Work Text:
Fandom: Pacific Rim
Prompt: “You know what, we make a pretty good team.”
Look, okay, Newt knows he’s not allowed to have that much coffee.
It’s not his fault his brain decides to hyper fixate on something which means sleep becomes more of a suggestion than an imperative! Listen, if someone told you that the Quetzocoatlus was the largest flying pterosaur ever to exist and that it was the size of a school bus on average wouldn’t you also wanna know absolutely everything about it? Or if someone told you there was an actual fucking donut made out of mussels at the bottom of the ocean with a lake inside of it that you physically can’t access because there’s air on top of it are you not gonna go on a Wikipedia odyssey at 1:35 am?
Newt just needs to know things and sometimes that means not using the sleep until he does.
Yeah, yeah, he knows about the dangers of caffeine. And yeah, he’s worried his buddy Hermann about it a few too many times to be considered polite and he’d be lying if he said there hadn’t been at least one hospital scare. But he’s fine.
No really, he is. He’s found a workaround.
Because at this point it’s less about the caffeine itself for Newt—he can get that from other places if he really needs it and he’s not allowed coffee—but the taste of it. Something about how his neural pathways have formed with the taste of coffee associates it with learning new things and being able to retain them. Plus, the flavor activates the existing neural pathways so he remembers the information he learns. So he’s found some workarounds with the help of his friends. Yeah, they’re all coffee-related, but not all of them are just coffee.
Did you guys know Hermann can bake? Because he’s really fucking good at it.
Newt plops himself down on the counter across from Hermann’s assortment of jars and canisters and bowls, propping his chin upon his hands as he watches Hermann measure and mix and squint at the recipe he’s.following.
The science of food is so fucking cool, Newt’s decided, and Hermann makes it even cooler. Newt hadn’t really believed him when he said he was good at baking—look, the dude dresses like a gay librarian from every 80’s TV show, okay, he didn’t exactly look the part—but Hermann proved him wrong. And then Newt actually got to watch Hermann bake and hear him talk about it and infodumping is the actual best way of expressing affection and Newt will fight you if you say otherwise because baking’s all chemistry. It’s all knowing what this does with that and how this affects that and how it brings out the flavor and god Hermann’s a genius. It also helps that Hermann’s a fucking numbers wizard and has a knack for precision which means everything comes out looking perfect and Newt’s mouth starts to water before it’s even out because it smells amazing but he has to wait, Newton, I’m not finished.
Watching Hermann decorate is like watching one of those ‘oddly satisfying’ compilations on crack. His face gets this adorable little wrinkle between his brows and his hands never shake. Unlike Newt, who can’t sit still for more than two seconds most of the time—“That’ll be the coffee, Newt,’—Hermann is smooth, steady, and precise. It’s so cool.
Hermann finishes piping the last details on the coffee tiramisú and steps back, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and spinning it around, making sure everything’s up to his standards. At last, he gives himself a short nod and turns to Newt, smiling fondly when he sees him flapping his hands excitedly at how cool it looks.
“It really must get old for you,” Hermann says, grabbing a few towels and tossing them Newt’s way, “just watching me do this over and over.”
“Dude, are you kidding? It’s even more cool!”
Newt hops off the counter as Hermann carries his baby over to the table. He channels the Happy Flap™ into cleaning off the counter, swiping any detritus into the sink first with a dry towel, dampening the second to clean off the stubborn bits, and drying everything up with one last sweep. As Hermann produces the knife and starts serving the two pieces, Newt carefully puts every jar and canister back where it goes, leaving the dirty dishes in the sink.
Hermann smiles when he bites into it, his eyes going wide and immediately having to drop the fork to flap.
“Oh my god, Hermann!”
“I take it that’s a good sign?”
“Dude!”
Hermann allows himself a proud smile that Newt affirms before diving right back in. And the sponge is so fluffy, the cream just right, and the coffee flavor rounds it out so perfectly and ugh, Newt loves it. Hermann knows his things about texture too, and the way this fits in his mouth is decadent.
As they finish their pieces and carefully pack away the rest, Newt looks at Hermann, silently asking permission. Hermann leans his cane up against the counter, perching on a stool, and nods. As Newt cleans the dishes, snapping on a thick pair of rubber gloves, he rambles about how good it was, how he can see the applications of Hermann’s chemistry lesson too, how amazing Hermann’s stuff is because of how much Hermann knows his stuff. Hermann, who used to bluster and stammer when Newt complimented him, just sits there now, with a smile. They’ve worked on that, about Newt giving Hermann compliments and getting him used to them. Because Hermann’s fucking amazing and if you say otherwise you will have to fight a lot of angry people who really wanna prove you wrong.
One of those people is Mako. With Mako, Newt goes exploring.
Newt can’t do things like listen to podcasts or hold a long conversation that isn’t an infodump exchange without being debuffed by some sort of hand and/or body activity. Mako loves to go on long walks through the city, weaving their way in and out of busy streets, side streets, parks, you name it. And there’s always restaurants waiting for them when they get hungry.
Mako’s favorite place is a small café style place called The Little Key. It’s tiny, tucked out of the way, but can fit a fair amount of people comfortably once you go through the foyer to the seating area. The front is a takeaway style thing with small options for bite-sized fair, the back reserved for the more traditional sit-down food. If they’re tired, or particularly hungry, they’ll head for the back, order all the comfort food they can eat, and chat for hours. If not, they’ll order their dessert first and eat it on the go.
Coffee ice cream, Newt has decided, is his favorite dessert. it’s cold and the texture isn’t bad and it tastes like coffee. Not too much, not too little. Just right. Mako’s got one hell of a sweet-tooth too so they stroll arm in arm, eating from their cups, or sit across the table from each other, eating small bites in the pauses of their conversation. One day, Mako had a stroke of genius.
“Come, Newt,” she laughs, “it is fall. We must have apple cider.”
“Only if we also get the warm pretzel bread.”
“Deal.”
The apple ciders came in these tall, elegant glasses that looked like they belonged on some fancy-ass royal table, not in Newt’s hands. He picks it up carefully, turning it this way and that, seeing the apple slices floating near the bottom along with a stick of cinnamon and a few sprigs of…nutmeg?
“Cloves,” Mako corrects, already taking a sip of hers. Her eyes flutter shut and she smiles, holding it close, the steam wafting across her face. “Oh, Newt, you must try it.”
Newt tries to copy her, but all he gets is his glasses steaming up. They giggle as Newt wipes them off, opting for a sip instead.
“Holy shit.”
“Right?”
The sharpness of the apple taste is incredible. And the spices make Newt feel so warm, like someone’s wrapped a soft blanket over his shoulders and is rubbing his arms gently through it. Then their coffee ice cream arrives and Newt is in heaven.
They’ve chosen something in the middle today. There’s a small area with chairs nearer the front, overstuffed armchairs with little tables in the middle, and a window to look out. Mako perches on one, looking every bit, the contented cat who got the cream. Unlike Newt, who looks rumpled and a little haphazard even at the best of times—‘Bedraggled Chic,’ that’s the aesthetic he’s going for—Mako looks pristine, like she belongs on the cover of some artistic novel about introspection and the ever-changing nature of a warrior. He tells her as much and she shakes her head fondly.
“You give the most specific compliments, Newt,” she says, and Newt gives her a thumbs-up.
He can always talk to Mako, whether it’s about their classes or work or the newest video game they’ve both decided to pick up. It’s easy, light. Simple. Like the apple cider, or the pretzel bread, or the coffee ice cream.
Raleigh is, apparently, the only one of Newt’s close friends that doesn’t have a sweet tooth. Sure, he’s seen the man eat dessert, once in a blue moon, but he doesn’t make a habit of it. Also unlike pretty much everyone Newt’s ever known, caffeine seems to have the opposite effect on Raleigh.
“I dunno what to tell you,” he says whenever Newt asks him, shrugging, “it just…makes me fall asleep better.”
“Dude that’s so interesting, though,” Newt always says.
Raleigh helps Newt slow down. Hermann keeps up with him, giving him new ideas, new stimuli, things to make his brain struggle and strive and keep really busy. Mako runs with him, down the long winding paths that lead to new places. Raleigh holds him steady, a strong monotonous beat that helps him breathe.
They all live in the same apartment complex, Newt and Hermann in one suite, Mako and Raleigh across the hall. More often than not, they all end up sprawled across one of their living rooms, watching a movie, playing a board game, or just talking. And Hermann and Mako are troopers, sure, but Raleigh and Newt are the night owls.
Raleigh always gives him a wink when he brews coffee late at night. He knows Newt’s thing about coffee; he told them all about it after the first big hospital scare. But Newt’s also never met anyone aside from Raleigh that can brew decaf and have it taste so good.
They take their cups to the couch, or to the balcony, or, on particularly daring nights, up to the roof.
It’s funny because Newt’s never really thought of himself as a small guy. Sure, he doesn’t tower over anyone and he’s decidedly average, but he’s got more than enough energy to make up for it. He’s had people look at him funny when they stand next to him, saying they’d expected him to be taller.
But out here, under the open sky, next to Raleigh who’s built like a brick shit-house, Newt feels small.
There’s something a little comforting about it, he’s decided, leaning up against a much larger man, his neck craned back to look at the stars. Raleigh’s bulk is warm, unmoving, reassuring as the warm weight of the coffee mug in Newt’s hands. It’s one of the few times Newt doesn’t talk much, just sits and looks and breathes.
Raleigh gives him space. Hermann pushes in the best way possible, Mako guides him with soft words here and there, but Raleigh always waits.
Waits for Newt to take a deeper breath, sometimes with a little shudder at the end. Waits for Newt to shift and lean a little more fully against him. Waits for Newt’s fingers to twitch on his mug.
Then Raleigh will move, open his arms, let Newt hug him if he needs to, burying his nose in the crook of Raleigh’s shoulder, breathing him in. He smells like pine, fresh snowfall, and coffee. Like this, he can almost understand how it sends Raleigh to sleep.
Sometimes, they all make it together.
Hermann will find some incredibly ambitious new recipe and they’ll all gather in the kitchen. Hermann will put them to work. Raleigh brews the coffee they need. Hermann bakes the new dish. Newt and Mako run to the store to grab ingredients, sides, anything they might need. It always culminates in a big feast at the end; everyone bringing everything to the table as Newt cleans up the kitchen. The room always buzzes, feeling alive, Newt drunk on the energy of his friend rather than the caffeine.
“You know what,” he says after they’ve all eaten too much to move for the next half hour, “we make a pretty good team.”
Hermann voices his agreement. Mako giggles and nudges whatever part of Newt she can reach. Raleigh raises his cup in salute.
Newt beams.
He may be driven by the need to know things, but he never has to question his family.