Chapter Text
On a good day, Newt’s memories of the past twelve years were a confusing swirl of color and light, everything edged in an electric shade of blue. He could easily remember how it felt – The dizzying high of being beyond human need. He hadn’t felt hungry or tired. Nothing had hurt. He had felt invincible. But he couldn’t easily remember anything specific, especially when pressed. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d drifted with Alice or why. He couldn’t remember almost anything he had done or said during his time at Shao Industries except for that moment he’d suddenly realized his hands were wrapped tightly around Hermann’s neck. Even as he’d watched his hands choke the life out of Hermann, he’d felt Hermann’s fingers softly, comfortingly stroke his hands. For that singular moment, he had known where he was and what he was doing, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. All he could do was apologize, because he wasn’t strong enough to stop it. It was one of the only nightmares he remembered after waking.
Bad days happened when Newt pushed himself, or when he was pushed by others to answer questions about what had happened. Where he had been at a specific time. What he had done on a particular date. When he was questioned, first by the Pan-Pacific Defense Force, then by lawyers, and finally by a revolving cast of medical experts, he’d feel a stabbing pain behind his eyes that would last for hours. His tongue felt like a lead weight. His throat closed. He would literally go blind. Once, early on in his separation from Alice, during a particularly intense interrogation, he’d even had what looked like a grand mal seizure. After nearly two years, he still felt nervous sweat prickle at the back of his neck if he even thought about what, exactly, Alice was for too long. None of the experts could seem to agree about the physiological and psychological mechanisms for Newt’s responses, only that they were real. Scan after scan showed dangerous spikes in neurological activity that medication couldn’t seem to touch.
So they let him go, with a few strings attached. He had a microchip inserted under his skin, so his location and vital signs could be tracked at all times. He had to meet weekly, in person, with a Pan-Pacific Defense Force neuropsychiatrist. And of course, he was completely forbidden from conducting any work or research related to jaeger technology or the kaiju.
In a previous life, Newt would have raged against being constantly monitored and any limits on his personal freedom. Now, in a strange way, it made Newt feel safer, knowing he was being watched. If he lost control again, someone would know. Someone would stop him. Even if he didn’t remember doing it, he’d killed thousands of people, including Mako. Mako had been his friend. He would have killed millions more. He had done all of it, even if he didn’t remember doing it. With some encouragement from Hermann, Newt had his own weekly sessions with a civilian therapist, to try to work through the guilt. Newt was skeptical that it was possible. Hell, he was skeptical that it was even right to try.
Hermann retired from the Pan-Pacific Defense Force as soon as Newt was released. After twenty years of literally saving the world, Hermann had a generous pension and excellent health benefits. He helped Newt sell the barely remembered apartment in Shanghai for a newly constructed house outside of Lai Chi Wo, a rural village in Hong Kong, near the ocean. Moving in together wasn’t a requirement of Newt’s probation, but Newt’s medical team all agreed it was good for him to be close to a supportive friend (and far away from any weaponizable technology and densely populated urban centers). Staples like flour, butter, and sugary American breakfast cereal were delivered monthly by drone. Hermann and Newt bought fish, meat, and produce from local farmers. The neuropsychiatrist, therapist, and various doctors travelled to visit Newt or appointments were conducted through holographic chats. Every few months, Newt would travel to the Hong Kong Shatterdome for scans from machinery too large and sophisticated to move.
They each had their own bedrooms and their own offices, although after the first six months of living together, Newt hardly ever slept in his bedroom. One of the clearest memories of his new life was the first time he’d kissed Hermann. They were both a little drunk on local moonshine, huddled together under a blanket in the living room. They had been up late toasting Hermann’s book deal. It was enough money for them to live comfortably in Lai Chi Wo indefinitely. Newt remembered acting on impulse as he pressed his mouth to Hermann’s for only a second. It had felt natural. It had felt right.
“I don’t… I don’t remember if we did this before,” Newt admitted.
“We never did,” Hermann replied slowly, eyes wide as he touched his lips where Newt’s lips had been only moments before.
“Oh.”
Newt remembered looking into his lap, feeling shame bubble up inside him, until Hermann rested one of his hands on Newt’s knee, tentatively.
“We should have,” Hermann said, with a surprising amount of confidence. “And we can bloody well do whatever we want now.”
Then, Hermann had kissed Newt back. Newt felt oddly grateful that they hadn’t been romantically involved before Alice. He could remember his first kiss with Hermann, every kiss with Hermann, and the electric jolt of Hermann’s hand on Newt’s cock whenever he liked. It was easy and never hurt.
Hermann worked on his book. He would print out journal articles for Newt that he’d cleared with the neuropsychiatrist and Newt’s therapist. Newt spent most of his time reading fiction, since there were fewer restrictions on what he was allowed, and he could choose for himself. He bought a screen and projector to watch movies. Sometimes he used it to show movies to local kids from the village, which was too small to have a movie theater. Newt picked up the local languages, Cantonese and Hakka, quickly. Newt was reasonably certain he had always been good at learning new languages.
The biggest problem with Newt’s new life was that he seemed unable to enjoy anything from his previous life. Halfway through the 1954 Godzilla movie, Newt reached up to wipe one of his eyes and suddenly realized that he had been crying. He couldn’t help thinking about all of the people dying as Godzilla tore a path through Tokyo, even though he knew they weren’t real.
“Newt, are you alright?” Hermann asked, pausing the movie.
Newt’s voice sounded small and far away. “Sometimes I wonder if our lives are more valuable than theirs. You know what I mean?”
“I… I’m afraid I don’t,” Hermann said, his voice tight. Hermann quickly turned the projector off.
Dr. Ross, Newt’s most recent PPDC neuropsychiatrist, contacted them the next morning about a brief spike in usual brain activity, first detected at 2200 hours Hong Kong Time. She was a young, petite woman with straw-colored hair, pulled back into a severe bun. The holographic projector rendered her sitting in an extra chair at their kitchen table. Hermann poured bowls of sugary American breakfast cereal for himself and Newt. Newt didn't seem to notice. Instead, Newt looked with glassy, vacant eyes at the wall behind Dr. Ross's holographic head.
"Dr. Geiszler, you will need to come for some tests today. A boat has already been sent and will meet you at 0900 hours.
Hermann snorted. “If the readings were that concerning, you would have called last night,” he pointed out, gesturing sharply with his cereal spoon.
“You don’t have to come, Dr. Gottlieb,” Dr. Ross responded, icily. “Additionally, I would like to remind you and Dr. Geiszler that this isn’t a choice.”
“Call me Newt. Only my mother calls me doctor,” Newt mumbled automatically. He hadn't touched his cereal.
"I'll come. I always come," Hermann informed Dr. Ross softly. Under the table, he placed his free hand over Newt's and gave him a supportive squeeze.
They left the village by boat less than an hour later, headed for the Hong Kong Shatterdome.