma you looped yourself to, I can reassure you of one thing. Your mind isn't worse than the Hivemind," Hermann turned, seeking Newt's eyes, and the corner of his mouth wrinkled in the tiniest of ways. "Within an acceptable margin of error."

Newt blinked slowly. Then a stifled laugh escaped him, shaking his whole body.

His laughter might be infectious because soon Hermann joined him, with his eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips turned up in a soft smile.

Newt only laughed harder. He felt his heartbeat race, a fluttering sensation that made him feel warmth throughout their chest. It might be the release of all the pent up anxiety he'd tried to set aside, but he felt light, his mind clearing of its fog for the first time in days. He turned to Hermann, his lightheartedness dissipating into a soft giddiness.

Hermann's eyes settled on him too, and they were synchronized, mirroring each other without anything physical connecting them.

Newt grinned. He really was so dense sometimes.

"Hermann, I—"

" —And finally, joining us for our next segment, Rangers Mako Mori and Raleigh Becket."

Newt turned sharply to face the TV as Mako and Raleigh walked into the frame waving and smiling at their audience. The host, a middle-aged man with a questionable fashion sense and a smile so white it made him look like a shark, introduced them by shaking each of their hands and welcoming them to sit on a couple of velvety armchairs.

"Are you seeing this?" Newt beamed, catching Hermann's reaction and his parted in silent surprise and his gaze was fixed on the TV. Newt understood that; they hadn't seen Mako since her departure.

"Right now the last stronghold of PPDC," the host said after some more preamble, "the Hong Kong Shatterdome, is facing permanent decommission. Is that correct, Miss Mori?"

"Yes," Mako responded, leaning forward and passing her palms on her tights as if they were sweaty. Newt knew her well enough to recognize a sign of nervousness and he felt for her. He couldn't tell if it was being on TV or the fake looking man in front of her that was making her uneasy. Maybe the combination of both . "A lot of competent and courageous officers are waiting to know their fates, including the last active subsession of the science and research department."

Newt cheered and elbowed Hermann playfully on the side. "Hey, that's us!"

Hermann didn't smile, a muscle in the jaw tensed. 

"Every single brave and selfless person who fought and died to ensure our survival," Becket added. "We owe them an immeasurable debt of gratitude."

A solemn silence fell in the studios and even the presenter had to partake in that.

"Wise words, Ranger Becket," the man said. "We would not be here without their sacrifice. And without the Jaegers. Our brave knights that defended us in our darkest hour."

Newt raised an eyebrow as the audience applauded, surprised the media had publicly turned on the Wall of Life project so fast.

"You two piloted Lady Danger into the final battle that defeated the Kaiju," the presenter went on, "and all the people, all over the world, are watching you now, anxiously waiting for the answer to this question... Are we finally safe?"

Mako hesitated, raising her eyes to meet Becket's. Whatever sort of communication passed between them was too fast for Newt or the audience to catch.

"Yes," she said. "We're going to be safe. I can promise that."

The presenter heaved a big sigh of relief, his hand over his heart. "And how can you be so confident about this?"

"Because the Jaeger Program is not done yet. We intend to bring them back, and we'll be ready to protect our planet against the Kaiju once more if we have to."

Chapter Text

Newt's chair toppled to the ground with a loud thud when he jumped to his feet, bug-eyed and breathing heavily. The talk show ended with thunderous applause from the studio audience, the sound echoing hollowly inside Newt's skull as he struggled to make sense of Mako's announcement.

He whirled around to gape at Hermann, a wave of nausea churning his stomach. The mathematician was keeping his eyes low, looking guilty and unsettled. Newt only had time to frown before a sharp pain stabbed his left eye. A flashing memory of Mako that Newt had seen once before, flashed through his mind. ‘Thank you,’ she'd said, but she wasn't talking to Newt. This wasn't his memory, it was Hermann's, and it finally clicked together what it meant.

Now the wave of nausea turned into a full-fledged tsunami.

"You knew?" Newt bellowed. "What the fuck, man! Were you gonna tell me?"

"Miss Mori confided in me," Hermann said defensively. At least he had the good grace to meet Newt's eyes. "I didn't want to betray her trust."

Newt's head spun madly. He could pinpoint the window when Mako had come to their lab: it must have been the night after the closure of the Breach.

"But why did she only tell you? Why didn't she..." Newt's voice trailed off as he realized something terrifying. Hermann had programmed the first generation of Jaegers. His work was the backbone of the entire program. Of course Mako had only gone to Hermann.

Newt sank onto a nearby stool, his legs feeling mushy beneath him.

So it was duty that had made Hermann stay after all.

So much for that.

Hermann's eyes narrowed, and Newt quickly shook his head, pushing the thought away before his lab partner could catch it.

"This is a terrible idea," he said instead, focusing his mind on the pressing issue, and leaving that other sentiment to be dealt with later. Or never. Preferably never. "I mean, more Jaegers? They served a purpose before, but now? No, absolutely not. We can't make more weapons and leave them lying around ‘just in case’. That's a recipe for disaster!"

"You're thinking way ahead of this," Hermann countered, annoyingly level-headed. "The PPDC ceased production years ago. There is no saying if this will go in Miss Mori's favor."

Newt scoffed, holding back a scream of frustration.

"She completed the restoration of Danger with virtually zero budget left. If there is someone who could stare the PPDC dead in the eyes and demand completion, it's her."

Hermann blinked, his gaze returning to the television screen where a documentary on the history of Jaeger construction was beginning.

Hermann's seen the look of determination in the young woman's face, too. Budget cuts had hit the Jaeger restoration program just as hard as K-science, if not harder, but Mako Mori still finished her work with sharp efficiency and no seatbacks. She saw her Jaeger ready for battle and personally piloted her to the other side of the Breach and came back alive.

"Yes," Hermann said in a small voice. "She could do it."

Newt groaned, jumping to his feet.

"I'm going to Herc. We have to stop this."

Hermann's hand closed around Newt's wrist as he passed, and Newt stopped dead in his tracks. It had been days since Hermann had touched him. The drift feedback was still vivid and palpable even without it, but Newt had almost forgotten how electrifying direct contact was. How much more defined Hermann felt in his mind with just a simple touch.

"We are," Hermann said firmly. He was thinking numerically again, his hypotheses mingling with blue-tinged emotions. Newt swallowed hard. "The drift is how we stop this. If we give them proof that the Precursors and all the Kaiju have been exterminated, they'll have no reason to continue with this plan. It would be an unjustifiable waste of resources. But we need proof first."

Newt looked at the blackboard so he wouldn't have to look at Hermann and reveal something he didn't want to reveal. It was a two way street. With Hermann's fingers still curled around his wrist, the probability model took on a new meaning. Newt read the sequence of numbers and his eyes widened as he saw a trajectory that hadn't been there before — that wasn't really there, but that Hermann could see in his mind. Like staring at a picture made of dots and guessing what vast image they formed together. It was incomplete, but Newt could see the beginning of the path traced by those lines. It was so different from how Newt's mind worked. Too rigid for his taste, not entirely optimal or capable of considering  the shift into new ideas, but he could see it. For once, he could see it. And he could help.

"Okay..." Newt said. Hermann let go of his wrist, and Newt turned to see him staring at Newt's workstation, his gaze shifting from the Kaiju entrails still on the metal tray to the yellow tank with Alice inside. Two way street, Newt thought again, smirking and letting some of the tension go. "Let's get back to work."

The next morning Newt and Hermann arrived at the lab to find the transporter crew at the entrance.

Newt leaped at the sight of them, but they weren't carrying his remaining Kaiju samples or his first Pons system.

It was, however, the next best thing.

They helped the transporters bring Striker Eureka's spare parts into the main laboratory, moving furniture out of the way or into the uninhabited rooms on the K-science floor.

"I'm really gonna miss that couch," Newt whined later, circling the big server tower that made up most of a Jaeger main computing power. It was taller than Newt and took up the whole floor of his raised platform, where the couch used to be. It reminded Newt of the old supercomputers from the 70s; the design useful for optimizing space inside the Jaeger's head, with several other appendices making up for more advanced or specialized functions. "Where will I take my naps now?"

"You're welcome to take them in the other room," Hermann responded distractedly as he set up the interface monitor. "Or, better yet, in your own quarters."

"It's too cold in both," Newt grumbled, massaging his shoulder over his shirt. Bringing the crates into the lab had been a hustle and Newt felt like a muscle had pulled in his arm. He hasn't done much physical exercise in the past… decade. He barely saw the sun on good days. "Have you noticed how cold it is lately? I know they're trying to get rid of us, but freezing us will do the opposite – then we'll be stuck here!"

Hermann only hummed, rubbing the back of his neck absently even though he hadn't moved a single box.

"We should have bargained for better rooms," Newt continued wistfully. "Or a lab with windows overlooking the ocean. Maybe with a balcony where we could get some fresh air from time to time, place a couple chairs and stare at the horizon."

"Newton, this is a war outpost not a Parisian cafe. Now, are you coming to see this, or is complaining your full time job?" 

Newt rushed closer, slotting in the chair next to Hermann.

The mathematician had made quick work on reprogramming the interface – every Jaeger model took after his original codes so it was a breeze for him. Despite how little credit Hermann actually wanted to take for that endeavor, insisting it was a collective effort and a global achievement, Newt could read between the lines – and the line of codes in front of him. Hermann's hand was present, and it shined through even after countless rewrites and modifications to make the Mark 5s the pinnacle of Jaeger technology. Hermann was still one of the first people who had breathed life into them.

Newt watched, captivated, as Hermann added a few extra lines, checking his work over one final time, before running the program. The screen turned dark, buzzing like a mosquito for the electrolytic capacitors high voltage, before switching on again to the main interface. 

An automated voice welcomed them and Newt's lips pulled back in a beaming grin.

"We should give this thing a name. You know I'm getting tired of calling it ‘the database’. It's not even all that accurate anyway, I'm thinking of it more like a primary artificial intelligence supercomputer, that used to be the inside of a Jaeger's head, and is now a giant hyper-library containing everything on the Alterverse and K-science."

"That's a mouthful," Hermann criticized. "You either shorten it or I'm removing you from the project."

"That's not the name!" Newt screeched, then thought it over, rubbing his chin. "Actually, I wouldn't mind making it an acronym."

"Whatever it is, better not be vulgar."

"Aren't you participating in this decision? We co-signed, so we're basically co-parents. Don't you have any cool name ideas for our first-born?"

An involuntary grimace distorted Hermann's expression. He opened his mouth to speak but only straggled words came out.

"Eh, it's okay," Newt elbowed Hermann playfully on the side to stop him from contorting his face, and then cracked his knuckles. "Let me work on that one, I'm great at picking names."

Hermann shook his head, turning back to the monitor with an existential bafflement still painted on his face.

"Untrue, but I'm not contributing to any facet of this conversation any further. Just please choose something decent."

"Don't worry," Newt smirked, crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. "You're gonna love it."

It was almost a week before Hansen came to the lab with Max on toe.

Newt and Hermann had waited for days for an official visit. The communication didn't specify the time or date, so Hermann had entered a confused preemptive state – fearing the acting Marshal might sneak up on them the very moment they were distracted and the lab looked like a mess (which was always). Newt didn't partake in the anxiety, but Hermann's new wave of hyperactivity was contagious enough to make them both work feverishly faster.

Newt gladly forced all his energy into the database project, and together they worked at a record time and in perfect — almost scary — harmony.

It was astonishing how well they collaborated when their goal was shared and a solid, unbounded synchronicity fueled them. They knew when the other could stay late into the night, when they needed a break for food or sleep, and which direction the other's ideas were flowing before they were even voiced.

Even their verbal arguments — which continued to recur regularly, as so was their nature — were shot-lived and rendered laser-point accurate. Hermann would dismantle Newt's preconceptions and debunk his wildest ideas in minutes, and Newt would infuse earthly perspective into Hermann's most abstract notions, forcing him to reconsider his thoughts in a fraction of the usual time.

Neither of them wanted to admit it, for their own prideful conceptions of themselves, but this was some of the best work they've ever done.

They hit a brick wall only at the end of the first week, in the form of memory-capacity and energy shortage. It seemed even a Jaeger brain wasn't enough for the kind of computations Newt and Hermann were subjecting it to. It overheated rapidly, flagging countless errors on the screen and shutting down or, during one truly terrifying instance, bursting into flames.

By the time the acting Marshal paid them a visit, they still hadn't fixed the issue, so they had to postpone any demonstration.

Herc did seem somewhat disappointed by it, but more than anything his eyes kept tracing the machine Newt and Hermann had reshaped into a towering, glowing beacon, with cables and wires connecting it to various other computers and cooling systems, probably wondering what of Striker Eureka it still had left.

"We've worked on its interface, remodeling the language processing unit into a self-organized system, and we're optimizing the integer factorization," Hermann explained, standing with his back straight in and presenting their machine. Newt kept out of the way, his feet propped on his desk, busying himself with tightening some screws on yet another power supply unit he'd dug out of some storage closet on the Jaeger Bay that Herc shouldn't know about but that Newt didn't particularly feel like hiding. Max trotted to him for some pets, which Newt was more than happy to give. He was starting to like the little guy, and it looked like the feeling was mutual. "In time, it should contain everything Geiszler and I learned from the drift, including the Alterverse planetary ecosystem, Breach engineering and Kaiju bio-manufacturing. We're working on translating and coding this knowledge into the machine at the moment, but it's been a slow process with all the… precautions we're taking."

Newt rolled his eyes unseen. Their precautions consisted of only one of them focusing on a memory from the Alterverse while the other remained as grounded as possible. This process was what they argued about most these days. When Hermann recalled, Newt would wander too far, slipping into the same memory, unwarranted; when Newt recalled, he suspected the same thing happened to Hermann, but instead of slipping, he mathematician snapped them both out too soon.

Until they could drift again, this was the best way to gather data they had, but it's an infuriatingly slow process.

"Right, yes," Herc said, sounding just a bit sour. "I read that in your report. Very impressive work you got here. However, the name you picked… ‘Marshal’, really?"

At this, Newt's head perked up from over his overflowing station.

"Well," Hermann murmured, looking embarrassed. "It's MARHSL, actually. Mnemonic Archive Reconstruction of the Hivemind's Structural Landscape. Dr. Geiszler decided on it."

"Do you like it, Marshal?" Newt asked cheerfully.

Herc huffed, "I can't say I do, but Pentecost would have probably hated it more. Or found it privately hilarious."

Hermann looked mortified by the notion, but Newt smiled.

"It's a homage," he said. It was also a middle finger to military hierarchy but he didn't say that part out loud. Only Hermann realized it at that very moment and he spun around to glare at Newt angrily. Newt deflated a little and hid back behind his station. "We got to a good point with it," he added, trying to bring the presentation back on track. "We loaded lots of data in, but we ran out of computational space and it keeps overheating."

"Unfortunately, that is true," Hermann agreed with a sigh, presumably deciding he'd deal with Newt later. "The cryogenic cooling system isn't sufficient on its own." He indicated a side of his blackboard as though Herc could perfectly understand the math written on it. "I'm trying to calculate some alternatives, but so far I can't see any viable solution. Even connecting MARHSL to the ocean at our doorstep wouldn't be enough refrigeration to keep it running."

"Keep working on it," Herc commanded with a nod. "I know you'll find a solution, but you don't have a lot of time." His eyes traveled over the blackboard and a dark expression fell on his face. "Next week my replacement will arrive, and I have no doubt she'll want to see what you're working on."

"What?" Newt shrieked, startling the poor bulldog as he raised out of his comfortable hiding spot dropping the power adapter box in the process. "Who is going to be the new Marshal?"

"Major General Adelyn Vasquez," Herc answered, letting some of his malcontent show. "I figured the Council would have picked someone like her. She was second in command at the L.A. Shatterdome before they shut it down, and they moved her right along to peacekeeping in the Midwest. She managed to keep the migration route clean and black market traffic under her direct control with her thumb over Oblivion Bay. She kept her house in order, and I'm sure they're hoping she'll work her magic here too. But they don't know shit of what she must have done to keep that apparent peace."

A knot of dread tightened in Newt's chest. Even K-science had no idea about the deal Pentecost had stricken with the black market agents to keep funding coming. He wondered how much worse than that it could get if even someone like Herc was concerned.

For the first time Newt realized just how serious this change was. Losing Herc meant losing an ally, a protector, and a friend.

"I heard of Vasquez," Hermann broke the heavy silence. "She praised my father's Wall of Life endeavors."

Herc scoffed, seemingly unsurprised by that.

"Hold up," Newt said. "What does that mean for the renewal of the Jaeger program? Will she support that?"

Herc looked at him pointedly, probably thinking about the long paragraph in their report Newt wrote strongly advising him to put a preventive stop to whatever Mako was setting in motion.

"I may not be totally in the loop of what's going on anymore, but I know Vasquez is the kind of person whose loyalties are based on what's most convenient for her. She's publicly supporting Mori and Becket, calling them the heroes of the new world, and she's opening up talks to get funding back for the US, either to remodel an old Shatterdome or to build one from scratch."

"What about the one right here?" Newt asked, spreading his arms around to indicate their chaotic, ancient, falling-apart, but irreplaceable lab.

"Nothing's official yet," Herc responded grimly. "But my advice would be to get ready for any eventuality. Finish your MARHSL computer, get some tangible signal on the situation in the Kaiju world before Vasquez gets here, because after that I'm not sure what she'll decide to do with this project. You're covered by the PPDC to continue working with Lightcap, but this could get shut down if they found out before due time. Don't go to her with it until you have something. Got it?"

Newt and Hermann exchanged a worried look from across the room. Hermann tensed his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to contain his emotions.

When he looked back at Herc he saluted, standing straight, and Newt's hand twitched in an unsolicited impulse to do the same.

"Thank you," Hermann said earnestly. "For everything."

"Keep your heads up, doctors." Herc told them, and the uplift of his lips smothered some of the tight lines on his face. "And good luck."

Three days after his K-sci visit, Herc Hansen packed his bags and was ready to leave.

He said he had relatives in Sidney he was looking forward to seeing, and an old house in the suburb that belonged to his family from before the war that had been closed for years and needed some putting back together. Newt didn't know if he sounded hopeful to be going back, or if he was scared of finding only ghosts waiting for him there, but either way, when Newt and Hermann saw him off on the same platform where Mori and Becket had departed from, he smiled and shook both their hands.

Saying goodbye to Herc on that launch pad felt more final than saying goodbye to Mako.

For once, there was no rain and the sun almost shined behind the clouds. Marshal Vasquez didn't pass the baton with Herc personally, instead her new second in command, along with a small battalion of military goons who looked like no nonsense and didn't even provide their names were supposed to hold the fort until Vasquez was said to arrive a few days later.

This gave Newt and Hermann some extra time to work on MARHSL and, privately, fret that they haven't made any progress in days.

It was brick wall after brick wall on the cooling system and computing capacity problems, and the extra data they collected daily on post-it notes and scrap paper was growing exponentially with nowhere else to store it.

Newt hadn't slept in days, and his blotched recollections of the Hive only got more erratic and jumbled because of it. Hermann lamented constantly; his math wall gave Newt a headache to look at, and the evident lack of a solution was making Hermann more irritable than ever.

They'd both snapped at the medics the last time they'd shown up. Gage and Lightcap had barely bothered them in the past week, but they couldn't count themselves so lucky for the daily medical checkups. Nothing new ever showed up in the readings anyway, except for their terrible blood pressure and frayed nerves, for which Newt couldn't do anything about at the moment.

It all felt profoundly useless.

When Newt had engineered his Pons, it hadn't been so hard figuring out that final wild step to complete the work. An insurmountable problem (drifting with a disembodied alien brain) required an ingenious and out-of-the-box solution (scientifically removing any barrier between them). But now Newt couldn't see the out-of-the-box solution, and it was driving him insane.

It was 2:44 a.m., as a monitor on MARSHL indicated, and Newt wondered wearily why would Hermann put a clock on the machine?

It was definitely just to taunt Newt.

He stared at the gigantic, glowing golden tower from his stool, contemplating it just as he sometimes did with Alice. The alien brain was a good starting point for losing himself in the memories of the Hive, from which he emerged bloodied and sometimes nauseated, but with new fragments of information in his wake. MARSHL, on the other hand, stared at him impassively, giving him nothing, and Newt's eyelid began to twitch.

Hermann was still in the lab too, as was usual these days; his sense of urgency pushing him past his and Newt's limits. Neither of them dared to make the other leave, because that would start an endless game of "No, you go first!" "No, you go first!" that neither of them could win. In truth, Newt didn't know which of them would kneel over first, but if he'd learned anything about their connection it was that they'd likely go down together in the same spectacular, self-destructive moment if they didn't find a solution soon.

"We need Dilution refrigeration," Newt said for probably the third time in so many hours. "Or fucking Laser Cooling, or anything they're using for Quantum Computers. Or, better yet, we need a goddamn Quantum Computer."

Hermann groaned, his hands drawing shakier and shakier numbers on the board.

"If I have to hear you suggest a Quantum Computer one more time—"

"It's the only solution, dude! We don't have anything else that can calculate faster than that!"

"We do, and that's me."

"Oh, give me a fucking break!" Newt blurted out, bracing himself for another nosebleed. The trash can beside him was already full of bloody tissues. He was sure he'd emptied it a few hours ago. Or maybe it was yesterday.

"As I already told you," Hermann glared at him, his fist clenched on the chalk. "We don't have a Quantum Computer at hand, but even if we did, the numbers speak loud and clear. Even that would not be enough computing power. A thousand Quantum Computers strapped together wouldn't be enough. You know what would be?"

"No, I don't fucking know, idiot! Please, illuminate me!"

"The Hivemind!" Hermann screamed. "The Hivemind would be enough, because it already was! Transferring all that knowledge is — is impossible," he concluded weakly, all the anger suddenly leaving him as he staggered back from the board to look at it. "It's impossible... Nothing we have on Earth is enough."

Hermann's voice cracked on the last word, and Newt remained silent as he stared at the mathematician's back, unsure of what to do.

A headache throbbed at his temples, a constant accompaniment to the mental strain of the past days. His mind was fuzzy like television static, his thoughts floating in hazy clouds, and Hermann's were the same. Newt felt his tiredness obscuring his clarity; desperation and exhaustion tallying on his cleverness. He suddenly regretted not sending Hermann to rest hours ago. Days ago. From the very beginning even.

Newt glanced at Alice. The Kaiju's brain was floating with its extremities inside the glass tube, watching innocently as Hermann and Newt reached the end of their rope.

If this machine failed, then the Hivemind would be lost with them. If nothing but the collective consciousness of an alien race could host it, then what hope did Newt and Hermann have? Two humans, even if bright, even if geniuses, couldn't carry it forever.

The light from the yellow container shone on Newt's operating table, where he'd barely finished storing his last samples in the midst of working on MARHSL. The plastic containers needed to be replaced soon, before all his idle work of separating the nerves was for nothing.

Newt blinked, straightening. His mind struggled around the exhaustion, but his eyes widened when he finally got it, body quivering with the thrill of the realization.

The nerves.

The answer was so simple, so elegant, but it struck like a bolt of lightning. If he'd had a light bulb above his head, Newt imagined it would have shone brighter than the sun.

They could use the nervous system as connective wires for their database.

An organic supercomputer, harvesting the powerful knowledge of the Hivemind by using its same biological material to function.

Of course nothing on Earth was powerful enough to contain it. An alien problem required an alien solution.

"Hermann," Newt called, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Put on some gloves."

They got summoned into the new Marshal's office on the day she arrived.

It was the final day of their two-weeks mandatory rest, neither Newt nor Hermann had slept in more than three days, and their nerves were so shot they could be pulled out of their noses along with the blood to be added to MARHSL.

Newt and Hermann had fought for hours before the mathematician was convinced to try integrating Kaiju biological material to their supercomputer, but even numbers, for how much Hermann could calculate, were in Newt's favor.

The theory worked, now it was time for the practice.

The assembly was messy. Disgustingly slimy and indefensibly fetid, as Hermann'd said more than once, but electricity passed around the nerves like if it was always meant for this purpose.  

Newt's eyes shined behind his protective goggles, moved by his creation. He wondered if the nervous system could compensate for the memory capacity problem as well, but they'll have to test that later. For now, the nerves were in place and MARHSL looked like a jungle tree covered in vines inside its refrigeration tube immersed in the yellow formaldehyde liquid. The combination regulated temperatures perfectly, better than any highly cooling chemical formula they'd tried.

An entire extra day was spent controlling all the factual data on just the Alterverse's atmosphere for now, going over their post-it notes and translating everything into code. By the time everything was ready, Hermann's new coat was draped carefully over the back of a chair and Newt's green striped tie was hanging loose around his neck.

Newt felt his body vibrating with anticipation. He was sure it was going to work.

They only thing they hadn't accounted for was running out of time, and just as they turned MARHSL on and feed it its first question, starting the slow calculative process, an urgent communication came from Marshal Vasquez inviting them both to her office.

For once Newt couldn't be blamed for having lost track of time, Hermann had as well. And they had no choice but to make their way to the Marshal's office unprepared, sleep-deprived, smelling of Kaiju gore, and with Hermann so agitated that he kept twitching and hyperventilating.

He was going to give Newt a goddamn panic attack through the ghost drift.

"I need you to be about one hundred percent calmer right now," Newt told Hermann, gripping him by the shoulders while in the elevator. Lack of sleep always turned Hermann more apocalyptic than he already was, but this was one of the absolute worst times for it. "We just need to act chill in there. We introduce ourselves, tell her we're working with Lightcap, and that we're gonna drift again soon, and that's it. She doesn't know anything else, and won't need to know anything else for now."

"What if she already knows?" Hermann hissed, edged with tension. "What if she read Hansen's reports or spoke with Lightcap first?"

"She just got here. We have time."

"And we left it unsupervised," Hermann kept yammering, gripping a handful of his hair and barely listening to Newt. "What if it catches on fire again? All that bloody muddle of nerves—"

"Hermann, hey," Newt gripped his cheeks this time, bringing Hermann's face down at his level. His skin was itchy from the 5 o'clock shadow that Hermann hadn't had time to shave, but Newt was aware his beard — and his general appearance — was in far worse conditions. "Listen to me, the numbers are right. You calculated this, and you don't make mistakes."

"I make lots of mistakes," Hermann uttered. His pupils were blown wide; his eyes's usual sharpness replaced by hazy uncertainty.

"Not now, you don't. You got this right. I know it's right."

Hermann stepped back in a jerking motion, straightening his spine and Newt let go, dangling his hands by his sides and flexing his fingers before the elevator stopped.

"Just follow my lead," Newt smirked in over-exaggerated confidence.

He expected a classic eye-roll from Hermann, but his lab partner responded with a sharp nod instead.

The upper-levels of the Shatterdome looked drastically different already. The corridor outside the Marshal's office was storming with men and women in dark military uniforms, complete with helmets and guns well visible at their sides. Newt cringed at the sight of the two soldiers stationed outside the metal door, even more so when they stood to attention and let them in. At least Hermann seemed uncomfortable too, rather than impressed.

Inside the room, Newt was mildly horrified when all of Pentecost's furniture and objects were gone and his office stood bare, with only a new metal desk with two extra chairs in front. They were alone and Newt turned to stare at Hermann, who looked gloomy, running his sad gaze over the empty room.

The door closed behind them and Newt thought they'd been left alone to wait, when a crisp voice spoke behind them.

"Geiszler and Gottlieb I presume."

Newt and Hermann turned in unison to the woman framed by the door.

Marshal Vasquez was similar to how Newt had pictured her. From Hansen's tale of her exploitations in the American Midwest, he'd imagine someone who looked like a war general. Fierce, strong and ready to jump into the fray. But her appearance also gave off a sense of control and neatness, with her spotless dark blue uniform, her hair in a bun with only a few salt and pepper curly strands poking out to frame her face, and her tall and inflexible stance.

Her smile looked predatory as she crossed the room to sit, and Newt tried not to shudder. She hadn't offered them a chair but Newt was too tired to play power games so he sat down and forced an amiable grin on his face. From Hermann's dismayed thoughts in the back of his mind, he had the impression he wasn't succeeding.

"That's us," Newt said. "In the flesh."

Vasquez's smirk turned more challenging and she raised her chin a fraction, going from valuing Newt to studying Hermann — and Newt didn't like one bit the way her eyes skimmed Hermann, as if asserting his weaknesses.

"Do sit down, Dr. Gottlieb. I'm happy to finally meet you. I've heard much about you."

"Only bad things I hope," Newt tried for a joke. Hermann's agonized feedback was distracting.

Vasquez's eyebrows shot up for a moment before she smothered her expression, her smile still in place.

"Depends on the point of view, I suppose. The PPDC Council isn't known for their sympathies, but you seem to have conquered even them. You must be aware of how rare that is." she was fixated on Hermann as she said it, and Hermann seemed to shrink at the mention of the Council. "Your father in particular was pleased by your results."

Hermann knuckles turned white on the handle of his cane.

Newt clamped his mouth shut, shallowing every righteous insult that was on the tip of his tongue.

"However," Vasquez continued, "during a few key moments, he did sound skeptical about your current work for the PPDC, and I cannot help but share the sentiment."

"That's only fair," Newt shrugged, smiling forcibly. "What we're doing is highly experimental, and I don't blame Lars Gottlieb for not understanding. It wouldn't be the first time something was out of his depth."

Hermann's heart almost visibly skipped a beat. He turned his head, cheeks scarlet, to Newt and then to Vasquez in pure terror as the Marshal's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What we're trying to do is analyze our drift residues," the mathematician hurried to say. His voice didn't waver, but he sounded way more emotive than he usually did. "We're hoping to have a more exhaustive understanding of the aftereffects it still has on us."

"And what are the practical applications of your research?" Vasquez asked.

"The practical…?" Hermann repeated.

"How can it be used?" Vasquez emphasized. "After the amount of money the PPDC set aside for you, I'm sure you or Dr. Lightcap have a bigger project in store."

"That's not what our work is about!" Newt bellowed infuriated.

"We set off to get rid of our own residual connection to the Kaiju Hivemind," Hermann added, trying for a reasonable tone but getting heated too. "We are classified under medical research for this reason."

"Is that so? Well, that would be an enormous waste, wouldn't it? You're willing to sacrifice all the Kaiju's tactical knowledge for your own personal gain?"

Newt jumped to his feet, sending his chair back. 

"We aren't sacrificing anything that isn't our own lives here, and I'd rather set it all on fire before I let any of you make weapons out of it!"

"Newton," Hermann hissed alarmed, but Newt refused to look at him.

Vasquez seemed surprised for a moment, but her chilling control was hard to shake. She crossed her hands in front of her face, eyeing Newt with a chilling glare.

"Do you see us as warmongers, Dr. Geiszler? Are the Jaegers that saved us just crude killing machines to you? Is Dr. Gottlieb here nothing more than a weapon manufacturer then, since he's responsible for their construction?" Newt held her gaze, his fists were clenched to his sides. She had the kind of sharp and demanding eyes that read right through you. "Then you should have been in favor of the Wall of Life, as the most nonviolent solution. Except you weren't. And your loyalty is barely concealed, with the monsters you painted all over your skin."

She finished cruelly, disdainfully looking down at Newt's exposed forearms.

Newt bared his teeth, ready to explode — when the warm touch of Hermann's fingers closed around his arm, right over Yamarashi, and he stood too. His hand stayed there, in what Newt could have thought was a protective or supportive gesture. If it wasn't for the ghost drift. Because the only emotion translated into something Newt understood was anger.

"Ma'am," Hermann said, keeping his voice deceptively even. "We're working on preserving the knowledge from the Kaiju. Whatever will be done with it is still up in the air. We can only aspire to finish our work, before the connection fades away for good. Please, allow us to continue it."

Finally, Vasquez's tight-lipped, complacent smile settled on Hermann, and Newt realized at last what she reminded him of.

A Precursor.

"Well of course," she said slowly, deliberately kind. "Your drift with the Kaiju is one of the things that saved us, and I find disgraceful that they relegated you to lab tests when you should be treated as war heroes. But I'm not keeping you away from what are clearly your biggest talents. You have my full support in any of your endeavors. I'm sure we will do great work together."

They rode the elevator down to their lab in painful silence. Newt kept his eyes on the orange light coming from the slitter between the doors, biting at his nails. His head leaned against the wall, feeling the cart's vibration in his cranium. On the opposite corner, Hermann massaged his eyes and the spot over the bridge of his nose, nursing a headache Newt partially shared.

After Marshal Vasquez accepted to let them continue working, she immediately proceeded to schedule another drift session for the two scientists. Lightcap was called up, and it all spiraled from there. They got the timid and frightful neuroscientist today. At her insistence that the Mock Pons she was preparing needed more upgrades, she accidently let slip that Newt and Hermann had a tendency to overload the system during their drifts, and they'd do a lot better on an actual decommissioned Conn-Pod.

This, instead of deterring the new Marshal, only sparked her curiosity more. She upped the game, called in her contact in Oblivion Bay and ordered the best Jaeger Conn-Pod unit they had still functioning to be sent to Hong Kong as soon as possible, highest priority.

They had two days, three at most, before they had to drift again.

Newt looked at Hermann nervously. He mentally ran through possible solutions, but just like for their machines early on, he could find nothing. Only Band-Aids over bullet wounds.

When they reached their floor, Newt stepped out on unsteady legs. He noticed Hermann wasn't coming, his shoulders drooped and his face still covered by his hand.

Newt hurriedly stopped the elevator door as it began to close. He felt fresh out of ways to console the man, and desperate enough to get Hermann to talk to him to say the first thing running on his tired and turbid mind.

"We need MARHSL to be part of Lightcap's project. There are enough similarities between them that we could get away with it, if she's on board. I don't like it, I don't like it one bit, but we'd be more protected while we keep working on it. And we could even get help from her dozens of techs. She won't miss two or three."

He cracked a smile but Hermann didn't even raise his head to look at him, and Newt's chest was growing so tight it became hard to breathe.

"Dude, I-I know I messed up there, but you gotta talk to me. Please. It would have gone south either way, and I don't regret saying those things to her face. Can you say something. Please. I'm starting to freak out over here."

Hermann's hand slowly uncovered his eyes and he looked at Newt, tired and unamused.

"I spoke back to a superior officer," he mumbled.

Newt's shoulders dropped in a sigh of relief and he leaned against the elevator door.

"Barely. But I'm very proud of you."

Hermann gripped his cane more steadily and walked past Newt, his mind back on track.

"Talking to Lightcap would work," he said, "but it won't be enough. And it's not our only problem. We need a plan of action for our next drift. We cannot make mistakes in front of Marshal Vasquez. She's probably looking for any reason to terminate all of our involvement with the PPDC, and we can't let her."

"Wait," Newt shook his head, catching up with Hermann. "So you agree with me?"

"About Lightcap? Of course I do, it's the best idea you had all day."

"Then why isn't it enough?"

They rounded the corner and opened the door to their lab. On the raised platform, MARHSL was still calculating, emitting quiet beeps and grinds as it processed, but there was no smoke or flames around it. Overall a good sign. Hermann asserted the situation on the console, nodding to himself as he stated that everything was working smoothly. 

"We can't rely on Lightcap with this, I'm afraid," Hermann said, removing his reading glasses and hitting them over his chin as he spoke. "If we don't want MARHSL to be used in ways we don't agree on, then for that we need to go public with our discovery. We should patent it, make it clear and indisputable what we're doing with it."

"Knocking to see if anyone's home?" Hermann spared Newt a slightly concerned look. Maybe he didn't approve of the term ‘anyone’, maybe he'd prefer ‘anything’. It was a distinction Newt made unconsciously, but wasn't ready to take back. "If we really proved the Precursors and the Kaiju are gone for good, and proved that in front of everyone, then there is no way they could justify spending millions on new Jaegers. Unless they want to openly admit they wanna store them as an end-all-wars arsenal."

"Yes," Hermann said with a grim twist of his mouth. "Which is why we have to go above them before they stop us from uncovering the truth."

Newt bit hard on the inside of his cheek, mulling it over.

Hermann was right. In this case, public exposure was their friend. He remembered Mako's interview, and how the host had asked the Rangers if they were safe from the Kaiju now. They couldn't give that answer, only Hermann and Newt could, and it was their ticket out of the PPDC's thumb, since it was becoming more and more evident there's some secret reason why they're collecting data from their drifts.

"Alright," he said with a growing sense of purpose. "Let's get this show on the road. Just you and me."

Hermann's lips twitched into a tiny smile, before dropping again. 

"But MARHSL has to work before that happens," he mused, eyeing the machine with concern. 

Newt shrugged in confidence. "I don't doubt it will. Even if it takes a while."

As he finished saying that, a loud blare sounded in the lab.

Newt saw Hermann frown and both of them turned to MARHSL. A few lights shone brighter under the jungle of Kaiju nerves, and the monitor at its base switched on, flagging only a dark screen filling with blue text but no red error message.

Hermann and Newt exchanged another wide-eyed look before rushing closer.

A pungent and wet sensation lingered in Newt's nose, anticipating what was about to happen as they held their breath.

question = input ('Can the ALTERVERSE's Atmosphere burn completely after a nuclear explosion?')

    answer = 'Yes'

"Yes!" Newt screamed, throwing his hands in the air. "Yes!" his heart pounded in his chest, and it was totally unexpected to him when his eyes started to sting and his voice broke. "Yes…"

"By Jove…" was all the mathematician whispered.

Their noses started to bleed.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was bright and a warm summer breeze entered through the open windows as Hermann walked down the hallway for his last class of the day.

He passed a few students rushing by but overall there wasn't as much foot traffic as usual today, oddly enough. He wondered if there was an event on Campus that he wasn't aware of. He might have missed the memo. 

His classroom was empty as well when he entered, which turned the situation from strange to completely unusual.

Hermann frowned and wondered unhappily if he should go to the department head's office and inform himself on what was happening — until he noticed the small group of students gathered in a circle around a desk at one end of the room. They were all perfectly quiet, the only noise coming from a laptop placed in the middle of them where a movie was playing loudly.

Hermann limped closer, ready to break the spectacle apart and send everyone to their seats, when from the screen an animalistic roar pierced the air. The complaint died on Hermann's throat as he zeroed in on the moving images. His confusion turned into cold fear in an instant.

It wasn't a movie his students were watching, it was an emergency broadcast, happening live on the other side of the world where a giant creature had emerged from San Francisco's bay and was tearing apart the Golden Gates Bridge.

Hermann watched in mute horror as the rampage and chaos happened on the screen. His rational mind couldn't comprehend the utter impossibility of what he's seeing. He tried to dismiss it for a hoax, a fake and crude joke, but the terror radiating from his students was palpable and infectious enough to make it real. Even though Hermann wasn't much older than them, they all appeared very young right now; quivering hands covering their mouths and frightened eyes that couldn't leave the screen even for a moment.

The beast roared again, crackling through the computer speakers with its intensity. It sounded almost like a laugh. Some of the students backed away, as if they were afraid the monster would jump out of the screen and attack their classroom next. 

Hermann remained planted where he was. Not out of bravery. His body had gone rigid, sized still, forcing him to watch unblinking. He absorbed every minuscule detail, every close up on the creature's scaly skin, bearing of fangs, explosions followed by black smoke, and he let his mind slowly, formulaically, break this event down into manageable facts.

It wasn't the first time in his life Hermann had done this, but for the first time he saw it with painful clarity for what it truly was: a defense mechanism. It felt so pitiful as an attempt to make sense of his condition and turn it into something he could manage when what was in front of him wasn't his father's reproaches, wasn't being sent to another country for his studies, wasn't physical and emotional pain, rejection, scorn, and pity that he had to store somewhere so it wouldn't affect him. This was the world as everyone knew it shifting out of its axis. His calculus of variabilities couldn't help anyone now. But it was the only protection Hermann had. 

There was nothing else he could do to keep the terror at bay, except to start recalculating. 

The noise of porcelain shattering snapped Hermann out of it. 

A broken piece of mug slid close to his foot; droplets of the black coffee it once contained splashed on the antique wooden floor. Hermann frowned and lifted his eyes. His breath hitched in his throat as his lips parted in surprise.

The classroom was split in half. One side of the room was gone and the wall opened on a cluttered kitchen and living room space with a green couch in front of a small TV set, and in the middle of them stood Newton. He was wearing a pair of checkered pajama pants and a black shirt with the name of some band Hermann vaguely recognized. His hair was longer, cut into a mullet reaching his neck and sticking up wildly. His arms completely devoid of his colorful tattoos.

Newton hadn't noticed the rift yet, or Hermann just on the other side of it. His attention was wholly taken by the TV, where the same grotesque spectacle Hermann and his students were watching played out. He looked shell-shocked, the lens of his glasses reflecting the Kaiju attack on the TV, unaware of the coffee straining the carpet by his feet.

Hermann bent down to pick the piece of shard, turning it over in his palm carefully. It had a cartoon image of Godzilla on it, its open jaws and the blue fire it breathed still visible in this fragment.

Suddenly, Hermann's perception changed and he was fully aware of the unreality he was in.

He contemplated the mug piece again. It'd been so long since that letter, and yet Hermann still recalled Newton's humorous anecdote about it. It'd stuck with Hermann in an almost grievous way, the story of how Geiszler had caught the emergency newscast of K-day in the morning right before going to work, already running a bit late. How he'd glanced at the TV as he rushed through breakfast. How his favorite mug had slipped from his unnerved fingers and shattered on the floor. How what he'd seen on the TV made him feel wide awake for the first time in his life, and how it'd completely reset his life in an instant. 

Hermann gazed back at his students, at his classroom in Cambridge, and then up at the ceiling where he could almost imagine himself and Geiszler out there, in the present world. So many years down the line.

When he peered back at Newton, Hermann was startled to find the biologist staring back at him, with the same intensity in his eyes he'd reserved for Trespasser on the TV broadcast moments ago. He blinked a few times, throwing his gaze around the joint rooms and taking everything in, before settling back on Hermann, brows creased and determined.

"Don't wake up," Newton said hurriedly, carefully stepping over the division between his kitchen in Boston and Hermann's classroom in Cambridge as if he was scared to upset a delicate equilibrium. He eyed Hermann up and down before grabbing his hand and dragging him away, the shard falling from Hermann's loose hold and breaking into more pieces when it hit the floor. "How have you not changed your wardrobe at all in ten years? It's honestly crazy, man. I swear you wore that sweatervest fucking yesterday."

Hermann huffed indignant, but before he could retaliate with an insult of his own, or demand for how long exactly had Newton known they had been sharing dreams, they were out into the hallway. 

Hermann inhaled sharply at the sight before him. The same corridor he'd walked countless times and knew so well was stretched into two impossibly long ends with identical doors on either side, as if Newton and Hermann were standing between two mirrors looking into themselves.

"Shit," Newton cursed under his breath. "This isn't good. How do we get to the Hivemind from here?" 

"To what?" Hermann spun around quickly to fulminate the other man with his gaze. "Newton, this is a dream."

"Yeah, and? It's still in our minds, so it's probably all connected. Hey, didn't you say something about a corridor the last time we drifted — something about doors with memories inside? Was it like this one?"

"Not at all," Hermann scowled, bristling when Newton's slippers slid noisily on the parquet floors. "It was more similar to the hallways in the Shatterdome, actually. But it was merely a manifestation of the connection between memories, I believe. And it wasn't so… endless."

"A manifestation of the connection between memories, huh?" Newton repeated with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he opened one of the doors. 

He emitted a disappointed huff when it led right back to where they'd come from. 

After a quick inspection, Newton exited the second joint classroom-kitchen-living room, leaving the door wide open after dismissing it and moving on to the next, then the next, and the next. 

"Check the ones on the other side," Newton told Hermann after a while of the mathematician grumbling and trailing after him. "Maybe it's gonna be a random one leading somewhere different."

"You're not listening to me," Hermann thumped his cane for emphasis, stopping in his tracks as Newton proceeded down the infinite hallway without a pause. He wished to get out of this hallway as much as Newton did, there was something about this place that unsettled him more than it rationally should. However, he had no intention of going along with Geiszler's plan, sure there must be another, clearer way to wake himself up and escape this labyrinth. "Why did you not say anything if you knew we were walking in each other's dreams?" he insisted.

"Pot meet kettle, dude!" Newton shouted over his shoulder, his optimism was beginning to waver after each failed attempt led him back into the same rooms. "You didn't say anything either. I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"Yes, because you always respected my wishes," Hermann griped. 

He gave in to the hastiness and opened one of the doors closest to him. Nothing different was inside, but a loose sheet of paper was blown from the door into the long corridor, dancing midair before settling on the floor. Hermann frowned at it, but got distracted by Newton groaning a good distance ahead. 

"Nothing," Newton shouted, and there was real anguish in his despairing gestures as he ran a hand over his longer hair. "It's all dead ends! What are we missing? How do we get outta here?" 

Newton's frustration had an anxious edge to it that Hermann was beginning to share. He could swear the walls around them were getting narrower. 

Most of the doors in Newton's path had been left open after his inspection, and more papers were blowing into the hallway until Hermann was walking on a carpet made of them trying to get to Newton. He could no longer see the parquet underneath them.

Intrigued, Hermann caught a flying paper as it danced midair, hopeful it could be a clue. 

His frown deepened when he saw his own handwriting covering the page, and his heart skipping a beat and sank below the floorboards as he read the first line at the top.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

It wasn't simple paper. It was letters - their letters - and they were everywhere. He was buried up to his cuffs now and the wind kept pushing more in like waves on high tide.

"Well," Newton murmured. "Isn't this something." Hermann's eyes snapped up and he saw Geiszler had quickly caught up on it too, holding two different pages in each hand, face ashen and eyes bulging behind his glasses. 

"Newton, I think we should move on," Hermann said, immediately regretting it as a flush creeped up to his neck. Not the best way to frame that.

But Newton didn't even register it. His jaw was clamped tight and his gaze fixed on the letters as if something was hidden deep between the lines — until his expression changed. He tilted his head to the side.

"Wait," Newton said, his voice barely traveling the distance between them and reaching Hermann like an echo. "Can you hear it?"

"Hear what, exactly?" Hermann asked, ignoring the dryness in his throat. The letter was burning in his hand now and he let it go, watching it fall to the ground among the others overflowing the space, before pushing forward another effortful step. 

"There is a hum." Newton whispered, his eyes closing as though concentrating on something in the distance. "It's like TV statics or something. I heard it in the drift too, I'm sure of it."

"Newton—"

"Shh, listen."

Hermann stood quiet, closing his eyes as well after a moment of reticence. Nothing sounded different. It was just the rustling of paper, his and Newton's breathing beyond that, the noise of the Kaiju on the emergency broadcast, combined in a choir coming from every open room, and further back… he heard it.  

Like the quiet tinkle of machinery, or the buzz of a beehive.

Hermann's eyes snapped open, a rush of cold wind making him shiver. 

"It's… behind the walls," he spoke cautiously; an uncurated guess but that he knew instinctively was correct.

"Behind the…" Newton repeated, frantically making a half turn around himself. Then he laughed, and it reverberated through the hollow nooks and spalls of their absurd shared mindscape. "Of course! We don't need doors — we need cracks! That's where the Hivemind was the last time!"

Newton kicked piles of letters out of his path and pushed a heavy bookcase, groaning at the effort. He inspected the wall behind it — his face an inch from the surface as if it contained tiny scriptures he was decrypting. Hermann clenched his jaw, rowing papers out of the way with his cane as they grew copiously without stopping. They seemed to multiply in number with every passing second. Every step closer to Newton only served to sink Hermann down more as if he was standing on quicksand.

On the other side of the corridor, Newton propped himself up on a table and was tearing framed photographs from the brown wallpaper, unceremoniously throwing them into the growing sea of letters where they immediately got swallowed and disappeared beneath the surface. Until a gasp escaped his mouth and the last frame he held slipped from his hand.

"Here," Newton whispered, fingers tracing the wallpaper where Hermann could barely make out a thin, dark crack running across the surface. Even from afar, an involuntary shiver ran down Hermann's spine. "It's here!" Newton cheered, letting out a throaty and giddy laugh. "Oh man, I can't believe it! It's a teeny tiny one, but it's here, Hermann! This means—Hermann!"

Newton finally turned back around and his eyes widened. 

The letters were up to Hermann's shoulders and he couldn't move another step; his legs were buried in the papers, holding him firmly in place.

Hermann stared at his lab partner across the hall, and for a split second everything slowed down. He tried to clear his mind and think of a way out. This was a dream, he wasn't in any real danger. He only needed to wake up and he'd be safe, but even as he struggled to make his panic-stricken mind accept this he couldn't help uselessly battering letters away. They compressed his chest, constricting him from all sides in a vice. Newton was closer to the Alterverse than he was to Hermann, on higher ground and safely out of harm's way. He would never make it back to Hermann in time, and even if he did, he would only drown alongside Hermann. If this was his end, at least Newton was being spared for a few minutes longer, and Hermann needed to tell Newton to get out of here and save himself. He opened his mouth, intending to yell just that, but a sickening wave of terror seized his lungs leaving him breathless and stifling his reasoning out.

"Help me!" Hermann cried out. 

It shattered their stall and in an instant Newton leaped into the sea of paper, wading and thrashing to get to Hermann. He sank all the way down to his shoulders too but he kicked his arms and legs frantically to keep himself afloat.

"Shit, shit, shit! Grab my hand!"

Newton extended his arm out but was still too far away, getting entrapped the more he strode closer. Hermann was desperately trying to keep his mouth above the surface even as letters landed on his eyes and blocked his view.

He sucked in a desperate breath and got one last glimpse of Newton frantically digging towards him, hyperventilating and more scared than Hermann had ever seen him. Tears stung behind Hermann's eyes. He could still hear Newton frantically calling his name above the ruffling of paper and the raging of Kaiju, but it all became muffled and quiet. He used his last sprint of energy fueled by adrenaline to free an arm out of the pile, pushing above his head against the walls of papers swallowing him. He stuck his hand to Newton blindly, and felt their fingers brushing uselessly, too far away to grab.

Hermann's last breath burned in his lungs, lasting agonizingly long. He couldn't scream, he couldn't free himself, he couldn't stop the walls from crushing his brittle body into nothing.

They couldn't wake up—

"No!" Newton bellowed and the shattering and raw anguish of it traveled to Hermann like a piercing blade.

Hermann cried out and it echoed in his ears as he woke up, jumping upright as he sucked in a gasping breath. It took a few seconds of composing himself, coughing desperately and grappling for the lightswitch on the shelf above the bed, blindly knocking something over before his fingers found it and his solitary bedroom was cast in harsh, defining light.

Hermann's heartbeat was still hammering in his ears, and his head swam treacherously, nauseating him as his vision came and went out of focus. After a few long moment, he swung his numb legs over the side of the bed and touched the ground, if only to feel anything solid underneath him. The painkillers he'd taken the night before were stronger than the dosage he normally used. It'd made his headache dissipate into a warm cloud as a general torpor still pervaded his body. His leg felt stripped down to the barest sensations to the point he almost couldn't feel his toes. It reminded Hermann of when he was young and the dosage was still being tested regularly to figure out what was best for him. There wasn't a definitive answer, he'd learned. It was a matter of balance. Enough pain to maintain a sensation in his limbs, but not too much to succumb to it.

Over the years, Hermann had come to prefer the pain to the numbness. At least that was a clearer boundary.

The alarm on his bedside table hadn't gone off yet, but it wasn't early enough to justify going back to sleep. Not that Hermann particularly wanted to now, in spite of how tired he still felt. 

He got to his feet slowly and headed to the small toilet attached to his room. He checked his reflection on the mirror above the sink for some time, unable to look away even if nothing he saw appealed him. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and the lines on his ashen face seemed to have been carved deeper during the night. Almost involuntarily, he touched the infamous point behind his neck, pressing his fingers to the smooth and unmarked skin.

He was forced to acknowledge the evidence of what could no longer be plausibly denied.

His connection to Newton was getting stronger.

Hermann's had his suspicions, working on MARHSL and seeing Newton's thoughts and feelings taking a more defined shape in his mind. He didn't have to concentrate much at all to perceive his lab partner now. In the order of his mind, Newton's thoughts were running rampant. Ideas started out, got lost, became something else, triggered images, notions, wild bursts of knowledge that disrupted any and all of Hermann's cogitation.

Everything Newton was saturated in insolubility, disarray and chaos.

It'd been more than two weeks since their last drift, and instead of weakening their connection felt as powerful as when they wore the helmets and electricity was cursing through their heads. Working on MARHSL, locking in on those disnatured impulses coming from the Hivemind to drag them into the light, had made the drift aftereffects uncontrollable.

They were tattering the edge of no return, and their work was nowhere near done.

Atmospheric factors has brought a positive outcome, but they had more to add to the calculation. Geographic, biological, and ecotechnological predictors needed to be estimated, which meant more work, more looking into their connection, more drifts — and the more they saw glimpses of the Alterverse, the more their consciousness lingered where it didn't belong, the more the corruption spread.

They'd both been pushing it over the limit for days on end. That continuous strain was rooted in Hermann's bones, and the threshold seemed so far back he couldn't even see it anymore. Predictably, a night's sleep hadn't been enough to solve anything; the ache and tiredness were still present, the connection to Geiszler thrummed like a shockwave, and they were nowhere near close to completion. 

Hermann sighed, dropping his hand from the base of his neck and staring down at the running water.

They could do it. They had to do it. The consequences of failure were too great to contemplate. But they needed a better strategy. They needed allies, resources, time.

He ran through the program in his head again. Geographic, biological, and ecotechnological. Geographic, biological, and ecotechnological. It would become a mantra soon enough. A chant like the ones the Kaiju used to keep themselves on course. The idea repulsed Hermann deeply, but it was too late to feel disgusted by his proximity to those monsters now. He needed to keep his mind sharp and on trajectory. Any miscalculation would cost them everything. 

Geographic, biological, and ecotechnological factors. Look into the connection, drift once more, complete MARHSL. Unveil the truth about the Kaiju.

Were they alive?

Were they safe?

Hermann closed his eyes against the spinning room, gripping the side of the sink. The questions tangled in his mind, expanding over the edges of confinement until emotions got attached to them. It became about the world, about the people he cared about, about himself and Newton. About the Kaiju.

Were they safe?

Were they safe?

Were they safe?

Hermann snapped his eyes open and forcefully shut everything away. A small tremor lingered in his fingers as he closed the faucet, but he was determined to ignore any weakness until he was able to surpass it.

Hermann wanted to rush to the lab, but the numbness lingering in his leg slowed him down considerably. It took him a while to shower and get ready to leave his quarters, but at least he felt better and more like himself after running some water over his scalp, as hot as he could get it, and dressing in his warm sweater and trousers.

It was close to 09:30 when Hermann entered at the lab, way past the time Newton usually arrived, so the mathematician was surprised to find the room in the dark. 

However, the confusion only lasted a moment because he spotted Newton at his desk sipping coffee while upsetting his already ruffled hair, illuminated by the yellow glow of the tanks and the monitor of his computer, casting him in hues of blue and yellow. 

"Why are the lights off?" Hermann asked in lieu of a greeting, hitting the switch which buzzed to life. Newton hissed at the sudden brightness.

"Too far away," he squinted at Hermann, and the mathematician could see clearly now that he was wearing the same clothes he had the day before, only more wrinkled. He craned his neck to look at the raised platform where the couch was. A blanket and pillow were thrown on it hastily and Newton's shoes were close by, confirming Hermann's suspicion immediately.

"Did you sleep here?"

"Ehm," Newton mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck; his voice was a little rough when a shaky laugh escaped him. "I kinda did, yeah. So what? I didn't want to leave MARHSL alone. Who knew what could have happened."

"Newton, we talked about this," Hermann sighed, massaging his overtired eyes. "We need actual rest."

"I know, I know. But I slept like a baby, I promise you that. You even have proof," Newton clamped his mouth shut and glanced back at Hermann, regarding him in a way that frankly worried the mathematician. "How are you by the way?"

Hermann crossed the room to sit next to his lab partner just to have more time to turn the question over in his mind. Newton's consciousness pressed gently against the edge of Hermann's mind, fermenting with curiosity, and Hermann found it surprisingly easy to accost it — in spite of the overwhelming evidence telling him he shouldn't.

"I'm fine," he settled on, leaning back on his chair to rest his shoulders. "How about you?"

Newton slid a stone cold cup of tea he must have made no less than an hour ago close to Hermann on the table and held onto the side of his head, resting his elbow on the desk to gaze up at his lab partner from an angle. A few drops of dried blood had dirtied his shirt collar, narrowing missing the grandfather's tie.

"Not too shabby myself," Newton shrugged, a shoulder raising more than the other for the way he was poised. "Still a little dazed, maybe. I almost cracked my skull on the pavement when I woke up," he tried for another laugh, but this one lasted even less. "There was nothing in there, was it? The Alterverse wasn't behind that wall?"

Hermann turned his head slowly, catching Newton's eyes gleam under the fluorescent light. The quiet stretch of silence was broken by the host of the Victory Tour interviewing some military personnel, the volume turned so low the words were intangible. It made Hermann wonder about Miss Mori. She should have arrived in Oblivion Bay by now. Hermann'd never been there, but he doubted it was a nice place. No cemetery ever was. 

"If the drift isn't objective enough, there is no possibility that dreams are," Hermann said with a note of indulgent wistfulness. It would have been helpful to extract memories from the Hivemind that way, though it presented itself as yet another breach into a sacred part of their minds that shouldn't have been ruined, but had anyway.

Newton nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I figured. It all felt so real in the moment, but then after I woke up, it felt… well, like a dream. It's fine. We can stick to our current strategy until we drift again. But I do have some good news," he added after a pause. "I think all of our problems may have just been solved overnight. Or, maybe not all of them, but at least the most recent and urgent one."

Newton sat up straighter and pulled his chair closer to his desk. On the monitor Geiszler's email inbox was open, something Hermann realized he had neglected to check for several days now.

"We received a message," Newton explained. "I don't think you saw it, not with us stringing together Kaiju flesh to MARHSL, but I needed something to take — ehm , my mind off things this morning, and take a look at this." He rolled away from the desk to give his lab partner room to read. Hermann's glasses were far away near the chalkboard so he drew in a few inch closer to make out the words.

Several different messages were piled in succession: some old responses from Marshal Hansen that Newton hadn't yet opened, and that now stared at him like phantoms; then there were a few medic reports, a short message from Tendo Choi's team recounting his time on board a ship called Elpidius, and lastly the most recent messages were all from a man Hermann had never heard about called Lukas Lambert-Sow.

The latest of this was opened in an adjacent window and Hermann's eyes traveled fast down each line. He looked back at Newton, a stunned and unfiltered expression across his face.

"A K-sci conference? In Brussel?"

"In short, yes," Newton said with a growing smile. "But it's broader than just K-science. It's the National Meeting and Exposition for the Advancement of Science, specifically covering new technologies and inventions made during and after the war. I gave it a lot of thought in the last forty five minutes, and I think this could be our best chance to get MARHSL out to the public. What do you think?"

Hermann blinked, sitting back. It was an enticing opportunity, Newton wasn't wrong. Not to mention it'd be a good excuse to get Newton away from Hong Kong for a little while. The environment with Lightcap, the reopening Jaeger program and the new Marshal was becoming a little too tense. Newton was turning a little paranoid and guarded with the PPDC personnel, but Hermann couldn't outright discard the validity of his claims. It was evident someone was benefitting from keeping Hermann and Newton's casefiles shut, and it went beyond keeping the chaotic truth of a human-Kaiju drift from spreading and being questioned.

He regarded Newton seriously, considering the most important factor: they were not ready for another drift.

With MARHSL working, their priority shifted. They had to ensure their work was completed, but their options narrowed to either keep working in the dark, aidless, diving deeply and desperately into a set of feeble memories to get the job done as quickly, but not as efficiently or as safely, as possible. Or they could take the calculated risk, which - if it went right - ensure them a better position, more agency and control over their machine, and perhaps even shift the conversation to more urgent issues.

The first one was still the safest choice, but ultimately Hermann knew that in hinged on a paradigm that could change drastically in any moment to. The variables were too many.

The second option was bolder; they'd be taking control over their work in a way they hadn't so far, and leave Hong Kong on their own accord instead of being shipped to another Shatterdome with no saying in the matter. On the screen the attendee's name list jumped at Hermann: some of the most brilliant minds of their generation had already signed in. Hermann recognized the potential advantage of pitching their causes to them in a non-PPDC restricted environment, even if he couldn't exclude the organization's invisible hand in this; not with how Mr. Lambert-Sow shouldn't have been able to reach the scientists at all with the PPDC censoring communication with outsiders.

But even so, this could come to their favor too. If they were smart about this.

"Interesting," Hermann acknowledged. "It could indeed work."

"Right?" Newton beamed with unbridled excitement. "This is gonna be fantastic! I know it's a lot to consider, and I don't want to leave MARHSL or all my samples behind unguarded so we'll need a sort of plan for all of this, there is no way we can move them out of this basement ourselves without anyone helping us. Plus there's the whole, tiny problem that MARHSL is made of restricted Kaiju material, and we can't say we got any of the data from drifting with a Kaiju either. That stuff's still very much classified, for whatever reason, so we'll need a way around that. What is it?"

Hermann had gone to his own terminal as Newton was speaking to check his own missives. The invite was there, but another message sat right above it, and Hermann opened it with sweaty palms. Newton noticed and walked behind Hermann's chair to read over his shoulder.

Hello Hermann,

I'm writing to inform you that our father has made the decision to retire, stepping down from his work in PPDC and the Council. He will be hosting a dinner party in Garmisch-Partenkirchen to celebrate the closing of his career and the passing of the baton, as he will unveil the person he's recommending to be his successor in the Council. I know this must sound unbearable to you, but both our parents have explicitly expressed a desire for you to participate, and it would mean a lot for me as well to have you there. I hope you will choose to attend, as I've learned of your possible involvement in the NMEAS in Brussel, and the dates would coincide with your time in Europe. I can meet you in Frankfurt if you decide to come and we could take a train home together. The invite is extended to Dr. Geiszler, of course.

Take care of yourself, and let me know of your intentions.

Karla.

"Oh," Newton murmured un a low voice. "That explains some things."

Hermann didn't speak, didn't know what to think. His mind was blank and a fresh waves of acid welled up from his stomach. He had the physical urge to stand and put some physical distance between himself and the screen, but he realized this wasn't his instinct. Every corner of his mind betrayed him in strange and unexpected ways. And he couldn't move with Newton leaning over his chair, so close he could probably feel Hermann's wretched panic radiating off of him, the same way he could feel Newton's astonishment casting down on Hermann like a shadow.

"You don't think it could be you?" Newton asked when Hermann was still dead quiet and immobile, only managing to stare at the words father and desire and home until the letters composing them lost meaning. "The heir to the Gottlieb throne?"

A ripple of laughter broke out of Hermann, unfreezing him from his stupor. It sounded, even to my own ears, derisive and slightly maniacal.

Newton sank on his heels to look up at Hermann, thinking loudly the mathematician had finally lost his mind. Hermann shook his head in answer, even if it was only a loose and exacerbated worry that hadn't been voiced. ‘Lost’ was not the right term, anyway.

"No," Hermann gasped, trying to recompose himself. His voice had a tremor that didn't sync well with the movement of his lips, coming out uncharacteristically irregularly. "It's not going to be me. Of course not."

"But you want it?" Newton insisted, and the edge in the question sobered Hermann up the rest of the way.

"Maybe once, however... Things have changed." Hermann admitted, unable for a moment to handle the intensity of Newton's eyes. "Besides, my oldest brother Dieterich has been shadowing my father for many years now. He has his talents, and he's a smart man. He shall do better than my father in Council, I predict."

Newt snorted, the corner of his lips pulling up in a tentative smile.

"Hard to do worse."

Hermann chuckled weakly. Newton continued to stare at him in his strange and intense way, half-kneeling in front of him, as though Hermann had just said something wonderfully inspiring. Hermann wasn't sure what to make of it, but it wasn't unpleasant. Confusing was a more appropriate definition, but he had far too many confusing strings to untangle to linger on this one. Even if the thought made him inexplicably sorry.

"It's okay, you know?" Newton nodded his head to Karla's message on the screen. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I know that," Hermann pressed his lips together in cool resolve, but he didn't fully believe it. 

Even after years separated from his father, Hermann still felt at his command. It was infuriating, and pathetic, and it made him feel as helpless as a child.

"We can work with this," Hermann considered, analyzing their possible moves, maybe trying to convince himself more than Newton. "If my father is involved in sending us to this conference, Marshal Vasquez will be forced to approve it, especially if she's looking for something to present to the Council to get their favor. The PPDC is desperate to remain important, and every penny is going to be poured into Miss Mori's new project after hers and Mr Becket's successful Tour. Now that the Jaegers saved the world and the Wall of Life completely failed, public opinion has changed in favor of the Jaegers again. It's all verging to a singular point, all the current flowing in one direction. It could be more advantageous for us if we followed that trajectory as well."

Newton's smile fell at once, understanding immediately what Hermann was proposing.

"You wanna convince them MARHSL is for the Jaegers?" he asked horrified, as if Hermann was suggesting sacrificing his first-born child to a deity. Which perhaps was exactly how Newton was viewing it.

"It's merely a ruse, Newton. We will break the whole program up from the inside as soon as we get to the end of the calculation." If the answer is what we hope it to be.

Newton opened and closed his mouth, muttering inarticulate sounds while a grin wrinkled back his cheeks.

"Oh my god, Hermann, you rebel. We're definitely infecting each other, you know that right?"

It was Hermann's turn to come face to face with a horrible compromise.

"Yes, of course I know." he said staring into his lap, his hands balled into the fabric of his trousers. "I know we're sabotaging our own wellbeing in pursuit of ephemeral answers, and we've ruined our minds beyond any reasonable—"

"Hey, no no," Newton interrupted him, shaking his head emphatically. "That's not what I meant. Nothing is ever ruined, dude, especially not someone's mind. That's just not a thing. We disrupted an equilibrium, sure, but eventually a new one will take its place. It's like poison, pollution, or decay, those are terrible consequences but they're also stages not stopping points. Even at the end of death there is more life, just in a different form. Nature always goes on beyond us, evolving to compensate. It's not always ideal, or linear, or sustainable, but it happens. Same thing with our minds now. We didn't ruin anything, we just changed. We need to accept that we have no roadmap of how this will end for us, and making a projection of it is as speculative as predicting our own deaths. And even if we never go back to how we used to be, guess what?" Newton leaning closer as if he was confiding a deep secret, drawing Hermann closer without intending to because he wanted to know. He norner of Newton's mouth pulled up in a half-smile before he said simply, "It's not the end of the world. It wasn't then, and it isn't now."

Hermann leaned back, blinking. He didn't have time to turn Newton words around in his mind before the biologist was pushing himself up on his feet, dusting his wrinkled pants. "So, we've got our crazy plan with impossible stakes. Nothing like we haven't faced before, right? Shall we go back to work?"

Hermann was trying to remain serious, but his lips broke into the barest hint of a smile, because Newton was grinning at him, and the reflection of that emotion couldn't help being mirrored. Hermann noted it with fascination; some feelings were more contagious than others.

"Back to work," he affirmed.

Chapter Text

"Why does Mako want to see us? Why does everyone want to see us the second they get here? Since when are we so fucking important?"

Hermann pursed his lips, ignoring Newt's complaints until he reached the elevator to press the button.

"I thought you'd bask in the attention," he observed, mimicking Newt's hushed tone, something they'd begun to do when they weren't in the lab. And sometimes there, too.

Newt snorted softly. His deep-set eyes darted to the group of loud, brawny cadets at the end of the corridor.

"This isn't the kind I want," he muttered.

Everything was changing too fast. The urgency of the final weeks of the war was one hell of a breaknecking pace, but Newt almost missed it compared to the rapid-fire shifts that had happened in the last three days alone.

Newt and Hermann had unveiled MARHSL to Marshal Vasquez, with favorable receptions from her and a cold shoulder treatment from Lightcap and Gage. They were worried about the consequences this machine could have if used recklessly and how dangerous and untenable it would be for the scientists' minds to continue exploiting their connection for such a purpose. But, as it soon turned out, Lightcap's word ceased to carry weight when it opposed the PPDC's new course of action.

Newt wanted to scream that it was all a ploy. That he'd rather die than sell his soul and his mind for scraps so the PPDC could make more towering weapons that might not even be needed, but would definitely be used. 

But he couldn't say any of it, because behind Lightcap, Marshal Vasquez's eyes shone and Hermann's thoughts in Newt's mind flared in alert.

In the end, only Hermann could know that Newt was lying through his teeth.

Their offering to the PPDC brought with it more privileges than they'd expected. Marshal Vasquez secured for K-sci more funding than ever before, allowing them to use any resources they could get their hands on to upgrade the MARHSL's memory capacity, as well as transferring any J-tecs not located at any high-priority stations to K-sci. Within three days, their lab had become a noisy, hot 1990s server room, reliant on all sorts of mismatched memory banks to support the main tower, and it was overrun with new people Newt kept forgetting the names of.

They also received authorization to leave for the Brussels conference at the end of February, and preparations began immediately, starting with the presentation of a revamped, PPDC stamped, guideline disclosing the information they were and were not authorized to share. They were allowed to talk about MARHSL, but they had to leave out the parts regarding their drifts, the Hivemind, and any other admission that their machine and they were connected to the Kaiju, which was extremely stupid and made writing their presentation feel like waltzing through a minefield blindfolded.

Newt stood up to them, and did so fiercely, but even as the Representatives blocked and brushed away his every complaint with growing impatience and frustration, no one questioned the scientists' deeper motives.

In their eyes, it seemed that the last two members of K-sci were all in favor of the manufacturing of new Jaegers.

But then again, it made sense. Hermann had coded the first generation of Jaegers, and Newt used to be part of the tactical team, analyzing the emerging Kaiju to quickly pinpoint their weaknesses and communicate them to the deployed team. He had earned many unflattering nicknames there (due to his inability to contain his enthusiasm), many of which Hermann had picked up and was still used. They had more than twenty years of experience and loyalty to the PPDC combined, so the scientists' unwavering support didn't arouse suspicion. On the contrary, it was greatly appreciated, and by the time of the Victory Tour's closing ceremony, the decision to reopen the Jaeger program was set in stone.

Newt had seen parts of the closing ceremony on the big screen in the mess hall, catching the moment just as Mako and Raleigh were discussing the symbolism behind that number: four Jaegers made up humanity's last stand, and four more would be built to honor the fallen and keep their defenses strong. It was fitting and practical to begin that way, they'd said, and Newt's jaw was clenched so tightly he thought it might snap.

During that speech, they didn't show anyone batting an eye at the budget. It seemed like an afterthought in their minds, while Mako carefully kept hidden her true feelings on how that money could have saved many more lives had it come sooner, faster, more willingly. But it hadn't, because at the time everyone's back had been turned as the last Shatterdome standing struggled to keep those remaining four Jaegers afloat. 

It was an equilibrium, Hermann had commented bleakly, observing Mako's expression on the screen. It was something Mako had learned from Pentecost, and a skill she was consolidating with each passing day.

And so things marched on, much to Newt's raging disappointment.

"Something's off," Newt murmured, casting another furtive glance over his shoulder at the group of cadets approaching the same elevator. "Mako was supposed to be in Oblivion Bay for a few more days, but she arrives here now, the same day the new Pons are supposed to be delivered, also from Oblivion Bay. Do you think she knows about them? Do you think it's a trap?"

Hermann peered at Newt with his brows gritted, then returned his gaze straight ahead. 

"Nonsense."

"Is it nonsense? I'm not saying they're gonna put a bag over our heads and strap us to the Pons, but it's a huge coincidence. She probably has hundreds of pristine hands to shake right now, but she asked to see us right away. Why?"

"We can rule out the possibility that it's to appreciate your warm ‘welcome back’," Hermann commented peevishly.

"Dick," Newt jabbed in mild annoyance. "I'm happy to see her. I am! But I don't know what to expect, and I don't want to end up on that stupid Tour Channel."

"Yes, because we would make for a great televised spectacle. Honestly, Newton, you're overthinking it."

The elevator beeped and Hermann stepped inside, abruptly cutting off Newt's irritated response.

The cart was busy with another small group of officers and Newt leaned his shoulder against the side of the wall, paying them no mind.

As the floor numbers went up, Newt began to sense Hermann's inner unease. He peered at the mathematician and found him standing tautly, darting his eyes from the cadets back to the wall ahead, and Newt quickly realized what was wrong. Hermann was uncomfortable because he felt someone staring at him, and sure enough, when Newt peeked behind Hermann's back to see who it was, he saw that one of the officers — a young woman with long brown hair and tanned skin — was definitely fixated on him, trailing her gaze from Hermann's face to his cane and back again.

Newt was just about to clear his throat and prepare to start whatever fight this cadet might want, not above any kind of ruffling, when the woman tilted her head to the side and the animosity died in Newt's throat.

There was a large scar that looked like an electric circuit burned on the young woman's cheek, going over her half-lid eye, partially obscured by her hair strategically combed to hide the left side of her face. Her right eye was dark brown, shining under the elevator lamp, while her left pupil was pearly white. Newt had seen that type of scarring before: excoriations caused by drift surcharge. There was photographic evidence of the suit circuits burning through the pilot's bare skin everywhere in the archives once you started searching into drift anomalies and accidents. Newt might even have stared at this ex-Ranger's scars in one of those files too without even knowing it.

As Newt hesitated, the young woman noticed him staring, and her lips pulled up in a crooked smirk.

"Are you two Rangers candidates?" she asked.

Newt gawked, shooting a sideways glance at Hermann who looked just as baffled before turning back.

"What?"

A second officer, a woman with short hair and piercings on the side of her ear, flicked the first one on the arm, making the girl spin around to bat the hand away. The two women fought hushedly in what Newt clocked as Indonesian after the six-months he'd spent in the Kaiju research facility in Jakarta, though his linguistic skills hadn't improved much above the basics.

"Please, excuse my sister," the second woman said to the scientists in English. "She's exuberant and ill-mannered." She concluded with a warning glare at the other.

"Oh, get off my case," the scarred girl snipped. "I'm just scouting the competition." A young man on the other side of the cart, one Newt had seen in the group of cadets in the hallway, started to snicker under his breath along with his companions. The girl turned to him, her eyes narrowed. "Got something to say, pretty boy?"

The cadet stopped laughing, but a smug smile remained on his face.

"They're not competitors," he said mockingly, nodding at Newt and Hermann, and, returning his venomous gaze to the girl, added, "And neither are you."

"Alright," the young woman snickered, doing a half turn of her body as if she's ready to pounce on the group.

"Rose," her sister grabbed her shoulder firmly, where Newt could see the scar zigzagging its way up to her felt hand. "Calm down. Do you want them to throw you out before we even get started?"

The scarred girl huffed, pushing her sister's hand away but remaining with her gaze fixed on the group who had insulted her. The air grew tenser, and when the elevator reached the floor, Hermann quickly got off, dragging Newt away by the unbuttoned sleeve of his shirt.

Newt glanced behind him. The group of insolent cadets didn't spare the scientists or the sisters another word as they headed down another corridor. Newt turned, following Hermann's steps into Jaeger Bay, leaving the sisters to argue silently among themselves.

"What was that about?" Newt seethed, hissing the words. "Have they started recruiting yet?"

"I... I think they must have," Hermann said, looking warily at Newt. "Maybe that's the real reason Miss Mori came back here so soon."

"This is fucking crazy," Newt sputtered. "They didn't pick a pilot for Danger for weeks, and now they're selecting Rangers before they've even built a single Jaeger?"

"It's possible. After all, they said they were trying to make up for past missteps," Hermann quickened his pace, his knuckles white on the handle of his cane. "We have to be faster than them."

"How? You said it yourself, we have no control over this."

"That's not what I said," Hermann suddenly stopped, regarding Newt with his full, grievous attention. "Listen carefully. In a few minutes, we'll be under Miss Mori's scrutiny. She represent one of the first steps in a carefully arranged, systematic plan, made up of possible outcomes with many variables, both static and variable. A lot depends on people's behavior, on permissions granted, on the positive answers to specific questions. I'm trying to predict all of this effectively and break it down into a pattern. We can't control people's actions, that's true, ultimately, but we can control our own. Much depends on us too, so set your eyes on the objective and rein yourself in because right now you're one of the few variables I can't effectively predict. Even with a half-step in your mind, I'm still struggling to keep up with you."

Newt blinked, his mouth opening and closing, but he didn't know what to say.

He could see Hermann's jaw tighten, but Newt's detachment was greater. Hermann's thoughts were distant shadows lurching across the walls of his mind, unreachable to him as his dread spread rampant.

"I'm putting a lot of trust in you, Newton," Hermann said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know if this plan will work. If I'm being impartial, and I always am, I give ita one out of fifty chance of success. But you've always defied the odds, and I'm willing to put that to the test."

Maybe it was the way Hermann was honest;  the realistic, scrupulous presentation of his certainties as facts that used to annoy Newt so fucking much, but inexplicably helped him ground himself and feel present again. He couldn't trust his worst instincts at times, but he could trust Hermann had seen them and transformed them into a manageable factor.

"One in fifty," Newt murmured, a smile returning to his face. "I can work with that."

They resumed their march down the corridor. This time, Newt kept up with Hermann.

Inside the Hanger Bay, Newt looked around wide-eyed and raised his eyebrows at how crowded the place had become. It's as if half of Oblivion Bay had been transfered here overnight. He knew that a lot was being shipped out of this Shatterdome to the San Francisco region, but it seemed like they were taking everything apart, from the most valuable Jaeger spare parts to the most useless concrete cobblestone.

They spotted Mako standing back to watch the Hangar's movements, deep in conversation with a tall, dark-skinned young man Newt didn't recognize.

Newt had seen Mako often enough on TV over the past couple of weeks, but he's still surprised by how much she'd changed in such a short time. She'd cut her hair shorter, but her bangs had grown out. The blue strands that framed her face were gone, which saddened Newt a bit. This new look made her seem older than her years, more authoritative. She carried herself differently, too, and when she stood next to Raleigh Becket (who was growing out his hair and beard, which privately infuriated Newt because he looked so much better), they looked like the poster image of the saviors of humanity. They had a presence that was hard to ignore, and in their dark blue PPDC uniforms, they looked ready to step into LOCCENT and command the room with the same confidence that Marshal Pentecost had possessed.

"Doctors," Mako called, raising a hand when he saw Newt and Hermann approaching.

"Hey, kiddo!" Newt exclaimed cheerfully, wrapping his arms around Mako because even with everything that was going on he couldn't help but be overjoyed to see her again. "Look at you, you look amazing!"

"Thank you," Mako replied warmly. A slight frown crept across her face after they broke away. "You... also look well." Newt just chuckled. He knew Mako was being kind because Newt's scratchy stubble, dark circles under his eyes, and abnormally wan skin painting a different picture. But Mako didn't comment on any of this, simply looking both scientists up and down with a deepening frown. "You too, Dr. Gottlieb."

"Thank you, Miss Mori," Hermann replied, a little abashed. "It's nice to see you again."

"For me as well," Mako said. "Marshal Vasquez filled me in on everything you're doing here, especially with your machine. I think it's very brave of you."

Hermann shook his head. "We're just doing what we can. I think, rather, that courage has been instilled in us through actions like yours."

Mako regarded Hermann closely, her smile softening. 

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," he said, looking over his shoulder at the young man he'd been speaking to. "Dr. Gottlieb, Dr. Geiszler, this is Jake Pentecost."

"Pentecost?" Newt's eyebrows shot up. The young man definitely looked a lot like Stacker now that Newt looked at him more closely. He could even pass for his son. Jake seemed to read that thought on Newt's face, because the first thing he did was scoff at Mako's introduction.

"I'm gonna change my last name to Sevier if you keep that up, Mako."

"Yes, sorry," Mako said, sheepishly looking away. "I would like either name equally."

"Right," Jake muttered, then turned to Hermann and Newt, his gaze brightening again. "Nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you — especially you, Dr. Gottlieb. Your Mark Is codes are a work of art."

Hermann blinked, clearly unprepared to receive such direct and honest praise. 

"Well, thank you. It was a group effort, I cannot take full credit, but I'm glad you appreciate the work that was put into it."

"Absolutely," Jake said. "I've been studying them a lot lately, you're actually the reason I'm here. I wouldn't have come all the way to Hong Kong just for some lame groundwork and Ranger try-outs. I came here to meet you."

Newt's expression changed and he glanced askance at Mako for an explanation.

"Jake worked at Oblivion Bay for many years, establishing the Sorting and Remodeling division over there. He helped me greatly when it came time to select Lady Danger from that place, and now he'll be leading the new Jaeger Engineering team."

"Many of the Jaegers down there need a second chance," Jake added, his passion for his work radiating off his voice. "They were stricken down, but they can still get back up."

"I wasn't aware those models were as functional as you say," Hermann remarked. "I was under the impression Danger was the most salvageable one."

"She is," Jake said, then hung his head to the side, shooting a mournful glance at Mako. "Was. But it would still be cheaper and more efficient to combine what parts we have left to make four new models than constructing them from scratch. There is a lot of work to do, but I'm confident eventually they'll be better than they ever were before."

"Okay," Newt loudly blurted out. "I can only handle being around so many Jaegers nerds at once, and I've hit my quota. Seems like you and Hermann could really hit it off, though. You kids have fun. Hey, Mako, can we talk privately for a moment, please?"

Mako barely held back a sigh, but with an apologetic glance at Jake and Hermann, he pulled Newt aside, walking with him into the shadows behind a massive metal column, out of sight and out of hearing.

"What's going on here?" Newt turned to Mako indignantly. "Are you trying to recruit me and Hermann now?"

Mako blinked slowly, her brows creasing.

"You and Gottlieb are both officers already. I don't need to recruit you."

"So what's all this about?"

"Didn't you see the closing ceremony of the Tour?"

"I... I caught some glimpses of it," Newt pouted defensively.

"That's a shame. I think you missed a very important part," she tapped a finger over her chest, above her heart, where Newt hadn't noticed a new strip had been added to her uniform. "Becket and I have been promoted from Rangers to Captains, tasked with overseeing training and selection of new cadets in Hong Kong before we'll be transferred back to Oblivion Bay. That last part hasn't been disclosed yet, but I'm trusting you with it. The Jaegers graveyard is being transformed into the new PPDC Headquarters as we speak, with a port connecting it to the San Francisco Dead Zone."

Newt's eyes widened, but he swallowed back his astonishment. A myriad of questions and protests flooded his mind, but he contented himself with focusing on the newest and most farfetched information.

"That would require a massive requalification program of the whole area."

"Yes, it would," Mako replied promptly. "That's why I was going to ask you to oversee this project."

"Okay," Newt said slowly, for a second gaining back some lost hope. K-sci was still the outcast of this whole operation and no fake endorsement or potential asset they brought to the table changed how ostracized they were, and had always been, from everybody else. "I'm sure I can do that from here."

Mako bit her lower lip, like she regretted what she was about to say next.

"That won't be possible. Hong Kong will remain a secondary base, too valuable and historically important to be completely dismantled, but you and Dr. Gottlieb are going to be transferred. You will have a new laboratory in Oblivion Bay. You'll be able to do a lot of excellent work from there."

A weight dropped from Newt's chest to the pit of his stomach.

"Are you separating us?" he asked in a hollow voice.

"No, of course not," Mako added quickly. "But requalifying the area will take you on the field a lot, and I'm hoping Dr. Gottlieb will also take my offer to be in direct collaboration in the designing the new Jaegers." Mako's eyes returned to Hermann, deep in conversation with Jake Pentecost. "His expertise would be invaluable."

Newt felt nerveless and completely, irrationally, angry.

"So you are here to recruit us," he snarled, nails digging into his closed palms. They'd never see K-science as anything more than an asset, and what's worse, Hermann believed it, too. He would never turn down Mako, or young Pentecost, when they personally asked for his help — not even when their own plan hinged on lying to Mako, getting past the PPDC strict control, and breaking up the Jaegers construction before it even began. "We can't go to San Francisco," said Newt as a last resort. "We're leaving for Brussels in less than two weeks, and our work with Lightcap is well underway. The Marshal has ordered new Pons that should be here any day now."

"I'm sorry, but I had to stop that order," Mako told him curtly. "We're trying to construct four Jaegers out of only destroyed ones, we will need all the functioning parts we can get. Those Pons are the most intact on the entire base, so I thought it best not to risk them getting damaged in transit."

"Hold on, so we can't drift?" Newt momentarily forgot to keep his voice down, and Mako glanced around. Hermann had interrupted his conversation with Jake, and an interrogative pressed in the edge of Newt's mind. The biologist ignored it, too wrapped up in his own toppling rage.

"I never said that. You have the training module here."

"Yeah," Newt scoffed. "We tried those, and they sucked. We need something more powerful."

Mako sighed and folded her arms behind her back. 

"I'm afraid I can't reverse that order anymore. But you're welcome to use any spare Pons we have in Oblivion Bay for anything related to your machine—"

"MARHSL," Newt corrected her coolly.

"MARHSL," Mako repeated in a controlled and soft-spoken tone, blinking slowly. "It's a nice name."

They lapsed into silence.

"I'm not trying to command you, Newt,"  Mako said carefully. "Or change the way things have been here. It's clear things have evolved while I was gone. I heard about yours and Gottlieb crushing the compatibility record and your above normal drift residues. I supposed it shouldn't surprise me. What you two have has always been unique."

Newt fell silent. In his mind, Hermann was distracted again by his own conversation,the scaly points of his thoughts colliding with Newt's as he let his own mind go blank for a second. It's the abstract principles of the Mark Is. Newt'd never known that Hermann envisioned it as a protostar: dust and gas floating in space, interconnected even if separate, until they began nuclear fusion and bursted into life. It was a beautiful image.

"You could say that," he murmured.

Mako looked over her shoulder at Hermann and Jake, who were walking over to rejoining them. She shot one last look at Newt, and there was a tension behind her eyes, something she was holding back, but it vanished in a flash as he smiled at Hermann and Jake.

"Was it a pleasant conversation?"

"Very much so," Hermann stated, and Newt was torn between affection and irritation at the mathematician's uncharacteristic and open delight. "Mr. Pentecost has some fascinating ideas that would make the Mark VI models a prime example of their technology."

"You flatter me," the young man smiled abashedly. "And please, you can call me Jake."

"He won't," Newt interjected without thinking. "Ten years and he still won't call me Newt. I'll be Newton until the end of our days." He was really trying not to feel annoyed by this whole situation, but it was stronger than him. Hermann narrowed his eyes, with a puzzlement Newt didn't think he deserved. He couldn't have been more clear.

"I'll take Jacob then," Jake said good-naturedly. "I don't mind. That's what Uncle Stacker called me, too."

Newt blinked at those words, some of his aggravation dissipating like smoke.

Hermann's posture stiffened, a sad expression crossed Mako's face, and a part of Newt hated himself for the reaction he'd caused; him, his lack of impulse control, and his uncontrollable responses. He was sure Hermann must be feeling some remorse about the plan buzzing in his mind at that moment, but Newt wasn't brave enough to look, nor attuned enough to identify it.

"We should head up to LOCCENT," Mako was the first to break the heavy silence that had fallen, straightening her back and shoulders. "I'm sure Raleigh's had enough of dealing with superiors alone. But before we go, I have an invitation for you. I'd like you to participate in the Ranger selection tomorrow morning to give a demonstration of your compatibility."

Hermann blinked in surprise and Newt repressed a profound and Earth-shattering scream. He knew it was nothing more than another show to make the PPDC look good, and he was profoundly tired of being exploited for their cheap tricks. But an invitation coming directly from Mako meant Hermann was powerless to refuse and, deep down, so was Newt.

"What kind of demonstration?" Hermann still asked uncertainly.

"Nothing too complicated," Mako said. "But with your high score, I think it would be really incredible for the other cadets to witness you in action."

"Action..." Newt muttered overly sarcastic. "Right."

"Mako," Jake interrupted, clearing his throat. "Raleigh."

"Yes, we should go. I will see you tomorrow morning then. Wear comfortable clothes," she advised, giving them a meaningful look before she and Jake took off.

Finally, Newt turned to face Hermann with the full force of his indignation.

"Do not," Hermann cut him off before Newt could explode. "We have a plan, remember? We will see it through. Besides, I'm sure they don't actually expect us to fight." He concluded dismissively, but there was an edge of concern in his voice.

Newt pressed his lips together, suppressing a close-mouthed groan. He hoped Hermann had prepared an alternative route for when Newt inevitably snapped in front of the wrong people.

Newt had half a mind of showing up in a lab coat in protest. It would serve everyone right for forgetting what he and Hermann were actually doing here.

But no matter what clothes he wore, they would never have convinced Newt to fight. He would have thrown a bitch tantrum that would have shaken the ground before being put in the ring and forced to hit Hermann.

However, the spiteful side of him wanted to give them an even better show.

A part of him was smugly satisfied they'd been called for a demonstration above everyone else. It must really get on their last nerve that two highly compatible people like Newt and Hermann were the very two they could never use to pilot a Jaeger. And the whole fight in a ring thing was outdated anyway. It was supposed to be a dance of wits, not of brawns. There had to be a way to meet that requirement and make a statement at the same time.

Newt scratched his head to find the best way to show what they were capable of without having to pick up those stupid sticks, when in the middle of the night he had an illumination.

It took him all the early morning to find what he needed. He finally did in an old storage room where J-tecs and other workers abandoned some of their belongings when they were transferred or laid off.

The stage was set in the Kwoon Combat Room as the new Ranger candidates prepared to spar. Newt arrived late with his prized find inconspicuously held by his side.

Even if he didn't have any intention of fighting, Newt had still taken Mako's dresscode suggestion.

He easily recognized Hermann in the audience, almost at the very front. He'd picked a similar attire as the biologist, even if Hermann's sage green overalls was a size too large and sat baggy and formless on him, while Newt had tied the top part around his hips by the sleeves and rocked a black tank top underneath, exposing his tattooed arms. He was already getting some sideways looks, which he's being impudently defiant about.

Hermann's gaze was fixed on the match, where the two sisters Newt and Hermann had met the day before in the elevator were circling each other slowly, calculating the other's next move. Mako and Becket observed them from the opposite side of the mat, evaluating them silently. 

The taller of the two women, the one with the short hair close to her scalp, looked a little uncomfortable having to hit the girl with the scared face, who on the contrary tried to fiercely attack her sister at any opening she could find.

"Easy," the whisper carried over in the quiet of the room, broken only by the clash of staffs and their rapid breaths. "You'll wind down before the match is over."

The other woman — Rose, Newt remembered— snarled at her sister.

"I'll knock you on your ass before then!" she roared and went in for another strike, which her sister dodged while striking Rose on her left shoulder. It wasn't a strong hit, more like a knock that only made Rose stumble unexpectedly but regain her footing and twice her fervor immediately. "Is this all you got?"

"She's right," Raleigh chimed in from the sidelines. "You shouldn't hold back."

"I'm not," the woman with the short hair contested. "I don't want to hit her on her blind side—" she yelped and just barely caught the next blow aimed at her head.

"How is this for a blind side? Focus on me, Eka!"

Newt let the match go on, pushing his way between people to get to Hermann. The mathematician was definitely feeling more anxious than he looked; he wasn't distorting his gaze from the fight, not even to comment on Newt's tardiness once the biologist was by his side.

Newt tapped on Hermann's arm and nodded toward the side of the room.

Hermann scowled but followed after Newt, finally noting the chessboard Newt held under his arm.

"What is that for?"

"Sparring," Newt said simply. There was a railing with a long bench near the entrance, and even if it wasn't the most comfortable or optimal table to play, it'd have to do. 

"It's hardly the same," Hermann sniffed, but there was an intrigued edge in his tone. A certain appreciation. Newt decided to lean into that.

"Really, though? Both are about strategy and knowing your adversary. I think this is even better than that," he waved dismissively at the sparring march, where over the crowd of people came a loud thud of someone hitting the ground. Hermann winced. 

"Come on. I'll let you pick the color," Newt offered, opening up the plastic board and getting the pieces out.

"That is not even remotely how it works," Hermann said with a huff. He sat down opposite to Newt, a leg on either side of the bench, his cane resting behind him. He picked up the black and white kings and brought them behind his back, shuffling them before presenting his closed fists to Newt.

Newt stared at him for a long, unimpressed moment, seeing if Hermann got the pointlessness of it all. Newt knew in what hand the pieces had started, and Hermann was meticulously fussy even in the moment of shuffling them, three times total, so the randomness was lost and it was back to picking, only now it was up to Newt. But Hermann only started at him expectantly, and Newt rolled his eyes and tapped on the right hand. He got the black pieces, giving Hermann the privilege of making the other first move. Fit him right. 

Hermann ran his gaze across the room one last time as Newt set the board. No one paid attention to them, too concentrated on the potential Rangers.

Hermann squared his shoulders and took a breath.

He pushed forward his first white pawn.

They developed their pieces swiftly, pushing them forward to gain control of the central squares. Newt saw the effective formation Hermann was preparing to break through Newt’s double knights and pawns defense, his thoughts concentrated on the calculation of cause and effect. Newt blinked hard at the overlapping images on the board. Hermann was projecting his pieces six, seven, eight moves down the line, but Newt's defense on the king held strong.

He had a good counterplay, one that was giving Hermann problems to predict, made even more difficult by the fact Hermann refused to see in Newt's chaotic pattern accents of diligence and strategy.

"Stop reading my mind," Hermann said during the midgame, moving his bishop to eat a pawn in the queen's column.

Newt laughed. He was sitting in a hunched position and he leaned forward even more to look uo at Hermann.

"I'm not. Maybe you're just terrible at this."

Hermann bristled but his mouth twitched upward just a bit. He bowed his head to hide it. Newt's queen advanced, he drew closer to corner the white king, but Hermann could see where he was going and intensified his defense.

"What would happen if we just… looked into each other's mind, openly?" Newt asked, peering up to catch Hermann's reaction. "What would we see right now? Would you know what I'd move even before I raise my hand?"

He placed his tower to hunt down Hermann's queen.

Hermann hummed, but his eyes remained concentrated on the game.

"Doubtful I could predict anything in that chaos."

"That's rude, my mind is a temple. And I'm not talking about predicting anyway. I'm talking about knowing, about seeing—aw, come on!"

The white bishop took out Newt's queen, opening up space for the knight.

"Check."

"Right, right. Well, make your final moves. I won't be a sore loser."

"That's not how it works," Hermann groused. "You can't let me win on purpose. And you still have at least two possible defenses you could form to pull yourself out of this."

"It would be just running away and I know you'd catch me again without a queen."

"Your queen is right here," Hermann picked up the piece he'd just eaten. "You could have her back if you moved that pawn all the way over here."

"You'd never let me," Newt said, amused. "You'd capture it right before going for the checkmate just to have the satisfaction."

They set the board anew, Hermann insisting on a rematch.

"You're changing strategy," Newt mused, seeing Hermann was using a different opening. "You're trying to take me by surprise."

"That's what you are doing," Hermann objected, indicating Newt's erratic, imaginative and completely freewheeling pieces on the board. "It's a very sloppy defense."

"Shut up, I have a plan."

And he indeed had one. In the next ten moves he drew an irregular scheme, evading Hermann's prevision of what he'd do next, and closed in on the black pieces from all sides. Hermann moved his queen out of harm's way in frustration as Newt used both towers and all the pawns he had left to attack. In this pursuit, Hermann had left his king in a weak position and Newt called a check in the next four moves.

"You're too systematic, Hermann, even when you try not to be. It's your one big flaw," Newt shrugged self-satisfied as he set up the board for a third time. "But I was being serious before. What would happen if you saw my moves in your head and I saw yours?"

"Is that what you did to win?" Hermann asked sourly.

"No, but I was trying to outrun your predictions by being erratic. And it worked like a charm," he gloated. "So, will you try it?"

Hermann had the white pieces again, so the game didn't start without his first move. He peered down at the board, mulling it over. Newt could see his thoughts clearly for a second. If the opening he had in mind didn't work against Newt's variable moves he would lose in under twenty moves again. Hermann imagined the game in front of him, on the still clear board, his pawn and then Newt's, the bishops, towers and knights, and his queen coming out early to attack, anticipating and avoiding every curve ball his lab partner threw his way.

It was fascinating, the way Hermann's big brain calculated. Newt had seen it enough time now to be familiar with the dictation of the patterns, but it never chased to be a marvel. He was like a computer running endless simulations, but not in the cold and analytical sense. He was strategic, meticulous and sharp, but there was an elegance to it. A warmth and creativity that felt so distinctive. Hermann was a more imaginative thinker that he gave himself credit for, he just didn't trust that side of him as much. Which was a shame, because it was beautiful to witness.

"Hermann," Newt called his attention softly, when the mathematician was still quietly evaluating his options. "It's okay."

It was clear Hermann wasn't sure in relation to what Newt was saying that, but after a beat, he drew in a breath and cleared his mind. He moved the e4 pawn.

In the unpredictability of Newt's moves, there was more plan that Hermann had seen before, maybe because now he had permission to look, by himself more than by Newt. Hermann let his thoughts flow and pool in the shared space of their minds, the way Newt often did, and the game branched out in their heads, five or more potential moves ahead than what it was on the board, their hands moving quickly to keep up. Hermann's strategy was set on promoting the outcomes, focusing on the end result, but Newt's game was one made of details: he ignored the bigger picture to zone in on single actions Hermann never saw coming. That's how Hermann had lost the second game, and that's how Newton had lost the first, but when they were in a place of understanding, calculating together the outcomes and imagining creative ways out of problems, it looked like the game on the board happened in perfect fluidity because of a silent, shared, agreement that they'd help the other win.

They didn't talk, Newt vaguely noted, but he didn't miss it. This was like drifting, and Hermann's voice was inside Newt's mind in that subdued quality he'd sometimes perceived even outside of the connection, not letting Newt miss a single facet.

They only paused late into the game. Hermann's hand went still, hovering over the board as he stared down at the game. His mind worked to see the ending before Newton could — always the statistician, always seeing it before anyone else.

Then, Hermann laughed.

Newt stared at him, stunned. He rarely heard Hermann laugh, and never so wholeheartedly, eyes crinkled at the corners with full-hearted elation and his shoulders shaking.

"It's a stalemate."

Newt blinked down at the board where very few pieces remained, and he saw it suddenly. Soon they'll have no legal moves left to take the other's king.

Newt grinned, breaking into a freeing laugh too. He mentally suggested a few illegal moves to win, including adding extra pieces, like his Kaiju figurines, to the board. Hermann laughed harder, a hand covering his mouth and his shoulders shaking with the force of it. Newt had never seen him like this, his mind ablaze following the rhythmical sound of his dazzled laughter. It was as if the world had stopped spinning for Newt, and that flaring sensation coming from Hermann spread warmth throughout his chest.

Newt felt suddenly lightheaded and sick. Something deep and private inside of him broke loose, destroying everything in its path. It was like a damn collapsing and the flood washed everything away until his mind was blank and only this sentiment remained in its wake.

Newt blinked in shock.

Oh. 

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

The connection was too open and Hermann only had a metaphorical extra step to take before he'd see the avalanche Newt was fighting against, so he rushed to force it all shut. Not to think about it, not to put it into words, but the damage was done. The breach was open and Newt grasped with the ruinous realization that he was in love with his lab partner. With his best friend. With Hermann.

Hermann's laugh died down but his eyes remained soft, lingering on Newt's face as he picked up the white king off the board and handed it over.

"Good game," Hermann smiled warmly.

Fuck, Newt couldn't look away. He could only hope to god everything he felt was saying hidden, but he had so little prevision of course at the moment. He fumbled to copy the gesture, his hands clumsy and sweaty, but he handed his black king over in surrender as he took the white. Their fingers brushed, electricity passed through them, and Newt’s heart was about to burst open.

"Good game," he croaked out weakly.

In the beat of silence that followed, they realized that the room was too quiet. The background sound of the Rangers fighting was over, and when Newt and Hermann turned their heads, every cadet was staring at them.

Newt already felt dizzy enough, he couldn't tell for how long everyone's attention had been on the scientists if he tried. He spotted Mako, smiling and leaning her weight on one of the fighting staff.

"I think you've received a good demonstration, everyone." she said, pleased. "No need for another." Mako and Raleigh dispersed the crowd rapidly, instructing a few of the pairings on the second turn of selection happening the following morning.

Newt didn't remember standing up, but he found himself on his feet, still clenching the white king in one hand and completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Hermann seemed too preoccupied with the embarrassment of the spectacle being made of them to notice Newt's inner collapse; he hushedly lamented about it with Newt, who was happy to jump on board anything that could jumpstart his mind into another direction. The connection didn't feel as overconsuming anymore. Maybe Newt was too dissociated to perceive its edges, but it was just as likely that Hermann had retreated himself into his own stronghold of a mind, forgetting any defenseless and glorious exchange they'd had.

Either way, it didn't matter. Newt couldn't let it matter.

For once, Newt appreciated the loneliness and disperseness of his own thoughts. 

He had to pull himself together before Hermann noticed something was wrong with him. And everything, everything, was wrong.

"Are you ready to head back?" Hermann asked. He twisted his elbow to lightly hit Newt's, a gesture only the biologist ever did and that Hermann had attempted to copy stiffly, missing the target by going too short. Newt looked down at his arm. He didn't get the contact, only the ghost of it.

"Yeah," Newt chuckled awkwardly. His voice felt too high pitched pushing out of his dry throat. "Yeah, yep, I'm ready. Lead the way."

Fuck. He was so screwed.

Chapter Text

The wake of realizing his feelings for Hermann has left Newt wretched. Every one of his thoughts and priorities felt distant. He couldn't focus on the Hive's memories, he was losing those threads so quickly, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to justify himself. He always did, making up excuses or blaming it on other stuff when Hermann asked, because Newt simply couldn't say he struggled to focus on detangling the jumbled mass of the Kaiju's construction because he kept thinking about Hermann, and his hands, and his lips, and every stolen touch and impossible prerogative that had led Newt to this seemingly unavoidable end.

No, he definitely could never say that.

He couldn't say anything as a matter of fact, he couldn't even let himself think about it in the lab. What if Hermann had suddenly become a pro at reading Newt's innermost thoughts and came to the only possible conclusion after noticing his atypical avoidant behavior? Newt could only count on the unending work, the people constantly hovering around them, and on his unpredictability factor to hope his feelings would remain hidden as he and Hermann continued to spend every single hour of every day together. And even then, it was only a temporary solution.

Between Newt's difficulties and the limited time and space to concentrate uninterruptedly, they were having trouble retrieving the final pieces of information from the Hive to complete Hermann's probability calculation. Drifting would be more effective, but without the new Pons they couldn't proceed, and there was a collective reluctance to allow Hermann and Newt to return to the training module.

For once, Newt wasn't fighting against that current.

Until he found a better strategy to manage his feelings for Hermann, he knew he couldn't risk drifting. Hermann would know; everything would fall apart in a matter of seconds, and Newt couldn't let it happen. All their work, their friendship, the closeness they'd finally developed, it would all go up in smoke in such a spectacular way. Newt couldn't let it happen, but he was running out of ideas on how to resolve the situation.

He had to see Gage again a few days before leaving for the conference, and it went as poorly as he'd imagined.

"You know you can't avoid memories in the drift, Newt," the doctor had said gravely. "You've seen it for yourself. And it's the same with feelings."

Newt had no idea how Gage had cracked that so quickly, and his first instinct was to deny everything and storm out of the office like he had done once before. 

He didn't do that, but only because he wanted help more than he wanted to rage and hide — only marginally more — and he was begrudgingly willing to swallow his pride, his indignation, and his spitefulness to get it.

"Got any brilliant solutions to that?"

Gage had limited himself to shooting him a knowing look over the brim of his glasses, not bothering to reveal what Newt should already have known.

That's when Newt had stormed out.

So, yeah. Postponing the drift worked just fine for Newt too, actually.

However, without it, there was a gap in what their machine could calculate, and that wasn't fine.

The geographic and ecotechnological aspects were completed thanks to long days and sleepless nights of painfully chiseling away at the information they needed until it was translated into MARHSL, bloodily resurfacing from memories with throbbing headaches and a sense of growing fatigue. The only missing part was the bioengineering factors. That was where Newt was supposed to shine, instead he fumbled and nicked at it with all the consistency of a lab rat gnawing on its glass casing. There was too much to keep track of in the Precursors' design. Their same-DNA cloned Kaiju had different adaptability that could theoretically facilitate their survival in a nuclear explosion, even with their atmosphere and ground burnt to a crisp, according to the highest probable denominator. The Kaiju had been built to conquer, to need very little oxygen to breathe compared to their massive bodies, to have fire-resistant exoskeletons, to adapt and overcome the flaws of previous design.

But they were not built to outlive their intended purpose.

There were too many variables, and defining the chaotic unpredictability of flesh-and-blood creatures wasn't the same as calculating their attack patterns or the Alterverse atmosphere's reaction to a nuclear fusion. It was a frustratingly slow process when they didn't have any more time to waste.

Marshal Vasquez was their constant, pressing shadow, Mako and Becket were pushing forward with the Ranger selection, and Newt kicked himself internally at every failed turn, especially when he had no one else to blame.

He'd no choice but to learn to adapt to the imposingness of his feelings for Hermann.

He leaned into the science of it. He found it comforting to value this skill the same way he'd value a species of gecko that developed a camouflage technique to better blend in with its natural surroundings and avoid being eaten.

He took precautions: he never dwelt on those thoughts for long, he distracted himself with anything he could cling to, and he locked the word "love" behind steel bars and never, ever used it.

But these measurements could only be applied for short periods of time, especially with Newt's penchant for breaking rules, even self-imposed ones.

In the privacy of his own quarters, late into the night, where the hum of the Shatterdome drowned out every other sound, Newt let himself think about it.

During those nights, he reached some unfathomable conclusions: he had no idea when his feelings for Hermann had truly started. The chess game had been ground zero, but not the bomb's blueprint, or its construction, or the testing. Their letters, their first meeting, the day they started sharing a lab. Every argument, every moment of understanding. Emerging from his first drift with Hermann's hands cradling his face. Newt had seen the fear in Hermann's eyes, and he hadn't thought about it again. He never let himself think about any of it, but it was always there, building quietly in the background until it was too monstrous to be contained.

Then, in a single moment, with a single laugh, it all came crushing down.

Newt was hopeless. He could only get himself to stay afloat with his head barely above the water as the days passed in an inexorable rush, and before he knew it, he's packing their bags to leave for Brussels.

The PPDC had arranged transportation and booked tickets for a direct flight leaving at midnight. Newt's glad not to have an annoying layover, but that also meant they'd be taking a small commercial plane and flying economy. Newt didn't really have a problem with that — he'd slept in his desk chair way too many times in his life for this to be much different — but he was a little worried about Hermann, who was already huddling in his coat to protect himself from the chilly wind that was blowing across the tarmac as he dragged his feet forward. Newt received fresh twinges of pain in his hip every few minutes; a pretty unmistakable indication to some of what Hermann was feeling, but Newt kept his mouth shut. The mathematician was already cross with Newt as it was for getting them at the airport late (even though they were perfectly on time to board with all the other passengers), he didn't want to add 'ghost drift encroachment' (like Hermann had called it a few times) to the list, especially when he knew the next thirteen hours would be extra painful for Hermann, and even more especially when Newt kept shooting concerned looks at him which the mathematician caught every single time and scowled at.

Newt swallowed and looked away again, wondering how he's going to survive the next week in closer proximity with Hermann and with a secret as giant as a Cat IV weighing down on his chest.

His plan for the flight was simple but effective: a pair of headphones he's been blasting music into since they left the Shatterdome an hour earlier. He had the good excuse of claiming to be in vacation mode, and he truly had dozens of albums that had been piling up with Newt having no time to catch up with his favorite artists releasing stuff even at the end of the world. He'd tested the waters earlier while they were waiting for their gate to open, asking Hermann if he could hear in his head what music Newt was listening to. Hermann had irritably replied that he didn't need to hear it to know it was an obnoxious racket. Newt had laughed, self-satisfied and reassured. His deeper thoughts would stay hidden at least for the thirteen hours of altitude contact. If his music lasted long enough and Hermann fell asleep, Newt would have nothing to worry about.

Well, at least until they landed.

Once they were inside the plane, they headed for their seats and Hermann claimed the one closest to the window before Newt could squeeze in. The biologist thought Hermann would have preferred being closer to the aisle so he could move his leg more freely and stand up whenever he wanted, but it seemed that being boxed in and ignoring the traffic of people pushing everywhere to get to their seats was a higher priority for him at that moment.

Newt handled their carry-ons, hoisting them over his head with some difficulty, before sitting down too. He let out a sigh that he hoped Hermann didn't catch. His head throbbed dully, his stomach rumbled from skipping dinner, and his eyes ached from constant sleep deprivation.

He hadn't been sure if he could afford to sleep during the flight — part of him didn't want to risk it with Hermann so close and dream-hopping as a potential outcome — but now it no longer seemed like an option.

He's so tired he could fall asleep right there and then.

Music still blasted in his headphones, defining the rhythm of his headache, so Newt turned the volume down just for a few moments. He heard the captain's voice crackle over the speakers announcing they were about to take off, a flight attendant passing out pillows and peanut bags a few rows back, and the sound of the engine revving up and taking them to the runway. Hermann must have pulled his notebook from his bag at some point, because it rested open on his lap on a page almost entirely covered in tightly packed rows of numbers.

Even now if MARHSL was storing more information than ever, calculating accurately whether any life on the Alterverse had survived was still impossible. It was Hermann who had the brilliant, but painfully insane, idea of manually narrowing down the probability. He'd been devoting countless hours to this single problem. Sometimes Newt almost thought he could have a neon light sign above his head spelling out his feelings for Hermann, and the mathematician still wouldn't notice. Lately, when Newt saw glimpses of Hermann's mind, it was always a spiral of numbers; a constant hum, low mutterings with indistinguishable words, almost on par with what Newt had heard and associated with Hive. Like an endless song.

The plane accelerated on the tarmac, shaking the craft as it raced toward takeoff. They lifted off the ground and were up in the air. The familiar, exhilarating thrill of his stomach dropping at the velocity pushed through Newt's exhaustion, bringing a smile to his face. 

He loved flying. One of humanity's greatest achievements. One that never chased to amaze him.

Next to him, Hermann was gazing out the window. It took Newt a second to realize that every single sound was coming from around them and that Hermann was silent, inside and out. The buzzing of numbers was gone, and a sense of calm wonder spread through his chest, mesmerizing, making Newt feel even more doozy.

Newt curled up trying to get more comfortable, his cheek pressed against the back of the seat. From this position, he could peer out the porthole on Hermann's side.

The city lights outside were a luminous cluster, twinkling like stars. The song in Newt's ears ended and a new album began: softer sounds and instrumental chords. He thought Hermann would love it, and then Newt remembered he had banished that word from his lexicon.

"All those people," Hermann whispered after a moment, making Newt blink in surprise. It was so quiet Newt wasn't sure it was meant to be heard. Hermann kept staring outside, the line of his jaw set in a way Newt wasn't sure if it was due to tension or something else. Hermann always held himself taut like the cord of a violin.

Normally, Newt would have played with that, finding the pulse of the instrument and striking the cords to provoke a reaction equal to the stored up force of Hermann's constraint. But he didn't want to do that now. Something told him there was a higher risk involved. And not just because of what Newt kept hidden.

And yet, Newt could never resist his curiosity. It was always his greatest downfall, if his brash, boisterous, and grating personality didn't get him in trouble first.

"Are you nervous?" Newt asked. Hermann glanced at him; a flash of surprise in his eyes that looked particularly downcast illuminated by the thin sliver of light from the airplane aisle. "I mean, about the conference," Newt overexplained himself, trying to fill every gap in his blunder. "Or seeing your parents. Or the whole trip for that matter. It's a lot, and there's a lot to be nervous about. Not that I am. I'm pretty stoked." 

Newt yawned involuntarily. Hermann looked at him for a moment longer before returning his gaze to the window.

"Hard not to be, not with what is at stake. But… I was just admiring the view," he said inconspicuously, and Newt would have believed that if it wasn't for their connection and the strings of Hermann's tension twisting tighter.

From his nested position against the seat, Newt gazed up at him, considering. He'd the perfect angle to admire Hermann's neck. Even in his exhaustion, he struggled to keep certain ideas at bay.

"It's a good view," he mumbled. Music continued to play softly in Newt's headphones, but other than that, everything was quiet. It seemed as if they were the only people still awake. Even the usual turmoil in Newt's mind seemed stifled. The low rumble of the plane's engine and the darkness of the cabin made this place feel different, untouched by their schemes and secrets, drifting Newt closer to sleep. "I didn't know you liked flying."

Hermann lifted one corner of his lips and smiled at the window, as if he and the distant city lights shared a secret.

"I wanted to be a pilot when I was a boy," he said, unexpectedly including Newt in it.

Newt fought against his sleepiness and raised his head to look at Hermann in amazement. A fragment of a memory flashed in his mind: the model airplanes Hermann used to play with in that field, his vision partially obscured by the pilot's helmet he wore. 

Hermann glanced at Newt from the corner of his eye.

"Well, don't act so surprised. I thought you knew."

"I missed that," Newt blinked, amazed at how he hadn't noticed it before, during their first drift together, and how now it seemed like the most important detail ever. Hermann had dreamed of becoming a pilot. It explained so many things, and put so many more into perspective. Why Hermann was so attached to institutions and his immediate compliance with the PPDC, the impact of his work with the Jaegers, helping the pilots connect to the giant machine. Newt knew that because of his leg Hermann would have never been selected as a Ranger, but he didn't know it was so deeply personal to him. "Damn," he whispered breathlessly. He looked out the window again, at the city lights growing distant and sparse. "I can't believe I missed that."

How much of Hermann he still didn't know. How much was still left to discover and to…

No, Newt stopped the thought before he could complete it. Don't think that word.

"It's quite alright. It was a long time ago," Hermann said, and his voice sounded almost kind, some of his tension unraveling. "Perhaps it didn't even show up in the drift."

"Space champion," Newt repeated the words he'd seen printed on the side of the helmet.

Hermann looked back, surprise in his eyes, before a smile curled his lips.

"I wanted to be an astronaut, too."

Newt huffed a quiet laugh. 

"That's really adorable," he said earnestly, his words slurred with sleepiness. The image of Hermann running across the grass fields with his model airplanes seemed indelible now that it had resurfaced, and Newt let it play freely in his mind. It was much better than any mangled and terrorizing images that he might have dreamed up. "I'm sorry it didn't happen."

Maybe it's just Newt's imagination, but Hermann hunched his shoulders slightly, aligning his arm for Newt's forehead to brush against it. The contact startled Newt, but he didn't move. This couldn't be the same as direct skin to skin contact. Hermann's million layers of clothing was in the way, and even if it meant his head was resting on Hermann's shoulder, fuck, Newt was tired of paying attention. 

He pressed his forehead more firmly against Hermann's shoulder, to hell with it all. It shouldn't be, and yet it felt so comfortable. He could feel Hermann's eyes on him, scanning the crown of Newt's hair, no longer looking at the dark horizon, even though Newt was still looking there until his heavy eyes dropped shut.

"Sleep, Newton." Hermann murmured, and the warmth spread like a light refracting on a curved lens, passing through paths left unguarded. But Newt was already half-asleep and didn't catch more or bask in it.

He slipped into unconsciousness without a thought to spare.

Newt slept through the entire flight in one long, unbroken haul. He was jolted awake around 6 a.m. (he didn't know what time zone they were in; it still looked dark outside) when the flight attendant asked for their breakfast orders.

Hermann was already awake next to him, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand, and ordered a sandwich with a tea. Newt couldn't think of anything he wanted to eat, but his stomach was growling uncomfortably so he thoughtlessly picked the same thing as Hermann. Only after he finished wolfing it all down did he remember he didn't even like tea. Hermann had been looking at him strangely as he finished drinking his, and Newt shrugged and closed his eyes, pretending to rest a little longer, trying to ignore the ghost drift encroachment. Before long, Hermann picked up his notebook again and the mental crunching of numbers resumed unabated.

They were an hour away from their destination, and it passed by quickly. 

They landed in Brussels at dawn. The cold morning air blowing in their faces and the damp smell of rain lingering everywhere.

Newt had been in touch with the NMEAS organizer, and when he'd written to Lambert-Sow yesterday to confirm their arrival time, the man had replied that he'd pick them up personally at the airport. It seemed a bit hands-on, but Newt hadn't fought back on it, not even when Hermann had called it extravagant and highly unnecessary, and judging by the slowness of Hermann's movements, he'd made the right call.

As they exited the terminal, they spotted the 'Drs. Geiszler-Gottlieb' sign waved by a stocky man with broad shoulders and bushy eyebrows, dressed business-like but with a pop of color in his patterned teal shirt.

"Doctors! It's a real pleasure to meet you," Lambert-Sow shook both of their hands warmly as soon as they were within reach. "A real pleasure! I can't tell you how happy I am that you accepted the invitation. Did your flight go well? My car is parked nearby. I can take you straight to the hotel if you'd like. The opening ceremony doesn't start until the afternoon, so you have plenty of time to get settled in. I'm also available to show you around the city if you'd like, of course. I've taken the morning off, as much as I could - you know how these events go, last-minute problems always happen, but I'll do my best to make this stay as pleasant as possible for you."

Newt already liked this guy. Lambert-Sow's enthusiasm mashed well with Newt's and they chatted animatedly in the car, involving Hermann as much as possible but eliciting only brief and concise answers from the mathematician. Newt added a touch of pizzazz to them though, complementing Hermann's responses effortlessly, and Lambert-Sow must have decided he liked them both, too.

He drove the longer and scenic route to the hotel, showing the scientists some of Brussels's landmarks. The streets were still partially deserted, just before the morning rush hour. It was pleasant, and familiar. It reminded Newt of his childhood in Berlin, and he always had a poignant connection to that city he could never shake.

Newt glanced furtively at Hermann in the backseat of the car. The mathematician was staring out the window, his mind miles away. Perhaps even Hermann couldn't help but think about Berlin, and Newt was foolishly about ask. He realized his mistake when the question was already on the tip of his tongue, when Hermann turned sharply to look at Newt and a choking, halting image of himself at 27, a sneering grin to cover his chagrin, flashed through Newt's mind.

Newt whirled around quickly, feeling like he'd been stricken. His ears started to ring and he didn't know what Lambert-Sow said next. Newt just nodded along and let the man do the talking for a while, absorbing very little of the conversation or the city until they reached the hotel.

Compared to the PPDC, the NMEAS was spending good money on the attendees' stay. Their hotel was a fancy four-star, a short walking distance from the conference center and with a lobby larger than Newt and Hermann's lab. Their room was also nearly three times the size of Newt's quarters at the Shatterdome, nicely decorated and with a set of queen sized beds. The wood paneling on the walls made it seem cozy and there was a large window overlooking the main street, several floors below. 

For a moment, Newt was taken aback by the novelty of having a bedroom with a window, and he chuckled softly to himself.

The things that living in an underground fortress will make one forget are normal.

Their bathroom was large, too. It had no windows, but there was a bathtub and a double sink, and he could actually walk in there without bumping into anything. Newt couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a bath, or had consistent hot water for a shower, so he took over that room immediately. He untangled a fresh chance of clothes from his already messy suitcase and shut the door to Hermann's protests that he couldn't just monopolize the bathroom, but it was too late and Hermann should have called dibs if he wanted it first.

The tub took a while to fill up, and Newt was too impatient to wait for the water not to be scorching hot before getting in. It was glorious. His muscles eased and his mind floated free.

A thick steam hung in the room, and for some reason that made Newt think of the Alterverse.

He stared at the colored lines tattoos on his arm, the warm water dripping down to his elbow, and thought about their end. It all seemed so simple in Hermann's black-and-white world full of facts and numbers, but Newt's head was full of color. Ethics blurred into so many shades, and the victims piled up. The Kaiju had been created for the sole purpose of destruction, but they hadn't chosen it, and they got wiped out from existence in a single blow without distinction of guilt. There was no more time and no other solution to end the war, but the guilt remained, even if Newt was probably the only person in the world who carried it.

At least someone felt remorse for all the life they'd taken from the other side.

The bath water was lukewarm by the time Newt drained the tub. He put on his pants and a shirt he left unbuttoned and went out to the bedroom while drying his hair with a towel.

Hermann was at the desk, his portable tablet propped up with their presentation open, even though Newt knew Hermann could already recite the whole thing front to back.

The conference lasted only three days. Tonight was the opening ceremony, followed by a gala dinner. The panels began tomorrow morning, but their presentation was scheduled for the afternoon of the third day. Lambert-Sow told them in the car that they'd pushed it last to make it a 'grand finale', and their panel was already so overbooked they had to reserve the largest auditorium available and hire a media company to broadcast it live. Newt was ecstatic at the idea. His overconfidence and showmanship itching to take on a bigger stage. However, Hermann was way less than enthusiastic; his anxiety forging back up, amplified in the distance between them.

"You know, the bath is really relaxing." Newt touted innocently, pressing his hip against the edge of the table.

Hermann huffed, gripping the back of his chair to stand up.

"I don't have time for that."

"Come on, we don't have to be anywhere until tonight. We absolutely have the time. And we should go get some fries for lunch."

"Absolutely not," Hermann went to grab his notebook from the nightstand where it'd been neatly deposited alongside Hermann's reading glasses. "We're going back to work."

Newt groaned.

"Not even a day off? What am I saying, a half-day? A few hours? Until I'm not jetlagged anymore?"

"You aren't jetlagged," Hermann stated, because of course he knew, and Newt wanted to stomp back into the bathroom — or strong-arm Hermann into a bubble bath, with candles for ambiance and cucumber slices over his eyes.

Terrible idea. Scratch that into oblivion.

"Fine," he gritted out instead, walking to the edge of the bed Hermann hadn't picked. "Shall we?"

Hermann sat across from him on the other bed, his eyes fixed in concentration. Newt stared back, trying to keep his cool as well as his focus. It was the biologist's job to look inward; information made more sense under his scrutiny, and there was no denying it was fascinating. The connective tissue around the muscles of Kaiju was where he'd left off analyzing it. He saw a glimpse of his hands at work, and the arms were thin as twigs, bending and twisting differently than how it was for humans. Newt clung to this memory inside one of the Precursors. They were the hardest to latch on to for long (they were part of the Hive but only for giving orders; separated into a higher hierarchy), but they were often the most valuable.

"Them," he said without breaking away. It was like speaking underwater; the real world muffled and distant. He couldn't see Hermann at the moment, but from the way his uneasiness reached Newt, he knew he'd heard and was along for the ride. "Delicate tissue work. Reinforcing the muscle structure. I don't know which Cat. This is unfamiliar." Newt frowned, and the antennae-like arms paused as if he was actually in control of them. A delayed sensation hit him, a burning pain spreading throughout his body and a putrefying smell so strong he almost retched.

Newt violently pulled back, sucking in a breath. The pain had lasted only a second, but it'd been intense. Much more intense than was normal, considering what Newt had seen so far. Not even the most brutal of the Kaiju deaths he had embodied had resulted in such intense anguish.

Hermann was still staring at him, wide-eyed and confused. A trickle of blood was running down his nose, still unwiped despite the linen handkerchief he clutched.

Newt sat up, the taste of blood was disgusting but also grounding. He cleaned it away with the other handkerchiefs Hermann had wordlessly prepared for him, repulsed by the residual smell that lingered in his nostrils.

"That was so gross. Did you get any of that?"

Hermann didn't answer right away, his gaze moved to a point past Newt's shoulder, unreadable.

"Perhaps you're right. We should take a break."

"Told you," Newt snorted and stood abruptly, grabbing his shoes from where he'd kicked them earlier. "We're going out, and we're taking the full day to recharge before we try again. I'm tired of frying my brain."

To his surprise, Hermann didn't protest again. But his mood had stilted into a gloomy cloud, and even during Newt's impromptu, haphazard trip through Brussels Hermann remained aloof. He decided to return to the hotel after lunch, and Newt didn't stop him, but he didn't follow him back either. He's content enough to have a few more hours of the fresh air and the buzzing life of the city surrounding him, but without Hermann, it felt duller.

Around 2 p.m. it started raining. Newt found shelter under a canopy in the park he'd wandered into and decided to wait it out.

But the rain turned into a downpour that grayed the sky and made everything damp and cold. His loneliness intensified. There, in a park where the rain made everything far away and intangible, he felt as if he was the only person for miles and miles.

He wondered if Hermann was worried about him. He probably was, but not for any strong sentimentality he felt towards Newt. Hermann worried about everything; Newt was just one of the indiscriminate causes. Maybe the biggest, but not the most personal. Hermann didn't do 'personal'.

This wasn't the same as dwelling on the idea of how Hermann might feel about him when Newt was alone in his quarters at the Shatterdome. He's lonelier now than he ever felt then, but he pushed the thought aside anyway. It was too depressing to face.

The rain brought other dreadful thoughts to mind, too. The Kaiju carcasses in the Pacific, and how those were slowly poisoning the world.

The true menace the PPDC wasn't seeing, no matter how much Newt shouted at them about it. They were so focused on the possibility of the Breach reopening, they couldn't see what the Kaiju had already left behind.

Tendo's reports on his expedition were worrying if one knew how to spot the signs. Conditions were stable enough for now, but the cleanup was proceeding extremely slowly, and the tropical storm season was right around the corner. An environmental disaster that would soon spread, but at the moment it wasn't large enough, or far-reaching enough, to be a priority.

Newt felt himself going crazy when the section he'd written for their NMEAS presentation about the swirling blue mass of poison floating in the Pacific was censored for the fourth time in a row. He'd been kicked out of those meetings to cool off more times than he could count, with Hermann hushedly reprimanding him and reminding him of their true objective each time afterward.

As if Newt needed the reminder.

As if this cause was intrinsically less important.

The rain never stopped, and eventually Newt had to make the trek back to the hotel anyway. He arrived soaked to the bone; he might as well not have taken a bath at all.

Hermann was waiting for him in the lobby and sighed in exasperation when he saw Newt come in.

"Finally, you're back. I almost sent a search party after you."

"Yeah," Newt chuckled weakly, trying to be cheeky but it didn't quite reach that effect. "I got caught up." Hermann was already dressed in his fanciest suit with a dark bowtie, which meant Newt was probably running later than he thought, and that he now had a new reason to avoid looking at Hermann for too long.

Hermann fussed over him, dragging Newt back to their room but waiting outside for Newt to dry off and get dressed, and quickly.

"I want to hope those weren't the shirt and trousers you were supposed to wear tonight, were they?" Hermann shouted through the door.

"Don't blame me," Newt shouted back as he rummaged through his suitcase for a spare pair of dress pants, knowing full well he didn't have any. "It's the weather's fault. Or maybe the Kaiju in the Pacific's fault! Didn't I tell you they'd affect the weather everywhere?"

"Newton, the weather here is always like this. Did you find a spare pair of clothes or not?"

"Yeah, yeah. I've got another good shirt and I can wear my corduroy pants. I don't think anyone will care."

A pause on the other side of the door.

"You still have those?"

"Fuck yeah, I do! And I washed them, before you ask."

He hadn't had time to mend them yet, though, but the ripped look was kinda sick so maybe he should leave them like this after all. He came out of the room ten minutes later, hair fluffed up, knees showing through the pant tears, a white button-up shirt, and Hermann's green tie under a dark vest and blazer. He felt very cool, and he beamed at Hermann while leaning against the doorframe. He wished he had sunglasses to complete the look, but Hermann was already glaring at him, red-faced, so maybe they would be too much. Whatever. His grin faltered only a little.

"Show time."

The opening ceremony went off without a hitch. Lambert-Sow made a brief appearance on stage, and later, when the next days' speakers, including Geiszler and Gottlieb, were announced, thunderous applause echoed throughout the room. It boosted Newt's ego by no short amount.

At the gala dinner, held in the large and splendid Municipal Auditorium, Newt and Hermann were seated between a hot shot entrepreneur and the Belgian Minister of Innovation, Science and Industry, with whom Newt chatted throughout the evening.

The food was delicious, and Newt was a little sad to finish the last bite of his strawberry shortcake dessert, but now was the moment when his and Hermann's real plan began: mingle with these people and find out who would oppose the Jaegers' construction, and support the scientist's plan of action instead. Easier said than done, especially considering how the PPDC had presented the alternative of total defenselessness and destruction, and the fact that Newt and Hermann were technically publicly in favor of the Jaegers now.

Hermann and Newt broke off as soon as dinner was over and they were all moved into the large pavilion. Newt kept an eye on the mathematician, who didn't have to scout long for someone to talk to, as there was a small crowd spontaneously forming around him. It seemed like one of Hermann's nightmare scenarios: being surrounded by people, grilling with questions and showering with attention, but Hermann was handling it surprisingly well. There was almost no trace of terror coming through the connection; it's mostly alertness and self-assurance.

Newt smiled to himself, leaving Hermann to his crowd to wander along by himself. A few people approached him too, but their interest waned after the biologist spoke for a while.

This kept happening, and Newt started to get frustrated with their half-hearted responses and quick exits, cranking up his own arrogance and vehemence to cut the interactions off even faster.

The next person to approach Newt near the pyramid of champagne flutes was a handsome, uptight-looking man with a dazzling smile that seemed plastered across his face and just a little too phony. Newt immediately wanted to tear into him like a dog with a squeaky toy.

The man introduced himself as Mr. Theodore Slater, and though Newt snorted at the pompous name, it sounded vaguely familiar, even if he couldn't place from where.

"Your colleague seems to be the star of the evening," Slater commented after some inconsequential small talk to which Newt responded bluffly. He perked up when the conversation shifted to Hermann, and his gaze returned to the other side of the hall where his lab partner was still engrossed in discussion and socializing with everyone. "I'm surprised to see you all by yourself. Is there a problem between you two?"

Newt peered sideways at the man. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Slater apologized, raising his eyebrows in an obviously fake manner. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just curious about you two."

"That's creepy," Newt said without mincing words. "Get a better hobby and take a hike."

The man pursed his lips and tightly laughed.

"It's not a hobby for me, Dr. Geiszler. I'm a journalist, and see my job here is—"

Newt interrupted him with a loud groan.

"One of those, huh? Seriously, get lost. You won't find a scoop, or a scandal, or whatever on us. You're wasting your time."

"I wasn't looking for any of that," Slater narrowed his eyes questioningly, as if assessing how far he could push this. "But now I'm intrigued by all this defensiveness of yours. What are you keeping so hidden?"

"Like I said — nothing," Newt seethed, hissing the words. He felt a growing heat rising at his collar, but he ignored it. He could blame it on the alcohol. "I'm not hiding anything. We're here to present our work, which is going to be awesome and may or may not change the way the Earth spins forever."

"Is that so?" Slater asked, seemingly pleased that the topic had landed there. "I've heard so much about your reputation and yet so little about the work you're presenting here. The PPDC is being even more secretive than usual. It's some sort of supercomputer, is that right?"

Newt rolled his eyes.

"If you wanna boil it down to that—"

"Oh, I don't want to. In fact, I insist on hearing more."

Newt smiled fastidiously, swirling the liquid in his glass to watch the sparkling bubbles form.

"You're gonna have to wait. And you might be surprised by what that supercomputer is capable of. Write about that in your paper or whatever."

"And if I had the pleasure of interviewing you, what questions would you like to hear?" Slater took a step forward and lowered his voice. "For example, why is the PPDC keeping you under special surveillance? What kind of work are you still doing for them? And why are you presenting it now, without any drawings or schematics? You're not even showing a prototype here at this event. How can you legitimize your work with incomplete results, no practical demonstrations, and no supporting sources?"

Newt breathed slowly through his nose, eyeing Slater warily, trying to remain calm even as his blood boiled. These were precisely the issues he'd raised with Hermann before their departure, and the ones they'd argued about the most. The truth put them in a dangerous position in the eyes of the PPDC, but their half-truths were poor and deniable. Their entire presentation was a hall of mirrors: it distorted and diverted attention from what the PPDC hadn't allowed them to say, leaving the final use of MARSHL unclear.

Newt knew full well that the PPDC was deliberately implying that their invention would be used in the construction of the new Jaegers, and likely the same information had been leaked even less subtly, and the biologist wanted nothing more than to rebel against all of this. Even if this only proved that Hermann was right in considering Newt a liability.

"I don't need a source when I'm the leading fucking expert in the field," Newt replied dryly, trying with all his might to keep his cool. "My sources are: 'I was there, and I was the only one there until the last day of the war.' If you have a problem with the validity of my statements, go and tell that to the PPDC."

"It sounds like you don't agree with their directives."

"That's not breaking news, buddy. I've never been their model scientist."

"Not the way Dr. Gottlieb is, am I right?" Slater pressed on. "Word on the street is that he will be promoted to your detriment."

Newt snorted and laughed facetiously.

"Now who has a problem with trusting their source?"

Slater only smiled. "Perhaps you're right. I shouldn't divulge unverified information. I'm sure you'll hold yourself to the same standards you hold others to. In the meantime, I'll be sure to write more appropriate questions for your presentation. Since we both know that what you're showing won't be the whole picture, perhaps the best question of all would be… What have you two discovered that's so valuable it had to be hidden so well?" Newt hissed a silent breath, held transfixed under Slater's gaze. Until the man smiled in self-satisfaction and reached behind Newt for a glass of champagne. "Have a good evening, Doctor." He raised it in a mocking toast and walked away, leaving Newt slightly stunned.

Before he could recollect himself and put his simmering anger somewhere, Lambert-Sow came to his rescue, looking flustered and concerned.

"Was everything alright with Mr. Slater?"

"You didn't say there'd be reporters here," Newt accused him, trying to keep his voice low.

"Oh, no, there's no press at the gala tonight. Slater isn't here in that capacity. He's here as moderator for the conventions."

Newt paled.

"A moderator? For mine and Hermann's panel too?"

"Of course,” Lambert-Sow gritted his brows. “Why? Is there a problem?"

"Nope," Newt said quickly, mentally kicking himself as he stared at the spot where Slater had disappeared into the crowd. "No problem at all."

The next morning, Newt forwent sleeping in to have breakfast at the buffet, figuring he only had a very limited time to enjoy waffles and fresh strawberries.

He left the room when Hermann was still sleeping, curled up in his bed and snoring lightly.

Newt'd decided not to mention the fiasco with the moderator to his lab partner. It was inconsequential anyway; it wasn't as if Newt had revealed sensitive information. He doubted Slater would cause trouble, and he seemed to value his own professional integrity, which gave Newt some reassurance.

He still mentally promised himself not to pick a fight with anyone else at the conference, Hermann excluded, just to be safe.

Newt was on his third round of waffles, dousing them in syrup, when Hermann showed up at the cafeteria.

The throbbing pain in Newt's hip arrived with him, and the question was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew the answer Hermann would give him wouldn't be true, and he didn't want to invite the possibility to call the other out on the lies they told each other. Not when Newt's truths were so much more ruinous. Instead, he bickered with Hermann over breakfast, offering him the uneaten plate of waffles and arguing about Newt's unsanitary diet, and his "frankly offensive" amount of sugar intake, until Newt spitefully re-rounded the cafeteria to load a tray of fruit and porridge for Hermann — and anything else that looked boring and healthy — and took back his plate to devour the remaining waffles in one bite.

Newt's stomach churned a little, but he wasn't about to give Hermann the satisfaction of saying "I told you so".

With their panel on the second day of the conference, the morning was devoted to being spectators and participating freely to whatever seminar they liked. They were generally more up Hermann's field of expertise, but Newt liked engineering and mechanics too, and found the first panels they attended compelling and even ingenious at times. There had been advances he hadn't been aware of, cooped up as they were in the PPDC basement for so long, and it was amazing to know that there were so many people out there with brilliant minds using them to build and improve the world. Hermann was more sociable than he'd been the day before; stimulating activities and sleeping in a comfortable bed was a good cure for his grumpiness. Newt took note of that. Hermann was enthralled by the panels, too. Newt watched him as much as he watched the stage, sitting next to each other during each panel, whispering and exchanging notes on scraps of paper where Newt wrote jokes and Hermann's lips quivered in fleeting smiles.

Newt cherished these moments in a way he never thought he could. It wasn't often that time spent with Hermann was so carefree and relaxed. 

Maybe it was the first time, actually. And Newt couldn't get enough of it.

During lunch in the event's provided cafeteria, Newt loaded up two trays and headed to the table Hermann had saved for them. He bounced on his tiptoes, eager to return and spend more time with Hermann before the next panels, especially since the mathematician had promised to tell Newt about the conversations he had last evening at the gala.

But when Newt arrived at the table, a group of eight people had taken up residence, leaving only a tiny empty spot opposite to Hermann, who was already engaged in some conversation about the current status of the PPDC.

Newt sat down heavily. He knew Hermann could sense Newt's dissatisfaction with this development better than the random people at their table could, but he politely responded to their questions anyway, ignoring Newt's mental protests with growing annoyance. Newt figured there was no harm in networking, but it was still a drag, and once lunch was over the group continued to follow them to every afternoon panel.

Dinner on the second day took place in the same cafeteria of the conference center, and the crowd that gathered around Newt and Hermann was smaller, but still invigorated and full of questions for the scientists. Newt normally enjoyed the attention and exaggerated praise, especially when he could ramble on about the final months of the war where only he and Hermann were left in the K-Sci lab and make it sound like an epic and heroic tale. Having people hanging on his every word was a great feeling, cathartic even, but Newt couldn't fully enjoy it.

By the time Newt and Hermann finally returned to their hotel room, it was well past midnight and Newt felt like he had wasted so much time he could never get back.

It was a somewhat absurd thought. In the Shatterdome, they spent every day living in each other's pockets, and on this trip, even if they were still spending so much time together, their attention was constantly being pulled by others and Newt wanted nothing more than a few minutes alone with Hermann where he could catch his breath. It was what had scared him the most before arriving in Brussels, and yet now he felt robbed. Full of restless energy that he just wanted to use to prolong their time together before another day filled with chaos and distractions began to pull them apart.

But it seemed Newt didn't have that luxury. They were both asleep on their feet before even entering the room.

There was something very addictive about sleeping with Hermann so close: it was as if nothing could delay the descent into sleep, and the empty hours Newt usually spent tossing and turning in his sheets slipped away in an instant. If he wasn't so tired, he'd do more research on the case. Perhaps it was a standard ghost drift symptom, or perhaps it was something more sentimental and a little mortifying.

Newt turned off the lights, hearing the sound of Hermann settling under the covers. Newt made his way to his own bed guided only by the dim lights coming from the open window, something they'd silently agreed should remain that way. The street noises didn't bother Newt; he liked having them in the background, along with the biting cool breeze coming in and ruffling the curtains.

They'd exchanged very few words when they were finally alone in the room, stunned by the same tiredness from endless chatter. Newt fought against his drooping eyelids for a few more minutes, watching Hermann's blurry figure breathe slowly, one arm over his eyes. The incessant barrage of numbers continued in his mind. It was the entire section that had to do in tomorrow's speech. Hermann still repeated and revised it meticulously, even as the numbers became blurry and distant as sleep approached.

"Good night," Newt said, burrowing deeper into the covers.

He almost thought Hermann wouldn't answer. Newt knew he wasn't asleep, but the biologist could definitely sense that Hermann was the more tired of the two, even if he would never admit it.

Even saying anything else seemed like an effort, so it was a surprise when Hermann replied, "Good night, Newton," and immediately fell asleep.

Newt followed suit with a smile on his face.

The last day of the conference passed in a blur. The people surrounding the scientists before each pavilion doubled in size, eager to engage in conversation before their big event. 

Newt tried to swallow his irritation and pretend this was the crowds at his band shows on good nights, and he did everything he could to please and entertain them. But Newt's concentration was broken, and more than ever his mind was racing back to thoughts he couldn't linger on. He just wanted a few more moments alone with Hermann before their presentation, and everything seemed to be building to keep them apart. 

All they had for the entire day were rapt, out-of-breath exchanges, and nothing slowed down until Lambert-Sow was leading them behind stage for their grand finale. 

Newt glanced quickly at the rapidly filling audience. If it were any other time, any other place, this would be one of the most triumphant moments of his career. But today it felt like the exact opposite.

"I don't know how Captain Mori and Becket put up with all this for months during the Victor Tour," Hermann whispered to him in the dim backstage area, fretting with his dress jacket, doing and undoing a button.

When Newt looked at him, it reminded the biologist of the minutes before their test drive; the spotlights on them and only a brief moment of intimacy before the launch. Maybe not even intimacy. They'd argued that time, after all.

"Yeah," Newt agreed, seeing for the first time the disturbing and oppressive side of this attention constantly pointed at them like the sight of a rifle. "Don't worry though. You know the presentation from front to back in your sleep. I know that for a fact," he winked at Hermann. "You're gonna do great."

"What about you?" Hermann asked.

"Oh, I'll also do great. No question there." Newt said with aplomb.

Hermann's lips pulled up in the barest hint of a smile, but he smothered it back down.

"Will you stick to the script, then? Precisely as it is. No deviations from the main points, no controversies, and no improvisation? Do you promise me you can do that?"

Newt rolled his eyes. He didn't know why Hermann still insisted when they both knew they couldn't fuck this up, but if Hermann needed that extra reassurance, fine. It was the least Newt could do.

"I promise, dude. I won't let you down."

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, but then Slater's voice startled Newt as it boomed through the microphone, introducing Newt and Hermann's panel. 

There was a roar of applause, echoing in Newt's ears and thumping over his heartbeat. He gave Hermann one last nod, then they both stepped into the limelight.

The audience faded into the shadows and got lost into the distance like a dark mass who applauded fervidly, and Newt raised both arms in the air to encourage them to cheer even more. This wasn't a concert audience, that much was clear, and yet the energy and enthusiasm were palpable and contagious. He turned to Hermann to take his hand and raise it with his own, and the crowd seemed to erupt. Hermann was stiff and awkward, staring into the distance as if he wanted to count how many people were in the room but couldn't make them out, and his eyes darted from one point in the darkness to another.

Slater encouraged them to take a seat in one of the two empty armchairs next to his, placed slightly to the side. There was a podium with a microphone at the other end of the stage, from which first Newt and then Hermann would take turns presenting. The screen behind them already projected the title of the first part of the presentation, the one assigned to Newt.

Slater gave Newt the word, and the biologist walked to the podium. Hermann had made him promise not to change the script, and even though Newt was a little incapable of reciting something without his personal touch, and had done so for every time he had to rehearse the speech with Hermann, he wasn't stupid enough to risk it now. Not with the camera pointed at him from the sidelines and the PPDC probably tuned in to catch his every word.

The first part of the speech had a title that had been approved after several rounds of revisions. Newt still didn't like it, but he forced it out of his mouth as he began.

"Artificial Neural Networks and the Development of Unconventional Adaptive Systems: How to Harness Kaiju Biotechnology." Newt recited his part as if he was speaking to Hermann, even though he had his back to him and was looking into the crowd. He explained how their research had come about, edited to make it seem like the PPDC had approved everything they'd done from the beginning, without mentioning all the rejections they'd received over the years; what they'd discovered, a safer bio-harvesting and the study on what part of the Kaiju anatomical structure could be used and repurposed; finally, where they intended to take their research, the development of an effective biophysical modeling approach to capture the potential of Kaiju biotechnology discovered so far.

Newt concluded by introducing MARSHL, wrapping up the first part and moving on to Hermann's talk about mechanics and schematics. The boring and probably incomprehensible part for many, which had been minimally edited.

They passed each other halfway to the podium as applause was still ringing. Newt brushed Hermann's hand, which was clutching the pad with his speech broken down into keypoints with white knuckles.

You got this, Newt resonated in his mind, pushing the thought toward the point where the contact lit up. Hermann only looked startled for a second, but recovered immediately. The only feedback Newt received was the same rapid-fire crunching of numbers, slightly distorted, as if Hermann had stumbled and lost his train of thought before starting again. Then he pushed forward and reached the podium and Newt was left to take his place in the armchairs. He tried to ignore Slater sitting next to him, who seemed to be giving him strange looks.

Hermann's part was familiar to Newt too by now, and the mathematician wasn't a bad public speaker, even if his tone was dry and blunt while Newt had tried to inject some verve into his carefully preplanned performance. The Council had allowed them to present some schematics that were made before the addition of the Kaiju nerves. They told the scientists it was to prevent illegal replicas, especially in the black market, but that was a good excuse as any to keep the matter clean and sealed. 

However, when Hermann began describing one of MARSHL's features for determining the likelihood that the Kaiju might have actually been exterminated, everyone in the audience was completely enraptured.

This was tonight's big revelation, and Newt sat on the edge of his seat to gauge the general reaction. Starting with Slater's.

"Wow, that's truly an incredible feat," the moderator gasped, echoing a growing murmur from the audience. "A machine that can tell us the current conditions of the world the Kaiju came from. It seems almost impossible. Tell us, how did you come to that conclusion?"

Newt exchanged a quick glance with Hermann as he turned to face Newt and Slater, his brows furrowed. This wasn't the time for Slater's questions; there was a final section of the speech that Newt and Hermann were supposed to give together first, and Slater was aware of it.

"It's the culmination of years of research into the nature of Kaiju that have led us to this point," Newt said with a forced smile, thinking he could tie it back to his prepared speech, but Slater didn't let it go.

"So this machine is already in use in your labs, is that correct? You already know the answer to your question, so why don't you share it with the world now. Have all the Kaiju been destroyed?"

"We don't have enough data yet to make an accurate analysis," Hermann said from the podium, his back gone stiff. "With a little more time and by continuing to expand MARSHL's vocabulary on the Kaiju, we may have a definitive answer."

"I understand, it's only natural that you're not allowed to divulge sensitive information like that," Slater conceded with a sly smile. "And yet we have this ingenious and revolutionary invention born just as the PPDC is globally approving the reconstruction of the Jaegers. It's a very interesting coincidence, don't you think?"

A murmur of fear rises from the crowd, and a flash of panic passes through Hermann's eyes at what Slater was insinuating.

"Let's relax with the conspiracies," Newt interjected with a prolonged chuckle. "The PPDC is preparing an offensive regardless of our results, but as Gottlieb and I explained, we still don't have the means to accurately read what happened in the Alterverse after the denotation. It's all up in the air."

"The Alterverse?" Slater repeated, sitting back in his chair. "Is that what you called the Kaiju planet?"

"Well," Newt hesitated for only a moment, looking at Hermann to decide how much he could digress without causing harm. "Of course, that's the name we gave it. The study on Kaiju biology shows it's an almost inhospitable planet, with high levels of methane, carbon dioxide, and ammonia, as evidenced by the content of their cardiovascular system." A familiar pressure tightened in his temples, and that repulsive smell permeated his nostrils again. "The possibility of those chemicals also being in their atmosphere is high." He almost choked as he finished speaking, gripping the microphone tightly; there couldn't be a worse time to have a vision of the Alterverse. "Very high. It's just a matter of being absolutely right, because it was easy for you to revert to armaments even without a real threat, but it won't be as easy changing your mind."

Slater blinked. Hermann was no longer speaking, he seemed frozen in place. The same vision of red gases that Newt couldn't explain was flashing behind his eyes, Newt was sure of it.

"So, Dr. Geiszler, what you're saying is that you don't agree with the Jaegers' reconstruction?"

"Personally, no. I don't."

"Even without the certainty that those monsters that killed millions of people are truly gone?"

"It's not likely they survived," Newt gritted out. "They were killed like that on Earth once, too. Atomic bomb after atomic bomb, and there were improvements in their constitution, but never anything to strengthen them against those." Perhaps that was the answer — the one lurking around the corner as Newt was too absorbed with his own feelings to see. The Precursors' intentions. The red smoke was making his eyes water now, the smell of decay permeated the air in the hall, and Newt felt closer than ever to an answer.

"And here we come to the other crux of the situation," Slater said accusingly. "All your answers, the studies on the skin, bones, nerves of the Kaiju, are all circumstantial and unprecedented. The PPDC has made you lose all sense of the scientific method by living as idols rather than professionals in your field, but what you're showing tonight," he gestured broadly to indicate MARSHL's schematics, "is baseless."

"I assure you that the PPDC—" Hermann began, his voice faint even into his microphone, but Newt immediately drowned it out.

"That's not true!" he shrieked, loudly amplified by the speakers. "I know exactly what I'm talking about, and what you're seeing is the best Kaiju research ever brought to light!"

"Oh yeah?" Slater challenged. Everyone in the audience was dead quiet, and Newt felt wild, knowing with absolute certainty his nose was about to start bleeding and doing absolutely nothing to stop it from coming. "And why is that?"

"Because I drifted with one!"

Chapter Text

Hermann struggled to regulate his breathing, concentrating on it as he tried and failed to process the words being shouted at him over the holographic video calls. There was a ringing in his ears that overpowered the voices, grossly pervasive, until it disrupted even his automatic bodily functions.

He's having trouble keeping his breathing regular, his heart-rate down, his stomach unclenched, and, most worryingly, keeping at bay the cold, tight feeling of the handcuffs that weren't locked around his wrist.

In another room on this PPDC military base, Newton was being held, presumably handcuffed, his agitation growing by the minute. Hermann couldn't concentrate on Newton's strenuous struggle any more than he could on the meeting before him. In Hermann's mind, there was nothing but the ringing in his ears, imprisoning him in an even tighter cage than the phantom handcuffs. The windowless room, with the blue hue of the holograms projected against the walls, reminded Hermann of drifting, and the dreamlike atmosphere coupled with his altered senses, was beginning to loosen his constraints.

"Dr. Gottlieb," Marshal Vasquez thundered. "Do you understand what I'm asking of you?"

Hermann looked up with heavy eyes. The names and faces of the commanding officers and Council members continued to blur. Not everyone had shown up to this emergency meeting on such short notice; his father wasn't there, and that was the only consolation Hermann had. Dr. Lightcap and Dr. Gage weren't present either, and Hermann couldn't help but think they'd been intentionally kept out. They would have sided with the scientists, helping him explain. But he was alone, and the Council, including Marshal Vasquez, showed the mathematician no mercy. It seemed as if the breaking point between the remaining members of K-sci and the PPDC had finally arrived.

What Hermann should do now was make a case for himself and Newton, using the strategy he'd developed and refined over the years, especially working under his father to his advantage: selling his point concisely and simply, demonstrating his unique usefulness, being ready to cut down or compromise on anything else. It'd worked wonders once - up until the very end, when Hermann had found that his loyalty to the Jaegers was something he was unwilling to compromise on. 

But at that moment, those resources seemed blocked away by the ringing in his ears, the cold, tight feeling in his wrists, and the heaviness that constricted his lungs leaving him almost breathless.

"I understand," Hermann replied, and his voice was surprisingly firm, contrary to the quivering of his insides. "My answer is no."

The Marshal's holographic image wobbled as she sat back in her chair, grunting bitterly.

"Dr. Gottlieb, please be reasonable," interjected one of the U.S. representatives, a man usually calm and collected but who tonight seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Your loyalty is admirable, but you and Geiszler are not joint at the hip, and this is your best chance of preserving any shred of integrity the K-science has."

"I'm aware of that," Hermann retorted decisively. "My answer is still no. I will take the same punishment you're reserving for Dr. Geiszler, whatever that may be."

"This is preposterous!" someone else shouted; Hermann was no longer looking at the screens. "We are trying to save you here! Geiszler only mentioned himself, you could be exonerated almost entirely."

"It's already impossible to understand how anyone could be crazy enough to drift with a Kaiju, no one is going to implicate you if we act soon to damage control this! Despite your closeness and continued association, if you publicly declared you had no knowledge whatsoever of what Geiszler did and immediately distanced yourself from him, the charges against you will be dropped and you could keep your reputation as intact as possible."

The ringing in his ears persisted, and Hermann gave up on the hope of getting his thoughts back on track and analyzing his options. Instead, he started wondering when exactly siding with Newton had become so uncompromising in his mind.

"My reputation," Hermann muttered, the breathlessness in his chest morphing into a cold that spread all over. At least it was an edge to keep his mind sharp, he thought as his hands were shaking under the table, kept in place by invisible cuffs. "Or the PPDC's? Which Dr. Geiszler and I also represent. I was crazy enough to drift with a Kaiju, too. I have done the same thing you're condemning Geiszler for, in spite of how salvific for this planet that singular action was. I will not declare that I wasn't a part of it."

"What Geiszler did will create a massive panic!"

"Why?" Hermann rebuffed, inappropriately curt. "You're the ones creating a suitable story to spread to the public, aren't you? Just as you want all the blame to fall on Geiszler so I can remain clean, you can do otherwise."

"And what would be your better alternative?" one of the representatives from Japan asked irritably. He was one of those who had to get up in the middle of the night to attend this meeting. Hermann looked at him for a moment too long, his gaze remained fixed and cold until he felt the needle of control shifting. It could never swing in Hermann's favor, he knew that, but for the moment being it was enough to give him the semblance of absoluteness he needed.

"The truth," Hermann said plainly. "Dr. Geiszler is not your enemy and never has been. Start giving him the same importance and respect you give the heroes who piloted the Jaegers and brought us to victory. Credibility for the PPDC also means ensuring that the Kaiju will never resurface, and that is what Geiszler and I are trying to do. We could continue to work on MARHSL, and do so openly and with your support. Or you could condemn us both and never unveil the truth and all that comes with it. Progress, research, the chance of prosperity in the postwar world. You need us for that. You always have."

Silence fell over the room, the first moment of quiet Hermann experienced in hours. He found it almost more oppressive than the chaos.

“We will take a few minutes to deliberate,” the secretary general said finally, and the projections faded, leaving Hermann further deprived of any light.

The mathematician let out a shaky sigh and ran his fingers over his wrists. The skin felt tender and chaffed. He separated his hands, spreading them palms down on the table in front of him, slowly bringing them further apart.

Hermann waited for an interminable hour for the Council to reappear, seething with resentment and doubt, wasting his brain faculties on picking apart the conference, stripping it down to its bare instances and getting stranded on the last sentence Newton had said like a skipping record repeating its tune.

Because I drifted with one.

I drifted with one.

I drifted.

I.

They'd made that leap together, but Newton had still erased Hermann from the scene. Or maybe Geiszler thought of his solo drift as what mattered most - when all he'd left behind was his convulsing body and a note of culpability for Hermann to find.

There was a counterargument that a generous and perhaps foolish part of him kept raising. Perhaps Newton, despite being provoked and unleashing in such a theatrical fashion, had tried to protect Hermann from exposure. But that idea was almost more damaging. Assuming it were true, then the Council had offered Gottlieb the only way out that Newton had also assured him of: the possibility of immunity. And Hermann had refused it.

And that was precisely the hardest admission Hermann had to face tonight — the undeniable fact that despite his uncertainties about his lab partner's intentions, Newton had become something Hermann was unwilling to compromise on. Surpassing the PPDC, the Jaegers, and even Hermann's respectable career, the only thing that had made Hermann feel confident and useful for most of his life. He was about to give it all up out of loyalty to a man whose best, albeit questionable, act of self-preservation looked a lot like a betrayal.

When the Council came back, their images were so bright that Hermann's eyes took a moment to readjust to the light after so long in the dark.

"Very well, Dr. Gottlieb," Marshal Vasquez proclaimed unhesitatingly. Hermann braced himself. "You and Dr. Geiszler are free to go."

Hermann blinked rapidly, thinking he must have misheard, but the Marshal continued before he could ask her to reiterate.

"We will proceed with your suggestion. We’re issuing an official statement explaining what happened during the NMEAS conference, disclosing your involvement in Operation Pitfall. This includes the drift with the Kaiju brain, and the aftereffects you experienced that made you act to preserve that residual knowledge. We will also confirm your ongoing efforts to continue collaborating with the PPDC, evolving your research into using Kaiju warfare technology to improve our future capabilities. We categorically cannot publish any medical reports or further schematics on MARSHL, but we are appointing our Public Affairs Officers to handle this case and the rest of this outbreak. Naturally, Dr. Geiszler cannot proceed without any monitoring, so you have been appointed as his overseer. Your current orders are to continue with your travel itinerary as previously agreed upon, and upon your return to the Shatterdome in Hong Kong, we will take care of the rest and make arrangements for a permanent handle of your situation. Do you accept these conditions, Dr. Gottlieb?"

Hermann felt as if he'd missed a step on the way down the stairs.

He looked at the Marshal, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was feeling, but her gaze remained impatient and hard. Hermann swallowed and said, "I accept."

The resolution was countersigned with a transcript of the meeting attached.  Hermann read it over, his eyes sore and the lines blurring together, and all he could think was, ‘Newton won't like this’. Geiszler would focus solely on restoring PPDC control over the scientists' work and allegiances, when being processed and dishonorably discharged had been the most generous and likely alternative Hermann had envisioned.

When the video call ended, the darkness that fell over the room as the holograms closed one by one was almost a relief.

The last remaining projection was the Marshal's, and when it didn't deactivate with the others and she simply stared at Hermann as if she expected something from him and wanted to keep it out of the official archives, Hermann began to fear again. Whatever it was, he was too jaded to skirt around the subject and he felt a pang of anger toward his superior that could only be a remnant of Newton. 

He hated himself, and even Newton a little bit, for not being able to completely quell that feeling.

"I should thank you," Hermann said, his voice tense. "I wasn't expecting this."

Vasquez, to his surprise, smiled at him. 

"It's I who should thank you, Gottlieb. Your plea for reinstatement and forgiveness hit home. You said exactly the right things, even though your lab partner didn't. But I have to agree with you, he would be immensely wasted rotting in some cell. I've just never liked loose cannons," she paused, watching Hermann carefully, as if they were in cahoots about something. "Hopefully this will serve as a deterrent for any acts of disobedience in the future."

Hermann's breath hitched in his throat. He regretted leaving his hands on the table, because they were trembling again.

The Marshal leaned back in her chair, unaware or perhaps indifferent to Hermann's reaction. "Geiszler is very fortunate to have you by his side, but let me give you some honest advice. You may not always be there to protect him in the future, so you better tell your friend to be careful about what he does from now on. The Council has its ideas, and Hong Kong has its allies, but when we get to San Francisco, things will be done my way, and I can assure you that this is the last time he humiliates the PPDC like this."

The screen went black, plunging Hermann into total darkness.

For an interminable moment, he didn't know what to do with himself. He left the room, and when no one stopped him, he slowly walked away. He reached the exit and crossed the courtyard, leaving the military base.

He was free to go, but this still felt like a jailbreak.

His mind was racing. He was still considering all the possible consequences and alternatives when Newton emerged at the base's brightly lit entrance, escorted by two officers. They shoved him out unceremoniously, and Geiszler staggered down the few steps to the door, regaining his balance at the bottom. He was massaging the wrist of his left hand, the one that hurt the most even for Hermann too, when he noticed the mathematician at the other end of the lonely courtyard.

"Hermann!" Newton called, raising his hand to wave.

Hermann turned around and began walking away. It had started to drizzle. He hadn't even noticed.

"Hey, Hermann!" Newton reached him quickly, and he grabbed Hermann's shoulder to stop him. "Hey! Wait, what—what happened? Those idiots wouldn't tell me anything, but I know you talked to them. What did they say?"

Hermann lowered his head and avoided looking at Newton, shaking off the grip and continuing to walk unsteadily.

"I don't think we should be talking about this in the street," he said tonelessly.

Newton paused for a moment but then caught up with Hermann again.

"Y-yeah, I know, but wait. I want to know what they told you. Why did they let me go? What happens now? Are we... have we been fired? They're going to shut down the project now, aren't they? Is that why you don't want to tell me?"

Hermann didn't reply. The rain was picking up, and the coat Newton had gifted him didn't have a hood. The rain was starting to soak into his clothes and chill him all over.

"Dude, will you stop walking away for a second!" Newton's voice rose in pitch, grating against Hermann's growing headache. "Say something at least. Anything! You can't be keeping me in the dark too. What the fuck man, you're supposed to be on my side! Look, I know I screwed up. I screwed up big time, and this is probably the last straw for you, I know it! But at least tell me what happened! Have the courage to look at me and say—"

"Shut up!" Hermann shouted, whirling around sharply.

Newton recoiled, stumbling over his steps. He looked at Hermann with wide eyes and Hermann felt his cheeks burn despite the cold and his breath condensing from his labored breathing. The cover of the rain was the only thing that gave them privacy while they were outside, but even so, Hermann didn't feel safe. Perhaps he never will again.

"They set you up," he said in a hiss, giving voice to his primary suspicion, even though a thousand other interpretations existed to torment him and he didn't know what to believe.

He saw Newton flinch and go pale all at once. "W-what?"

"I think they might have. I'm not sure what she meant, what she was implying..."

"The Marshal?" Newton guessed. "Shit. Maybe she and Slater had a deal. He'd been really pushy with me the first night, asking me a lot of weird questions, but I didn't think—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermann asked him. The cold finally reached his mind, suffocating every pathetic feeling of hurt and betrayal, waking up the cruel resentment that overpowered everything else.

"I thought he was just some idiot trying to get a scoop. I didn't think he was our moderator, and how the hell was I supposed to imagine he worked for the Marshal!"

"I didn't say — we don't know for sure yet," Hermann retorted angrily. "I could be wrong."

"Oh, so now you're developing complexes about being wrong!" Newton shouted. "Why don't you explain to me what they told you instead of telling me your conjectures? What the hell are they gonna do to me?"

Hermann gripped the handle of his cane until his numb fingers began to ache. He couldn't stop the trembling of his mouth, not even biting into his lower lip until he tasted blood.

"Typical of you," he hissed contemptuously. "You always think only of yourself, unconcerned about how your actions affect me as well. You'll be happy to know that, thanks to me, you got away with it this time too. No trial and no conviction, in spite of your idiotic display of utter disrespect and lack of self-control, they decided to protect their interests. They'll reveal the truth about what - perhaps you've forgotten we both did. All of it."

The rain was now covering Newton's glasses, and Hermann could no longer tell what was passing through his eyes. The connection flickered like a radio wave that Hermann refused to listen to. 

"They can't do that..." Newton protested with a slight tremor in his voice.

Hermann straightened to his full height and looked down at him.

"They already have."

He turned and continued on his way, Newton following him like a wraith. 

Neither of them attempted to speak again even after they reached their hotel, leaving wet footprints as a trail on the carpet floor.

Hermann had felt Newton's gaze on the side of his head several times; in the elevator, in the wide corridor outside their room when Hermann's numb fingers tried to open the door, from the edge of his bed as Hermann took off his wet clothes and dragged himself to the bathroom. Hermann kept pretending he wasn't noticing, the same way he shamefully avoided his reflection in the mirror. He took a higher dose of painkillers, trying to numb himself to it all. When he returned to the bedroom, the light was already out. The window was closed, the sound of the rain was muffled.

Hermann only had enough strength left to crawl under the covers of his bed, forcefully focusing his mind on the cramps of pain throughout his body so he wouldn't have to think about anything else, until the torpor spread and he fell into a troubled sleep.

Hermann was dreaming. He realized right away; his dreams were often more lucid and convoluted after taking higher doses of medication. He was in the dark room where he had the meeting with the Council a few hours ago. Newton was sitting across from him, in handcuffs. He was trying in vain to slip them from his wrists, tugging against the metal so much that red abrasions appeared right where his tattoos ended.

"It's I who should thank you, Gottlieb." Marshal Vasquez's holographic image said, exactly as she had before, except this time she had a larger audience than just Hermann. The other screens flickered on and off, as if the signal was being interrupted or corrupted; only the Marshal's remained sharp and too bright to look at directly without being blinded. "You said exactly the right things, even though your lab partner didn't. But I have to agree with you, he would be immensely wasted rotting in some cell. I've just never liked loose cannons." Newton stopped struggling with his handcuffs to listen, his jaw clenched. "Maybe this will serve as a deterrent for any acts of disobedience in the future. We both know Geiszler wouldn't last long in prison, so you'd better consider carefully what you do from now on."

The smell of chemicals and rot hit Hermann like a tidal wave. He recognized it immediately, and Newton did too. Red smoke was seeping into the closed room through the crack under the door.

Hermann jumped up, taking only a few steps before colliding with the wall behind him.

Newton walked around the table and shuffled towards the door, awkwardly covering his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow. He began to cough, doubled over. When Hermann pushed away from the wall to get Newton out of the way, he saw that his eyes were watering and there was a ring of blood around the irises that was spreading. In a desperate attempt, Hermann took off his coat and leaned down to press it against the bottom of the door. He emerged almost on the verge of vomiting, with Newton grabbing his sleeve to pull him back as far as they could go. There was no other way out of this place. They were trapped.

"Because I can assure you," the voice changed, dropping into a far too familiar one that made the blood freeze in Hermann's veins. He slowly turned toward the screens, and his father had replaced the Marshal in the only screen in the entire room that wasn't flickering, glowing brighter than a star. "This is the last time you humiliate us like this."

Hermann opened his eyes with a start. His breathing was labored, his father's voice still echoing in his head. For a moment, he couldn't figure out where he was; everything was disorientingly dark around him and he was shivering, though he wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or fear.

He heard a ruffling noise and looked into the darkness as Newton tore away the cover of his bed, putting his whole body into it until it came loose from where it was tucked neatly under the mattress. He gathered the sheets and blankets and crossed over to Hermann's bed. Hermann couldn't see his expression and his thoughts were stormy and inky black, but then Newton threw the extra blankets over Hermann's unfeeling body; it made a difference only in pressure.

"W-what are you doing?" Hermann demanded, but his teeth chattered too much for his indignation to be convincing.

"Don't overthink this," Newton said, before slipping under the covers and reaching a hand around Hermann's body, pulling him close.

The tremor chased immediately with a shuddering puff of air. Hermann's covers were between their bodies he realized as Newton tried to bring his legs closer to his, but the biologist's arms were wrapped around Hermann's body and his cheek was pressed against the same pillow. Hermann willed his body to remain still while his mind remained foggy, fearing that if he moved a muscle he would start shaking again, or do something equally embarrassing.

"It's okay," Newton choked out. His voice had a tremor that spread to his hand where he closed it in a fist around the blankets. When Hermann looked at Newton he noticed his eyes were screwed shut. "It's okay. I figured it out a while ago. Maybe it's a side effect of drifting, I-I don't know, but it's easier to fall asleep when we're close."

Hermann held his breath for a little longer, pressing his lips together to prevent the trembling from starting again.

He'd wondered about this aftereffect, too, laboriously corroborating it now as his body lost its rigidity and he let go of his breath to find it even.

He didn't like Newton using it this way, as a pervasive mean to an end. Just like drifting again, or learning to get along.

Or the promise Newton had made to him.

He should pull away, or send Newton back to his own bed. Anything that would give him back that cold, dispassionate distance that had kept him stable and contained until then. But beyond the resentment, the anguish and the need for self-preservation, Hermann felt tired, and Newton was an incredibly potent source of warmth that was pushing away every vestige of his nightmare and gently easing him closer to sleep.

His eyes dropped shut. He felt Newton slowly relaxing as well, their knees bumping together between the layers of blankets and his hand tracing a soothing circle against Hermann's back. Their forehead almost brushed, and in his mind, Hermann saw warm colors, soft shapes and heard calm and beautiful sounds that accompanied them in a symphony, becoming more keen at the points where the music met Hermann's insights. Hermann didn't know what it meant, but they were descending into sleep in a coordinated lull, impossible to pull away from, and they fell back into unconsciousness before Hermann could figure it out.

Hermann woke up alone, tangled in the many blankets and with a shivering coldness that still lingered in his bones.

It was barely past dawn, but Newton was gone from the hotel room entirely. His suitcase was neatly packed and placed in the corner of the room, while Hermann's clothes from the day before were messily draped over the chair. He dragged himself out of bed and got dressed. His fingertips were numb doing the buttons of his shirt. He vaguely remembered their schedule for the last day; they'd have to head to the train station soon enough.

He tried, but he couldn't effectively ignore his rumbling stomach nor the uneasiness of Newton being gone without a trace, especially after all the documents Hermann’d signed officially saying he'd keep an eye on Newton.

He headed to the breakfast lounge. Newton wasn't there, but Hermann still took a seat and hastily ate some eggs and toast, drowning it with black tea that scorched his tongue. It was good quality food, and despite having had it for a few days now, it still astonished Hermann a little bit. Being so far away from the Shatterdome felt uncomfortably like stepping into another dimension, one where the war never happened: cities that knew no destruction, food that tasted rich and real, without limitations or scarcity. Hermann knew Newton had thought about this too, and he missed Hong Kong because of it. At least there, with people who had lived through the war alongside them, they didn't have to strain themselves to remember the reality of their situation.

He began to seriously worry about Newton after breakfast. He was about to go to the front desk to ask if anyone had seen him leave and how long ago, when instead Hermann saw his lab partner enter the lobby.

Hermann breathed a brief sigh of relief, but suddenly felt at a loss for what they should say to each other. The previous night's argument loomed over them, and then Newton's disappearance made Hermann wonder if he should feel uncomfortable that Newton had crawled into his bed. It certainly wasn't the norm, but the mathematician had rationally broken it down and pushed it away using Newton's justification. They'd both been able to fall asleep because they’d been close. It didn't need to be stranger than that.

When Newton saw him, he pulled the hood of his rain-soaked sweatshirt out of his eyes. At first it seemed as if Geiszler was tormented by the same hesitation, Hermann could even feel it fermenting in his mind, but then Newton half-smiled and brushed away any residual bitterness with his best effort to be buoyant.

He told Hermann that he had spoken to Lambert-Sow on the phone and that he was sorry but he could not accompany them to the station that morning. Hermann wasn't surprised, although he was saddened and disturbed to see how people were already pulling away at the dawn of the truth's coming out. He hoped it wasn't a bad sign, but he didn't confide it to Newton. He didn't want to burst his bubble of newfound vigor for nothing — even if it was just for show, it was helping Hermann feel tentatively better.

They returned to the room to collect their belongings, and when they got downstairs, they were told that a taxi was outside ready to take them to the station. Once there, they soon discovered that their tickets had been upgraded to a private cabin with no other passengers.

Hermann looked out the window, the train speeding up as they left the Brussels station. Rain still fell profusely, making their departure bleaker than it already was. It was clear that the PPDC was trying to keep the scientists in as little contact with other people as possible, certainly to avoid any more accidents on Newton's part. It was a good precaution, even for Hermann himself, who didn't want to broach the subject with the press or curious onlookers any more than he did with Newton.

Hermann and Newton spoke very little during the journey. The headphones were back on, and music blasted in Newton's ears so loud that Hermann could hear it in the silence of their cabin for the entire four-hour ride. It did nothing helpful for his headache, but he was mindful to snap at Newton for it.

Their first stop was Frankfurt, where they would wait for Karla and then head to Bavaria together. Hermann hadn't spoken to his sister, except to arrange the travel time before they left the Shatterdome, but he was sure that by now she, too, knew about the drift. And with her, Hermann’s entire family.

He tried hard not to dwell on that thought, but panic gripped him more and more as the hours passed and they got closer to his childhood home.

They encountered equally gray weather in Frankfurt, and neither he nor Newton suggested leaving the station while waiting. Hermann tracked down the train Karla was supposed to arrive on and he sat on the platform at the scheduled time, Newton silently by his side.

When the train arrived, a crowd of people getting off the train surrounded them and Hermann craned his neck to look for his sister. 

Finally Hermann saw her. She was wearing a long brown coat. Her hair was almost the same color, falling to her shoulders. She glanced around for a few moments, and when she saw Hermann, she raised her hand to wave over the crowd of people still on the platform.

Hermann raised his hand to wave as well, but Karla had turned back toward the train. She took a suitcase and then someone's hand to help the person down, and Hermann slowly lowered his hand, otherwise frozen, when Vanessa stepped off the train.

Hermann swallowed hard. She was as beautiful as ever, with her hair in box braids styled into a high bun, half up and half cascading down her back, and a radiant smile looking at Karla as she pointed out where Hermann was on the platform.

"Is that Karla?" Newton asked next to him. Hermann nodded curtly and tried to smooth out his expression. He couldn't seem to be having doubts about meeting them. That would be rude, and factually untrue. But he hadn't expected to see Vanessa. And why would Karla bring her here? Now? During such a delicate and troubled time. What was she thinking? "Wow, you two look so much alike."

Hermann glanced at Newton, staggered.

He looked again at Karla and Vanessa walking towards them, hand in hand, and realized that their situation had just gotten significantly worse — this trip was the worst idea Hermann had ever agreed to.