Chapter Text
“I swear to you that the textbook you're failing to quote properly is in one of these boxes,” Dr. Gottlieb explained, standing near his own desk as he watched his lab partner, his every day annoyance, Newton drag boxes out from where they'd been hidden behind the large chalkboards. He'd do it himself, just for the opportunity to prove Newton wrong on something, but that was a lot of heavy lifting and that was not something he was up for that day. Newt just rolled his eyes as he set the seventh box down in the wonky crescent shape they'd been unintentionally arranged into.
“I really don't know why I'm helping you with this, dude,” he muttered as he pushed his sleeves back up his arms from where they'd fallen, heading back to get the last box.
“Because you won't admit that you know you're wrong, and crave the correct answer.” Or so Hermann was going to say, even as his colleague offered a single, contemptuous laugh from behind the blackboards. Ignoring the other, the mathematician pulled his desk chair over to the first box and sat down, laying his cane on the floor next to it in order to pry it open. He lifted a few of the contents out, a few old books, and a three-ring binder or two.
“Uf,” Newt would be heard all but dropping the last box into place, only to be greeted with a cloud of dust flying into the air. After the coughing fit that ensued, he sat on the floor where he'd stopped, deciding to start on this end of the line of boxes as Hermann moved onto the second one.
The lab went quiet then, except for the thuds of the scientists dropping books onto the grated flooring, and the occasional coughs from a dust inhale. Gottlieb had stopped about halfway through his third box, hooked his glasses onto his face and was stopping to look through a small, title-less book he'd found when Newton held up a rather aged looking composition notebook.
“This one says private. Some secret formula for something or did Hermann Gottlieb used to keep journals?” the wanna-be rockstar mocked as he waved the speckled book around. Hermann glanced at him over the frames of his glasses as he raised an eyebrow.
“I've had notebooks containing both,” he replied as he snapped the title-less book closed and almost too casually dropped it back into it box. “Let me see that,” he leaned over to his lab partner and snatched the book up just as Newton had started lifting the cover to look at the contents. He offered a bit of a glare to the other who just offered a grin and a shrug before digging back into the box he sat behind.
The mathematician gave the front and back cover a once over, but all he had to do was glance at the first page to know what he was holding, and was suddenly glad he'd decided to oh-so-rudely snatch it away from the other. He let the cover fall back into place, eyes locking on the unused name slot on the front.
“Something important, then?” He hadn't even realized that Newt was still paying attention to him.
“You keep looking for that textbook. It should be in that box or the next,” Herman eyed the other man as he stood, guiding his chair back around his desk to put the cluttered surface between himself and the other.
“Yeah, yeah,” greeted him, but the smaller man begrudgingly did as he was told which allowed him to sit in peace as he opened the notebook up again. The entire first page was covered in his handwriting, with only bullets to pace the separate entries out.
*I received a letter from a stranger this morning—a Dr. Geiszler, Newton...? He says he's interested in my father's program and the work that he does as well as my part in all the commotion... Although he is, perhaps, almost too enthusiastic, he seemed knowledgeable, well-versed in his field, and...well, actually competent. Perhaps I'll respond and answer his questions, though I don't expect our correspondence to continue for much longer.
Hermann smiled at the words, recalling the moment he wrote them all those years ago. At that time, there was no way of him knowing just how long he'd be stuck with the man who wrote that letter. He'd been so blissfully unaware of the little shit that was Newton Geiszler. It was almost surreal rereading these now. He let his eyes fall back to his handwriting.
*I thought if I responded to his first letter, he may cease his inquiring, however, I've received another letter from Dr. Geiszler in the mail this morning. He expressed his gratitude for the first letter he'd gotten in return, but I may not have covered all the bases he was interested in, for he has even more questions now. And far more specific. Of course, I am forever careful to not release detrimentally classified information, but I will humor Dr. Geiszler for now. He seems so sincere in his curiosities, and perhaps it would do the program nicely to have another brilliant mind on the case. Of course, if I'm honest, I have not yet completely ruled out the possibility for companionship in this man. His intellect intrigues and fascinates me. I think we could get along quite nicely.
He winced at the words, sparing a glance to the other man in the room as he jumped to his feet, waving the textbook that he'd been looking for around as he shouted about how he knew he'd find it eventually. He sneered at him, but would not say that it was he, himself, who had been the one to say that. He'd keep himself busy now at least, leaving him to read his old journal in peace.
“Don't get sore when you find out you were wrong, Dr. Geiszler,” he projected over the desk and across the room to where Newt had headed with the textbook. He didn't even bother to listen to the griping the other had to reply with then. Couldn't he see that he was reading something?
*The correspondence continues, to my surprise. I send out my fourth reply tomorrow morning. Perhaps Geiszler is as intrigued with me as I am with him?
Hermann couldn't say he'd ever felt more secondhand embarrassment over his own words before. He'd excuse it to him being young and naive when he wrote these journal entries, but couldn't deny the slightly tight feeling in his chest. He felt bad for his younger self, but could still feel the hope he'd had in himself at that time. He felt stupid.
*This afternoon will mark my tenth letter in response to Newton's own. The letters slowly increased in length—I recall the fifth(or perhaps it was the sixth?) one I sent that was a total of seven pages, front and back. As we continue to exchange replies, I've noticed that we've slowly started pulling away from the original point of this correspondence. There is a feeling that neither of us have minded in the slightest, though. That should be taken as a good sign, shouldn't it? If I had colleagues, I feel they'd assure me that it should. However...my only colleague at this juncture is Newton himself, although he does not know. Of course there are others in the labs where I spend my days, but I know they don't like me. I've long since given up on trying with others. They just don't understand. Newton seems to, but I suppose I can't even be sure of that. Perhaps one day we'll share a lab, and I can be sure. Or perhaps that's just wishful thinking on my part. I shouldn't dwell on it.
Slowly closing the notebook, Gottlieb let out a rather shaky exhale, having unknowingly lost pattern in his breathing. He didn't think this was going to be a lesson in emotional control, but with every word and feeling he read over, it all came rushing back. How lonely he'd been over the years, how withdrawn he'd become from others pushing him away despite his greatest efforts to connect with them, and just how he'd felt about Newton's letters and the discussions therein.
He took a moment to gather himself together before he tucked the notebook into his desk drawer and locked it, tucking the small key into his pocket as he stood.
“I'm going to get tea, would you like something?” he called to Newton, over the music he had even realized had been turned on. He must be very good at tuning that crap out, or had been more invested in his journal than he thought. He hadn't even read that much of it yet...
“Same ol' coffee slop, please,” the other called out as Hermann bent down to scoop up his cane from the floor where he'd left it. He offered a nod in acknowledgment before heading towards the doors, mind reeling over what he'd read in the note book next, if he even decided to pick it back up. He might just burn it. Right now, that seemed like the better option. Surely there was nothing he needed in there, let alone the chance that Newton may one day get his slimy hands on it. With his jaw locking into place, he frowned. That was definitely something that needed to be avoided at all cost, but he'd deal with that once he cleared his head.