Chapter Text
If one could ignore the wet squelching his colleague was causing across the room, it was too quiet in the lab. Dr. Gottlieb found himself at a loss because of it, both hands rested on the head of his cane, a broken piece of chalk clasped too tightly in one, as he glared at his chalkboards. He couldn't concentrate, and worst yet, there was something missing, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was. That was more frustrating to him than the actual problem itself.
“Something wrong, dude?” Newton called from his place, having noticed the lack of rapid chalk scratching and screeching when he'd paused in his own work for a moment. Hermann just quietly grunted in reply, barely having registered that the other was even talking. Geiszler shucked his gloves and wandered over, standing just next to the other as he crossed his arms on his chest. He stood there silently for a moment, just looking over the chalkboards in confusion.
“Something missing, huh?” he asked solely because he knew Hermann would only stop for that reason. There was another long moment of silence and Newton contemplated just going back to his own work, but the moment was broken by a clack of the mathematician's cane on the floor. He shook his head and headed for the doors to the lab, drawing a confused and concerned look from Newt. He opened his mouth to ask something, probably where he was going and why, but Hermann interjected before he even finished his initial inhale.
“A piano,” was the only explanation given as the man shoved the doors open and left. The statement only confused the other more, though, drawing the scientist's gaze back to the chalkboards. How could an equation be missing a piano...?
Stacker Pentecost could deal with a fair amount of arguing with his underlings, but he always managed to get more than he bargained for with his two main scientists. It was usually Newton that gave him troubles, granted, but Hermann was not short on an argumentative nature when he knew he was right about something that needed action taken. He could have at least waited until after Pentecost's first cup of coffee slop, though.
“How are we expected to work seamlessly if we are not allowed enrichment, sir? I could show you statistics to central Europe and back on how productivity dramatically increases with the presence of, and ability to utilize, musical instruments versus a lack thereof and I--” Hermann had annoying habit of hitting the bottom of his cane on the concrete flooring of their cafeteria when he was trying to emphasis his point. Each thud rang in Stacker's ears for far longer than needed to as he closed his eyes, resisting the urge to rub his temples in his impatience.
“You don't see the potential downsides to a piano in a science lab, Dr. Gottlieb? Completely ignoring the possibility of damage to the instrument itself, I cannot afford for you, and Dr. Geiszler alike, to get distracted right n--” It was a reasonable point, he thought, but the mathematician countered effortlessly, as he should have probably expected him to.
“Distracted?! You think I'll get distracted from my work?” Pentecost sipped his coffee, doing his best not to twitch at the pointed clack from the cane as the other man took clear offense. “Let me assure you, playing the piano has always allowed me to concentrate on it further, sir, ever since I was a child. You must understand that music is the key to--”
“And what about Dr. Geiszler?” Stacker interrupted, eyebrow raising at the other. Surely he knew that Newton would insist on playing with it occasionally, whether he knew how to play it or not (since he wasn't sure on that). He couldn't help his mind from delving into a vision of Newt pounding his hands on the keys like a five year old; a thought at which he grimaced as he took another sip of his coffee.
“Dr. Geiszler had better keep his entrail-slimed paws off of my piano, that's for certain,” the slightly hunched man said sternly, assaulting the concrete with his cane once more as dramatic punctuation. There was a moment of silence between them before Pentecost now allowed himself to rub at his forehead, a long, clearly audible sigh pushing from his nose.
“Even if I were to let you to bring one into the lab, I hope you realize that I cannot spare the expense to have your personal, grand piano shipped here from your home,” Hermann seemed to perk up a bit at the slightly backhanded way the man had agreed to his quandary.
“I will settle for one closer to the Shatterdome, if it allows me access, sir,” he said softer now, knowing that he need not argue the point any more. Pentecost had agreed, whether or not he wanted to. It was pretty easy to convince someone of your point if you have good reason, and, well, a stern position on the matter.
“I don't promise you a grand, Dr. Gottlieb, but I will attempt to secure one for you.” With that, Stacker left no more room for discussion, turning and walking away. Hermann rested both hands on the top of his cane, lips pursing together to keep from smiling too widely in triumph.
“Special delivery for a Doctor Hermann Gottlieb,” A day later, Tendo mostly teased as he leaned on the door to the lab he'd come through, holding it open with the weight of his frame as two other guys carried in a large, black plastic case. Newton was the first to look up from his work, a curious look pulling onto his features. When did Hermann ever gets special deliveries? Especially that big? ...and why didn't he get one too?
“Who's it from?” the scientist would ask as the mathematician didn't even bother moving from his place in front of his half-erased chalkboards. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he was having a silent argument with the faded green surface, and the assumption was not far off. Tendo made a soft click sound from between his teeth on one side of his mouth, offering a bit of a shrug.
“Pentecost,” he smirked when Hermann's head snapped to the side quick enough to realign a few vertebrae, eyes immediately searching the area. He soon looked a little put off as there wasn't a grand piano in sight, or even an upright... Instead, there were two men opening a case and setting up a metal stand in the corner. His lips pulled down into a wide frown, eyebrow raising high enough to warrant concern. Newton snorted a laugh and quietly asked how he did that with his face, but the question was ignored, thusly unanswered, as Hermann strode over to the three.
“An electric keyboard is NOT a piano!” with his words, he shook his cane in the direction of the case, his free hand emphasizing his point further as his eyes locked on Tendo as the man started to chuckle, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “And what, precisely, is so funny?!” After another soft laugh, the man shook his head, idly straightening a suspender.
“I bet Pentecost, Mako and Raleigh a hundred each that you'd say that,” Newton laughed once, rather loudly from his area, but the mathematician just huffed, shoving his cane into one spot below him and folding his hands together on top of it.
“And what, exactly, did they have each have to say on the matter, hm?”
“Pentecost said he didn't care, that you'd take what you could get or you'd get nothing at all,” Tendo held up a finger for each that he listed as he went. “Mako said she was sure that you would understand how hard it would be to get an actual piano right now, and Raleigh said you could appreciate that the keyboard has a headphone jack.” Those were compelling points, Hermann would have to admit, but he settled for just glaring at him. “Either way, this is the best thing you're getting around here, so please don't be too perturbed, alright?” he offered an almost too cocky thumbs-up before leaving with the two men that had finished setting up the keyboard while he was talking. It was almost too clear how happy he was to leave the conversation, and lab, at that point and Newton was laughing. Gottlieb glared at the door for a long moment before turning his attention to the keyboard that was disturbing him merely with its existence, let alone presence.
“Pentecost got you a keyboard, huh?” Newton was finally walking over, deciding to fall into place just next to his colleague as he put his hands on his hips. “Those things can be pretty fun, you know. Got built in metronomes, audio recorders, and hundreds of different sounds and stuff...” Another long pause was followed by a quiet sigh.
“Set it to piano sounds for me,” Hermann would say, softly and sounding quite defeated, leading Newt to realize that the other probably didn't actually know how to use one of them. He knew better than to ask, at least, instead moving over to the keyboard. He flicked the power on before pressing about five of the dozens of rubber buttons, tapping one of the white keys in a test. As a loud, drawn out note filled the quiet lab, the mathematician winced, hand twitching at his side.
“Well...ah, there's volume control here,” Newt explained, gesturing to a knob to the right of the buttons, turning it down before continuing. “The jack's at the front if you want to use your earphones, and it looks like they already plugged the pedal set in, so...” he trailed off, taking a step back. “She's good to go,” he shrugged. It wasn't all that hard to understand, let alone the fact that there was a list of instructions on the side that listed all the codes to all the different noises... He assumed Hermann just didn't want to go near it because it wasn't a 'real piano' and his assumption was correct.
“Nn,” left the others mouth as he turned and walked away, concerning his lab partner for a moment before he realized he was just grabbing a chair to use. “Go and find something to do, please,” he threatened more than asked as he pushed the chair up to the keyboard and slowly sat, eyes scanning over the machine with all too clear disdain.
“You got it, Herm,” his colleague had done that stupid double pistols thing with his fingers at him again and he knew it, but he couldn't be bothered to care about that just then. He made a soft, contemplative noise as he hooked his cane on the far side of the keyboard before tightly curling his fingers in on themselves and stretching them back out.
He'd make this work. He had to.