Chapter Text
The cool, female voice of the Hong Kong Shatterdome's PA system crackles to life:
"All members of Shaolin Rogue's ground crew, please report to docking bay D for jaeger re-entry. All members of Shaolin Rogue's ground crew, please report to docking bay D for jaeger re-entry."
It's nearly four in the morning, and Shaolin Rogue has just taken down a category three kaiju eight miles from the coast of Hong Kong. Despite the early hour, the K-science lab is operating near full capacity. Under the direction of Hermann and Newt, the science techs (mostly post-bacs from the University of Hong Kong) work with careful diligence, saturated in the pale blue glow of the computer terminals or spattered with the darker stains of kaiju viscera.
The initial data that LOCCENT streams down is more Hermann's domain: numbers on breach dilation and energy transfer, indicators of breach stability and clues to its nature. It's not until the battle's over and the carnage gets shipped in that Newt has his field day, but he's at his station working just the same. His computer terminal is set up as a monitor to the LOCCENT radio frequencies (compliments of Tendo), and the notebook in front of him is scrawled with the Ranger's descriptions of the kaiju's appearance and fighting tactics, which he listens to through a pair of old, tangled headphones.
Ten minutes after the call for Shaolin Rogue's ground crew is broadcasted, Hermann motions for a tech to continue monitoring the simulation he is running with the data from the latest event. Newt looks up from his hastily scribbled notes as Hermann stands and reaches for his cane. The tech takes over Hermann's place at the terminal.
"Not turning in early are you, Hermann?" Newt asks, yanking the headphones off his ears. It may be four in the morning, but with the amount of data they've got to process and submit reports on, sleep seems like an abstract concept rather than a legitimate possibility.
Hermann is fishing through the clothing on the coat tree in the back of the lab.
"Just going for a walk, Dr. Geiszler."
Hermann finds his parka (much too heavy for the light Hong Kong winter) and passes by Newt without looking at him on his way out of the lab.
It's been almost two years since they began working together in Hong Kong - long enough for Newt to know that it can't just be coincidence that the nights Hermann decides to "take a walk" are the nights when they take down a kaiju. Newt's pen taps an arrhythmic pattern against the lab table as he tries to concentrate on his work.
Fuck it.
Newt throws down his pen and retrieves his own jacket from the coat tree.
There really aren't too many possibilities when it comes to taking a stroll outside of the shatterdome. Unless Hermann is making his way to the docking bays (not likely, too many people), the only other option is the main level deck.
Newt jabs the call button for the elevator and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It's four in the goddamn morning, and not even the inadvisable amount of caffeine pumping through his veins can keep his eyelids from drooping from fatigue. Some of the ground crew personnel in maroon jumpsuits look like zombies as they shuffle past him in the direction of the docking bays.
The elevator arrives, and Newt ascends two levels to the main deck, empty but for two helicopters being prepped for flight. With the nighttime ocean breeze cool against his skin, he feels temporary relief from the tired haze overwhelming his brain.
On his left, the horizon is lightening in monochrome tones of gray. It's not dawn, not yet, but it will be soon. The breeze smells like sea salt and smog, and the sounds of voices and machinery further along on the side of the 'dome are slightly muffled by the churning of the harbor. By the railing that lines the perimeter of the deck, Hermann stands looking out over the water.
When Newt slides up next to him, Hermann jumps, not hearing Newt's approach over the noise of the water and the distant sound of the docking bay doors being drawn open. Hermann's eyes go wide, and his lips press into a thin, unreadable line at the sight of his colleague.
"Thought I'd join you," Newt says.
Hermann turns his face away and sighs, his breath steaming in the cold night air.
Except - the night isn't that cold. Newt's nostrils flare to catch the scent, and he has to do a double take to find the cigaret that Hermann is trying to hide along the side of his body.
Hermann glances sideways at Newt, whose mouth is hanging open in shock.
"Flies, Newton."
Newt's jaw snaps shut.
"I didn't know you smoked," he says after a short, stunned silence.
"There's no reason you should have," Hermann rebukes, "I don't indulge enough for it to truly matter, anyway." He brings the cigaret to his lips, no longer trying to hide it, and takes a slow drag.
"I, uh, wouldn't have taken you for a nicotine guy."
Hermann exhales harshly.
"No one asked you to come out here, you know," he says.
Newt shrugs, rebuffing Hermann's strident tone, "Free world, man."
"I suppose."
Hermann takes another drag from his cigaret; his eyes are firmly fixed on the horizon. With the way the island of Tsing Yi is lit up behind them, there is little but the moon to see, even on a clear night like this. Only a few bright pinpoints of light shine down above them, but in the distance there are other lights dancing far out on the ocean. At first Newt thinks they're the lights of a tanker coming close to shore, but the colors and shape are all wrong. Then he sees how they're moving - their slow, ambulatory sway - and he realizes he's watching Shaolin Rogue plodding through the harbor towards the 'dome. Hermann exhales slowly, the smoke swept away quickly by the wind. He sighs, and it sounds wistful.
Newt knows the walls Hermann erects around himself are as thick and impenetrable as the parka he wears. Even after three years of written correspondence and two years of working with the man, Newt's never seen them crack. But now he's watching Hermann smoking and looking out at the ocean with something that looks like longing and - grief? - and Newt feels like he's accidentally stumbled onto the other side of the wall - and he doesn't know what he sees there.
Normally, Newt is good at filling up silences, always has a line, a joke, a quick barb lined up to avoid the awkward pauses of conversation. But now it feels like all the words have been sucked from him like air through Hermann's cigaret. So he just leans against the railing next to Hermann, turning his gaze towards the massive jaeger, still small at this distance, as it makes its victorious trek back. They watch in silence until the jaeger is more than just pinpoints of moving light, until they can see the outline of its sleek body, until it is so close it is almost looming over them.
It feels like it takes a long time, until Hermann's cigaret is a stub between his fingers.
When Shaolin Rogue is close enough that the water it's displacing begins to slosh up onto the deck, Hermann drops the cigaret butt to the damp concrete and grinds it under the toe of his shoe. Newt's words come back.
"Smoking and littering? I didn't think you had it in you, Hermann."
Hermann scoffs and starts walking back towards the 'dome with Newt keeping in step beside him.
"We do have work to do, you know," Hermann says.
"Hey, I wasn't the one who came out here for a smoke break."
"Yes, and I wasn't the one who followed for no other reason than, I assume, to be a nuisance."
"Uh, maybe I just wanted some fresh air, dude."
"Oh please, you thrive on the fumes of those hazardous samples like a cockroach in trash, Newton."
They slip inside as the doors open for three helipad workers joining their crews on the deck.
"At least I'm not the one inhaling chalk dust like asbestos. Seriously, how do you not have, like, chalk-lung or something by now?"
The heavy metal doors of the 'dome slide in place behind them.