Chapter Text
Perched close to the edge of a rickety stool Dr. Geiszler stared deep into the yellowish murk of the tank in front of him. Lost in thought of recent events, he idly chewed the cap of a black permanent marker. Most of his writing implements met the same fate, marred by scientific prowess. It was a nervous habit; “utterly disgusting”, as described by the man's longstanding colleague whose own pens and pencils could not escape the same treatment.
Much to the physicist's horror this habit ultimately resulted in the sequester of a precious set of pristine Biros and yellow Hbs. So were the instruments covetously locked up in a drawer of the oak desk Hermann's father had shipped to the Lima Shatterdome. Newton could never understand the superfluous, positively superficial substitute for paternal affection, but he never said a word about it either. After the wall fell, the time for such comments had already long passed.
Like most of the pens on his desk, Newton had begun to crimp the stem of the Sharpie's cap into submission. The plastic curled outward like a gnarled vine reaching out toward nothing, but the repeated torture of sharp bicuspids. No matter how many times he was lectured on the sanitary disregard of his oral fixation, Dr. Geiszler listened to no one. His hours were long, and in the throes of stress-induced nicotine fits it was probably the least damage the biologist could do.
Newton should have felt relief right about now. He should have rallied up equally as sleep-deprived pilots, techs, mechanics, soldiers, custodial staff, cooks, medics, everyone. He should have been pouring shot after shot of contraband alcohol down his gullet, he should have found his calloused fingers smartly dipped against the length of the old Gibson he'd only ever played in the privacy of his own dorm. But here he sat at –8.37am—in a quiet lab all by himself, chewing on a goddamn marker. A medium that lent him decorum from skin to nail over the years, now to disguise the few gray hairs the biologist since desperately denied the existence of one ugly morning when he was thirty-three. He bit down. Hard.
Newton felt old, not until this moment acknowledging he had spent nearly a decade chasing after the Kaiju and now, they were gone. All that remained were the specimens of ambiguous fate that lined the walls around him. However, the lingering alien memories that flashed in and out of the biologist's mind could never be taken away. Once already while sitting in the company of Mutavore's brain fragment—which was inexplicably still moving—Dr. Geiszler experienced a lapse of consciousness, thrust into an azure landscape, waking up to a fresh spot of blood on his shirt that thankfully wasn't any more discernible than those from the night before. He was already being pressured too much into seeing a doctor. He's fine. It will dissipate, in time. He's fine.
The heavy door to the lab opened to the department's only other hand, taking in the sight of his colleague who looked no more different than he had since converging in the rubble-strewn streets of Hong Kong. It worried Dr. Gottlieb, who leaned heavily onto his cane, freshly showered and clean-clothed in contrast. His concern dare not pass beyond his incessant nagging for Dr. Geiszler to see an actual medical doctor, no matter how many times Newton claimed a medical degree.
“Dr. Geiszler.”
Though muffled, the sound of teeth on plastic made Hermann cringe all the same.
“Dr. Geizler?”
Patience waned.
“Dr. Geiszler!” the terse voice boomed, accompanied by a resounding clang of the physicist's cane on solid steel. A twitch and a sidelong glance cued attention and Hermann, not once straying from the door, nodded towards the other man. “It's almost nine, the press conference will be starting shortly, with or without you. And quit chewing that bloody thing. I do not need you spewing ink from your mouth like some squid.” True to his word Dr. Gottlieb turned and began to make his way back down the corridor. Nearly stumbling over himself to catch up, Newton tossed the marker in the direction of his desk. He bit his tongue—ink is released through the anus—and wiped the spittle from his lips, evening out his pace once in stride with his lab partner.
It had been only a few hours since the closing of the Breach—a little more since their shared drift event. Newton felt a change. His colleague on the other hand painfully no more different for it. Early as it was, Dr. Geiszler was sure that he was the only of the pair dealing with lingering effects. It had to have been the biologist's solo-Drift with a severely damaged brain segment. There was no buffer, no filter, no selfless accessory the first time. If Hermann were indeed suffering similarly there would be no end to how vocal he would be, no delay in how fast the two scientists would find themselves in hospital poked and prodded enough to make Newton scream. So for now, the ghost-Drift remained the biologist's little secret.
A faint hint of smoke rolled over the water of Victoria Harbour, a ghost of last night's attack on Hong Kong City. In the foreground a semicircle of eager reporters converged on the deck, their cameras and microphones reached high above the sea of bobbing heads. By the time Hermann was able to usher his lab partner outside, the press conference had already begun. Camera flash accompanied the crowd's low murmur as the scientists entered the staging area. The crew and remaining Jaeger pilots could do nothing but tiredly smile while LOCCENT officer Tendo Choi recounted the details of Operation Pitfall. In mourning those lost; Tendo requested a moment of silence, but the conference inevitably moved on.
“Without their continuing scientific contributions to the PPDC, whose to say we would be standing here this morning?” the officer's voice amplified. “We all owe a great thanks to the two men who had their fingers on the pulse. Doctors Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler.” Tendo stepped back from the temporary podium, making room for the two scientists to share a few words. His encouraging wink went unnoticed by Newton, shoulders slumped, and eyes on the floor.
“Thank you, Officer Choi.” Hermann cleared his throat, and awkwardly adjusted his posture to better speak into the bouquet of microphones. “To have worked alongside the men and women of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps has been nothing short of an honor. However, it must be known that I would have never thought to entertain the fact that one scientist so...” a thoughtful pause took over, glancing over to his daydreaming, disheveled colleague. “So innovative, would selflessly risk his own life in the pursuit of knowledge.” He paused again to consider the plausibility of using such a descriptor for his partner before continuing. ”Furthermore, the discovery of the Rift's vulnerability would never have been possible without the support of Marshal Stacker Pentecost. Suffice it to say, the Marshal—”
Newton heard none of this, as he stood just behind his more eloquent colleague. It was not as if Hermann would have let him step up to the podium, considering the state that he was in. He wouldn't care to try. It surely would have been in poor taste to represent the PPDC in soiled, torn clothing. The glazed, disinterested look he knew he wore was so far from professional. In Dr. Gottlieb's opinion, Newton knew nothing of the word.
Newton's focus slid to the harbor, and before him the water blurred to an inky cerulean. In his mind, he traveled to a distant place, full of large beasts and impossible machines. Dr. Geiszler had never seen Kaiju like these before, their terrifyingly large forms antagonized by their smaller taskmasters. However, a group converged upon a single point. What lay between them, it was unknown, but the fervor was overwhelming. Keen to the growing anger, Newton felt a fire in the pit of his stomach, a sensation of terrifying potential, bursting.
“Newt, Newt,” a snap. “Hey, brother.”
A silhouette became a hand.
“Newt, you alright? We kind of lost you for a minute. You haven't said a damn thing since you got here. Rock-Star life not exactly what you anticipated?” Tendo chided and clapped a hand onto his friend's face. The impact sent Newton reeling a little too far, much to the dismay of the officer who nudged him back upright before the man lost his balance completely. Dr. Geiszler touched his mouth with the back of his hand. The blood looked so bright this time.
“Geeze, man, are you sure you're alright?”
Tendo leaned in to the scientist's face, and when his hand moved to grab the man's right shoulder, they locked eyes. Beyond hemorrhage they shone; glassy, wide, dilated, and vibrating with intensity. Tendo inhaled a sharp breath through his teeth and straightened out. “I'm taking you to the med bay, brother.”
“No, stay here,” Hermann placed a hand on his partner's left shoulder and began to guide him back into the Shatterdome. “We've done our part. You're conducting the press quite well, I'll deal with Dr. Geiszler.” Exchanging a nod with the officer, Dr. Gottlieb slowly led his colleague off as Hansen stood in, addressing the crowd in fresh plaster, his gruff voice slowly fading from earshot. For once, Hermann's three-legged gait was faster than his colleague's.