Chapter Text
The next day, a dreary Wednesday, greeted Newt with a flash of brutal and unmitigated cold. It had seeped into his apartment and was already invading his blanket fortress: layers of sweats and three pairs of socks did nothing to combat it. Luckily, it wasn't the cold that woke him first off, because that was always the worst way to start a day. Instead, it was the dull chime of his phone alarm, alerting him he had to wake up for a lecture. He fumbled with the well-loved piece of tech until it stopped chirping, the offending object tucked underneath him all night, if only because he wasn't about to put his arm out of his blanket-pile for anything other than an absolute emergency.
The one plus about his shitty apartment was that water was free: so, Newt could take a warm shower for as long as the water stayed a decent temperature without worrying about the cost. That fact alone was one of the few things that actually got Newt out of bed in the morning -- and the promise of a few warm classrooms. So, Newt managed to pry himself from his nest, as warm as it was, and soaked himself for twenty minutes, absorbing the heat like a sponge until his fingers were pruny and he felt saturated and exhausted. A great start to the day.
A cold morning called for a really hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, maybe some pancakes or waffles with some sickeningly sweet syrup pure maple syrup -- but that was some expensive dreaming right there and Newt only had fifteen meals a week at the dining hall. So: no breakfast today. He had splurged the day before for his little nerves-induced breakfast peptalk with Tendo, but he couldn't make it a habit. He had two meals a day each week and one extra to spare, and that wasn't counting his sometimes really necessary caffeine fixes to keep him going through long nights. Or, conversely, breakfasts after really long nights.
No breakfast it was. His grumbling stomach would have to wait until lunch.
But he did manage a cozy sweater for the day, dragging it out of a forgotten drawer, which did somehow make everything seem a little bit brighter and better. If anything, it supplied him with some enthusiasm for long enough to manage the chilly trek to the campus. I mean, who didn’t love ugly reindeer sweaters, knitted lovingly in oranges and blues, by a grandmother who couldn’t hear any longer but still loved to talk your ear off. No one, that’s who. Newt puffed out his chest, threw a coat on over his sweater, pulled on his boots, and braved it.
He would have run to get himself there faster, maybe, if he was still actually capable of the act. He hadn’t checked since high school, when the practice had been mandated as an act of physical fitness. And that was years ago, when he had been younger than everyone else and awkward enough as it was without having to participate in gym, outmatched by everyone else. Thanks, school, for that one. He settled for a brisk walk, trudging his way along crisp grass and frost-covered cars, neglected until the morning rush for work. His classes started before nine, though, so it was barely after dawn as he plopped himself down in his lecture hall. Early. Surprisingly early.
Newt checked his phone for the time, a little pleased that he managed his 8 AM before the professor had gotten there (or anyone else, for that matter). Early morning classes were the hardest for him, especially during the dark winter, when he often had trouble even pulling himself out of bed. Winter was rough -- he did his best work during the long summer days, basking in the warmth and the sunlight -- or even the promise thereof. Days that stretched barely eight hours of light were the bane of his existence, leaving him yearning for fifteen, sixteen hours of daylight. But -- he had managed this morning just fine, propelled to class on the easy promise of another day, which was a bit out of the ordinary. Maybe it was the brimming prospect of his new job, and money. Yeah, it was definitely the money. He wouldn’t be rolling in it by any means, but even a little bit of “work” a week would help ease any anxiety he had over his financial situation.
With a look around the still empty classroom, and a vague thought about Hermann and his current employment situation floating around in his head, Newt dug out his tablet and set it on his desk. There was something he’d been meaning to do for ages (or, the last couple of days, actually). He poked away at it, pushing away at a smidgen of guilt that crept up at him, feeling a little nosy. Hermann had mentioned in his classified ad (personal ad? Newt wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t like he’d replied to some dating ad for someone he’d thought was a professor, anyway) that he suffered from MS. Multiple Sclerosis. Now, being a bio major and (probably more-so) a person with a very healthy curiosity about anything that deviated from the “norm” (be it strange addictions, minority-status sexual inclinations, or any and all medical conditions), Newt was all over it. So, he wasn’t unfamiliar with Multiple Sclerosis. He was, in fact, rather well versed in the subject if only because the condition was more common than, say, Sjögren’s Syndrome. Which, coincidentally, (and maybe he’d tell Hermann about this later) was a condition that mirrored a lot of the symptoms of MS, especially those of the peripheral nervous system. The progression of the condition was vastly different, though, about which Newt breathed a quiet sigh of relief, even though he didn’t really know Hermann yet.
Which -- psh. You could totally not know someone and be worried about them at the same time without being creepy.
Well -- mildly concerned, if anything.
Or something.
So what if Newt was a little concerned for Hermann’s maybe hypothetical future neurological state? Newt was going to be a doctor. Maybe not a Medicinae Doctor, M.D., but he was well on the way to three doctorates in the next year or so and probably, honestly and definitely, more after that in the future. He was totally allowed to have a scientific curiosity in the matter, and he was definitely allowed to have some professional concern. Professional, because this was a job. Because it was also Newton’s field. And not because Newt felt any sort of fondness for someone he barely knew who already looked at Newt like he couldn’t stand another second of his presence. Definitely not.
Maybe a tiny bit. But, like, totally about the size of a single mitochondrion. And only because Hermann didn’t look really capable of fondness for anything, so Newt’d have to muster up just a little bit, if only to make their working relationship more tolerable than that really awkward walk to Hermann’s class the day previous.
Anyway.
He thumbed his way into a pretty deep-web search of Multiple Sclerosis, just to re-familiarize himself with the condition. Of course, there were many different manifestations of it, as well as possible periods of acute attacks and remissions to consider. It was nearly impossible to say what particular ailments of the disease Hermann suffered from, without actually knowing the guy better. Also, it was probably an invasion of privacy to analyze the way the guy walked to try to determine the degree of spasticity in his limbs. Probably definitely. But -- if Newt let his mind and his research wander a bit, he was definitely appeased by the guy’s apparent skill in balancing, which meant that he probably wasn’t suffering from any lesions in the cerebellum. Good.
More pages flashed across his screen, with Newt devouring every word of them. Most of it was stuff he already knew, information that just needed to be refreshed in his head with a splash of cold water, but he did learn a few interesting little tidbits which he’d store away for later.
A very quiet blip of a noise from his pocket caught his attention, as well as a blinking in the corner of his screen: both alerting him to a recent email. However, it was that distraction that had him looking up, only to notice that the classroom was not only full, but also that class was in mid-swing. Oh, fuck. A brief glance to the clock had him grimacing: he’d zoned out and gotten lost in his little research project for way too long. About thirty minutes too long. Newt just barely managed to hold in a groan of displeasure at himself as he turned his tablet off and slid it back into his bag, content to spend the rest of the class just listening to the discussion opposed to trying to actively participate in something he’d missed half of. There was definitely too high a chance there of repeating something already said or bringing the conversation to a dead stop. The tablet was a godsend, though, because it’d probably looked at least a little bit like he was working, opposed to playing games on Facebook, or something.
The rest of class passed quickly, perhaps if only for the fact that there was less than half an hour lingering after Newt’d finally managed to pay attention. Feeling a little ashamed, he shrugged himself out of the classroom and made way for the lab, where he spent the next few hours, laboring away at a couple of his projects and just generally getting lost in the work. It wasn’t until he was cleaning up that his phone blipped again with an email. Fuck. He’d completely forgotten the first email that had yanked him out of his research spiral in class. Though, chances were it was probably junk, anyway.
Once he had fully cleaned up his space, he pulled open the most recent email, a smile immediately covering his face once he noticed the sender.
from: [email protected]
Newt,
Hello! By the time you read this, I’ll probably be well over the Atlantic Ocean on my way back to Cambridge. I might even be back, knowing how long it takes you to check your email sometimes when you get involved in your work. I haven’t been the most diligent about keeping in touch, but know that I missed you (and everyone else, obviously) very much. It was a rewarding program, of course, and London was charming, but I am very much looking forward to returning to the United States. I fully expect you to take me out for a night of drinking, now that I will be able to keep up.
See you soon,
Mako
Newt nearly made a very audible noise of happiness. It had been ages since he’d talked to his Maks, or Mako, and even then it had been a very short skype session before she had to run. Which was totally fair and he didn’t begrudge her one bit because: Holy shit, Maks, you’re in London; go do all the cool things and tell me about it later! Yeah. But he had missed her. Terribly. She’d taken a semester off to do a couple month, really supremely awesome, very selective, humanitarian aid program in England. Which meant, once home in Cambridge, she’d have a couple months off before the spring semester started and Newt’d get some quality time with her then. And, as good friends went, Mako and Tendo were definitely the best -- god only knew how they put up with Newt.
Figuring she’d text him when she actually arrived in the country (or, after she’d had arrived and then had a long nap), he decided not to reply and to check his other email instead.
Which --
Was surprisingly, not junk.
from: [email protected]
Mr. Geiszler,
I have declined to text you for fear of interrupting a lecture. I presume that this email will arrive in time. If not, I will simply text you after most classes are finished for the day. Perhaps a copy of your schedule would be in order for future convenience.
Your assistance this afternoon would be much appreciated. For the remainder of the day I will be in the Science Library. From there, I will need to drop off graded papers at the Ford building and pick up numerous books. From there, I will require your assistance in returning to my apartment for the evening. Please be by the library by 6 PM.
Sincerely,
Hermann Gottlieb
Newt wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the sudden popularity of his inbox. Normally, he only got a couple emails a day and the majority of those were either from journals or blogs he subscribed to or junk about enlarging his junk. These were two honest-to-god emails from Real People in -- well, a few hours. Because he’d forgotten to actually read the one from Hermann. Whoops. But he still had plenty of time after his little jaunt in the lab to pop by the library after grabbing a quick snack.
So, Newt did just that -- he stopped by the dining hall first, all the while chuckling about Hermann’s meticulously formal email. Mr. Geiszler. And always with his sincerely’s. What a ridiculous dude. It was awesome. He was going to be an absolute joy to work with, Newt just knew it; he could feel it in his bones. Pizza was the meal of choice (mostly because it was the only thing left early-afternoon post-lunch-rush that was still warm and somewhat portable), so, he paid and folded the slice in half, eating on his way over to the library. Having something to keep him occupied distracted him from the cold, which was always neat, too.
The library had a pretty strict No Food At All, Ever rule (though they didn’t whine about bottled drinks too much, if Newt put on his best puppy-dog face), so he perched himself on a bench outside while he finished the hard crust of the pizza. While he was at it, he shot off a quick, “there in like a sec, literally -newt” text to Hermann, just because he could and the guy would probably appreciate it.
A few seconds later and he was pushing his way into the library and fighting the very immediate urge to fly upstairs to his usual perch. He had no idea where Hermann was sitting and given the really iffy condition of the elevators, he was definitely probably not anywhere above the ground floor, unless he particularly felt like climbing stairs? Ugh. Maybe he did. Newt didn’t know the guy, and he probably shouldn’t judge him. But, given that the dude had asked Newt for help getting around that day, it probably didn’t bode well for his general mobility. Maybe. Well, now that Newt felt like an asshole --. Oh! He stopped in his tracks and saw the man in question sitting at the farthest table away from the door, bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Like a cat. And, judging by the expression on Hermann’s face, the grumpiest cat.
It was a thought which stopped Newt not at all making his way over to said table and plopping his stuff down right opposite Hermann. “Hey, dude. Fancy seeing you here.”
He was greeted by a frown. “There are plenty of open tables. I was not expecting you until six -- your presence here isn’t strictly necessary.” Hermann glanced back down at the pile of papers that surrounded him, as if he was super in the middle of something and way too busy to talk. Which -- was probably true. And fair. But also didn’t stop Newt from barreling through.
“Yeah, well. I figured I might as well come and get some stuff done, right? We can be study buddies.” Now that earned him a full on scowl, which was totally worth it. “Kidding. But I’m still going to sit right here because it’d be really weird to sit at a different table than you when I know you, kind of. Also, this place gets really crowded around four, and that’d just be kind of a dick move on my part, taking up all that space. So.” Newt pulled out his tablet and put it down decisively in front of him, all the while sliding into the seat across from Hermann.
Presumably sensing a battle not worth fighting, Hermann simply sighed, “If you must,” and went back to his papers, refocusing whatever miniscule amount of his attention that had been focused on Newt back to his work.
The biologist just hummed and smiled. “I must.” And, for a good five minutes, he buckled down and worked, not bothering Hermann. He was doing such a great job. Honestly, he deserved a medal for how not annoying he was being. But Hermann was an unknown variable to Newt’s constant and the latter so didn’t do well with that. So, he started side-eyeing the man and what he was working on, occasionally letting his eyes stray from his tablet to track the movement of Hermann’s pen.
Hermann was clearly grading something. A lot of somethings.
“Dude, is that about wave-particle systems?” Seven minutes and thirty-some seconds. It was practically a new record. He was actually a little proud of himself.
Narrowed eyes focused up at Newt, looking none-too-pleased. “For all intents and purposes, graded materials are confidential. If you please.” God, even his lip sneered upward when he spoke: Newt thought it was wonderful.
A grin. “You should give me one of those. I totally want to see how I do.” Because Newt liked fluid dynamics, even if he wasn’t studying it. Math was neat, but it wasn’t his thing. And besides, he could only study so many things.
Emphatically: “No.”
“Not even going to come up with a reason behind that? Just No?” Newt smiled broadly, crossing his arms and leaning over the table. A lot of people in his life had described Newt as excessively friendly. It wasn’t a bad description.
Hermann sighed, leveling his eyes with Newt’s: once again looking as if the whole ordeal was definitely beneath him. Which, fair. Totally true. There was no reason for them to be friendly, to talk, or to even generally get along, that Newt could think of, other than: why the fuck not? Ugh.
“If you are quiet for the next hour, I will consider it as a part of your working hours.”
And, just like that: quiet was totally on the table.