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Hermann doesn’t even like coffee, and perhaps that’s the greatest indignity of it all, standing in the torrential rain attempting to juggle umbrella, cane, and coffee. Geiszler can make all the jokes he likes about how Hermann is “totally a black coffee person”, whatever that means, and it’s hardly like Geiszler is better off, because the sort of coffee he prefers can barely be called coffee at all, so drenched in syrup and laden with cream it’s closer to a coffee flavored milkshake than a proper cup.
Not that Hermann particularly knows or cares about what a proper cup of coffee might or might not be. No, he’s a tea man, and properly brewed too, one of his few indulgences the simple expenditure of energy it takes to heat water in a kettle, even if the tea itself is cheaply bagged and often brewed from two or three times a bag before Hermann will finally throw it away. Hermann glares at the cheap paper cup of coffee in his faintly shaking hands, and silently wills it to become tea.
Spitefully, it remains cheap tasting but still ridiculously expensive coffee. In all right, he should have expected the further shortage. Tea has been hit especially hard by the last few Kaiju, and the shatterdome was hit hard itself by the last, and Hermann can’t help but blame himself for both. It was his bloody equations that went wrong, anyway, and perhaps it’s fitting punishment that now he gets to walk twenty minutes or more in a damn downpour to get coffee from a pavilion, because the mess hall currently has a massive Kaiju tentacle half-buried in the rubble. That last bit is why he can’t send Geiszler out either, like he does to buy tea. No point in him having to stand in line, after all, and he generally can bribe Geiszler with whatever coffee rations he can’t convert to tea. Technically, he could still get tea, but it would be the only bag to last him a week or more, and Hermann needs energy more than he needs a drink that won’t taste like a punishment from God.
Well, no point putting off the inevitable, Hermann thinks. He carefully wedges the umbrella in the crook of his elbow, grips cane and coffee tightly, and ventures out into the rain. He doesn’t make it three steps before his knee, already stiff and sorer than usual in the rain, twists, and the resulting stumble as pain lashes up his leg is enough to make coffee slosh over the lid and onto his hand, and the umbrella goes flying. It lands only a few feet away from him, but it’s not like it matters, because no way in hell is he in any sort of condition to lean down to retrieve it right now, and bleeding Christ, with the exception of a Kaiju attack, could this day get any worse?
“Hermann!” a cheerful voice calls, and ah, yes, there we go, it absolutely can. Geiszler is soaked, a situation Hermann has at least managed to avoid so far, though Hermann doubts he’d be quite so pleased with himself as Geiszler seems to be. He’s grinning widely at him, pants and shirt absolutely sodden, and with the absence of leather jacket, Hermann can clearly see the brightly colored Kaiju tattoos through the clinging white shirt. Not that he’s looking. Or wants to look.
“What do you want, Geiszler?” he asks sharply. “Weren’t you supposed to be examining the tentacle?”
“Oh, I could so totally make a joke there ...but I’m choosing not to, you’re welcome,” Geiszler informs him, and Hermann resists the urge to spill coffee on his shirt, as doing so would be impolite, and beneath him, much like Geiszler, physically, mentally, and morally. Though from the way his hair is standing up in the humidity, not by much. Hermann suspects it’s something like wool, able to repel water for quite some time before becoming soaked. Either that, or the sheer amount of gel he puts in it.
“Oh, and to answer your other question, I’m getting some coffee,” and there Geiszler pauses, and looks significantly at Hermann’s hand. Hermann follows his gaze blankly. “Much,” Geiszler concludes, “like you. Have you joined me on the dark side, Hermann?”
Hermann sniffs haughtily in response, looking at Geiszler's own coffee, which is, as expected, full of milk and sugar. “That doesn’t look very dark to me.”
“Ah, lighten up.”
“That was terrible”, Hermann says flatly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He turns, abandoning the umbrella to its fate, and limps slowly away. He’s only walked a minute before Geiszler is in front of him again, proffering out Hermann’s umbrella. “Isn’t this yours?”
Hermann hesitates. “No.” He attempts to keep going, but Geiszler stubbornly blocks the way.
“Dude, I just saw you drop it.”
Hermann glares at him, making a sharp gesture with his hand and coffee he hopes encapsulates “where exactly am I supposed to hold it, and frankly I’d rather just get wet than waste one more second out here”.
“Right”, Geiszler says, and then, “I can hold it for both of us?”
“What?”
Geiszler moves to his right, and lifts the umbrella so it’s over both their heads.
Hermann stares at him. “Ah. Well. Thank you.” Geiszler shrugs, beginning to walk towards the lab, at a pace Hermann can easily match rather than Geiszler’s normal trot.
“Didn’t want my coffee to get cold, that’s all.”
“And of course, your own umbrella is currently a handle and a puddle of Kaiju Blue.”
Geiszler doesn't rise to the bait. “Yeah, that too.” He gives Hermann an odd little smile then, like he’s not quite sure of himself, eyes crinkling up at Hermann.
They walk the rest of the way in silence, though an oddly companionable one. Hermann takes a few sips of coffee and is pleasantly surprised to find it still warm, though not as warm as Geiszler’s shoulder whenever it occasionally brushes against Hermann’s. Honestly, the man must be some sort of heat sink. Still, the man is soaked by the time they get inside, and Geiszler is shivering when he closes Hermann’s umbrella, umbrella and scientist both drenched and dripping on the floor.
“I'm gonna go dry off, I can do your umbrella while I’m at it.”
“Thank you,” Hermann says awkwardly, and then adds “you don't have to do that. Really.” Geiszler turns, grins at him.
“Yeah, well. I like doing stuff for you.” He’s around the corner before Hermann can even think to respond.
Hermann stares at the empty hallway, and then takes a cautious sip of coffee. It tastes terrible, lukewarm and full of rain. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. For some reason, it had been much warmer with Geiszler at his side.