Chapter Text
Hermann stands at attention, cane carefully tucked at his side and bundled up tight in his coat the Kaidanovskys got him in the first few months of their training and living together on the Kodiak base. It's entirely too big, probably purposefully, wishful thinking on Sasha's part who seems determined to find some yet undiscovered way of helping the wiry man to put more weight on. As a result, his face is almost lost within the oversized hood, obscured in shadow and by the fur ruff. He'd pull it down under normal circumstances being introduced to someone. These are not normal circumstances.
Gripping his cane a little tighter in his fist, he fights the urge to grimace as Stacker Pentecost finishes rattling off Dr. Newton Geiszler's many qualifications and more impressive accomplishments before introducing the pair of them as though neither has any idea who the other is. Perhaps they don't, he thinks with a small frown. Not anymore. Hermann supposes that the Marshall has bigger and more important things to be keeping track of than recalling that it was, in fact, a broadcast with Newt through the MIT radio station that helped Hermann to garner the PPDC's attention in the first place. Newt meanwhile seems to be occupying himself with bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and wringing his hands. Is he nervous to be seeing him again, Hermann wonders? Eager to get to work? It's hard to believe there was a time when he would likely have been able to tell the difference. Harder still that such a time was only a little over a year ago. It certainly doesn't feel like it.
Newt doesn't look any older. Hermann, himself, hasn't noticed any glaring signs in his reflection either, although he certainly feels it. Newt looks... as good as he remembers. Better. Which is just infuriating. Hermann reluctantly shakes the hand Newton offers him because the Marshall is still standing there, but makes a point of keeping the contact brief. There's a flicker of something in the green eyes that stare back at him. Disappointment? Hermann scowls. It doesn't matter. He already has a job here at the PPDC, an important one. Deciphering Newton Geiszler or his many moods is no longer one of them. An at times monumental task he should be grateful to be rid of, really.
He waits, watching Stacker Pentecost's retreat across the base and out of sight before wordlessly turning on his heels to head back towards the lab, trusting Newton to follow.
"They told me you put in a good word for me here," Newt interjects brightly, rushing to catch up to Hermann's side. "You're the reason I got here." There's something else in his tone. A level of disconcertion that Hermann thinks he's probably doing his damndest to hide.
"Don't be ridiculous, you got here because you're the closest thing there is to an expert on Xenobiology."
"Maybe," Newt concedes slowly, frowning ever so slightly as his pace stutters, clearly thrown by Hermann's frosty reception. Hermann's brow creases once more. What had he expected? A year without a word between them and he was just supposed to have what- been waiting for him? Rush into his arms like some manner of cliche romantic movie, utterly without regard for the display they'd make or who might be watching? "But you're the one that gave them my name," he presses. He walks double-time, trying to put himself just in front of his fellow scientist, the better to meet his gaze. Hermann stares fixedly at the yellow line on the floor the pair of them have been following as if losing it he might suddenly forget where he is going, despite the fact that he could (and has) made the walk across the base to his lab and quarters half-asleep.
"In passing. Don't make a bigger deal out of this than it is, N- Dr. Geiszler," Hermann replies correcting himself. Newt stops. For a moment Hermann is tempted to simply keep walking, let the other man find his own way to the space allocated for the science division. Someone would be able to point him in the right direction if he asked. But the Marshall is expected him to escort him there, for the two of them to be professionals. To- at least- coexist for the sake of the greater good. He likes it here. Likes that he can be useful. He likes Marshall Pentecost. He doesn’t want to disappoint him.
Now is neither the time or place for the questions and conversation Newt will undoubtedly wish to have about why he's reverted to less familiar titles and is studiously avoiding his gaze. Hermann would be hard-pressed to think of any time or place he'd prefer to have this discussion, but out in the hallway where any passing stranger or colleague might overhear is decidedly near the bottom of the list.
"You don't want me here," Newt whispers softly, looking crestfallen.
Hermann wants to protest. Wants to tell Newt that it isn't true. For months after the pair of them first said their goodbyes seeing him again was all he could think about. When he had wanted nothing more than Newt to be there with him. But as time passed, first at a crawl, then at a run, and without so much as a word from him… He’d made excuses at first. Perhaps he’d not received his note about there not being a reliable way to video chat yet, maybe the younger man was simply swamped with coursework and the like, maybe… Maybe Newt simply didn’t care as much as Hermann had thought, as much as he’d hoped he had. Maybe Newt had found something new, someone new to fixate on, a new pet project, and simply forgotten him. He’d hated himself for thinking that way at first, but after so long what other conclusion was he meant to come to?
“No,” Hermann exhales heavily. No, he doesn’t want Newton here. “But we need you.”