Work Text:
The Dylan Hotel, Amsterdam
"Hong Kong," Eames says with distaste, "Is that not a radioactive wasteland these days?"
"You're thinking of Manilla. Or maybe San Francisco," Arthur corrects as he tosses a gun on top of his case and picks up a handful of passports.
"Why don't we stick to Europe? Africa? India even. Dubai is as close to lovely as it gets this time of year, with no nasty giant monsters rising from the ocean at all." Eames lounges on the hotel sofa.
Arthur kicks a suitcase toward Eames with the hope that he will start packing. "The Pacific has been quiet for over a year now."
"And we're going after the blokes who made that happen?" Eames inquires, eyeing his empty suitcase with disdain.
"I don't play politics, Mr. Eames," Arthur retorts. "The job is straightforward and the money is good. Now are you with me, or are you going to lay there all day?"
Eames waggles his eyebrows at Arthur. "Well, I could be enticed to lay here all day, if you care to join me."
Arthur quirks his lips. "If there's still time after you've packed."
Eames grins and leaps off the couch.
—
Hong Kong Shatterdome
Hermann rubs his eyes as the sound of metal crashing and glass breaking erupts from the other side of the lab.
"Oops," Newt's voice carries over the dividing line. "Full disclosure, while that wasn't exactly good, it was totally accidental. Hardly even my fault, honestly. Y'know, gravity."
Hermann glowers at the unfinished slides on his laptop screen. "Do I need to call decon?" he grumbles.
"Um... No?" Newt replies, the quiet on his side of the lab betraying uncharacteristic stillness.
"Newton," Hermann snaps, rising from his desk to survey the damage. The urgent rap of his cane echoes around him. Hermann arrives to find his partner with gloved hands outstretched, trying to check himself over without touching anything.
"Looks like my gloves took the brunt of the spill. And the floor. I can decon this myself, no problem. Lab safety for the win!" Newt turns and gives Hermann two slimy, blue thumbs up. "But you should probably evacuate while I'm doing it, some of this might be a little airborne."
"A little?" Hermann snarls.
"A little," Newt says with wavering certainty. "Okay, out, go take a nap or get some tea while I clean this up."
Hermann snatches his laptop bag and makes his way for the exit, muttering all the while. He stops at the door, and casts a narrow eyed stare at Newt's back.
Newt gives him a sheepish grin without turning around. "I'll be careful, I promise."
"Please see that you do," Hermann says, and leaves.
"I love you too!" Newt shouts as the door slams shut.
Hermann makes his way down the dark, riveted passageways of the Shatterdome to the mess hall. He eyes the floor for spills and slick bits of food as he trudges toward the hot water dispenser. The strap of his bag cuts into his shoulder; he tries to shift it as he fills his cup, to no avail. He finds an empty table and divests his burdens with a sigh.
Hermann pauses as he opens his laptop. He can hear the muted lilt of Newt's humming, precisely timed and on key, yet somehow still perverse and erratic. The song thrums at the back of Hermann's larynx, an impression more than a sound. He fights the smile tugging at his lips.
He should be concerned, perhaps even scared, that over a year after their drift they are still indelibly connected. That they share hip pains and manic thoughts, that their dreams and nightmares converge, that Hermann can feel Newt's humming from across the Shatterdome while Newton no doubt feels the exasperated affection Hermann feels for him in return.
There are still mornings where they wake up with jumbled proprioception, unsure of the peripheries of their bodies. In these moments, Hermann lies still, tensing muscles, carefully cataloging every part of himself. Newt scrubs his hands through is hair and stumbles from the bed, pacing unsteadily until his limbs feel like his own.
These things should terrify Hermann, but mostly they do not. This is the cost of the survival of their species; they can manage. There are worse fates others have borne.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Gottlieb."
Hermann's reverie is interrupted by Mako, who stands across the table from him, shoulders angled away so as not to seem presumptuous. Hermann nods and gestures to the seat before her. "Please sit if you'd like, Miss Mori."
Mako nods and does so, arranging her tray and cutlery before speaking. "I am afraid it will not be long now before you leave for California," Mako says with a trace of solemnity. "The Shatterdome will be much too quiet without Newt and yourself."
"It will be only a few months," Hermann assures her. "I will be a semester lecturing at Stanford, while Newton oversees decontamination studies of San Fransisco Bay, with UC Davis. Though why anyone would put that man in charge of such an effort boggles the mind," he rolls his eyes toward the ceiling.
Mako lets out a small laugh. "Yes, I believe we will miss you both very much while you are gone." Her words carry a weight beyond the present topic of conversation.
It strikes Hermann then how long the years have stretched between this day and the terrible night Mako first arrived at the PPDC, just a child cradled in the cockpit of Pentacost's devastated Jaeger. How much she has grown, in the dangerous playground of the Shatterdome, under the stern guidance of the second father she's had, and then lost.
Hermann returns her smile, and nods reassuringly. "We will endeavor to return as soon as we can, Miss Mori."
—
Hong Kong Bone Slums
Yusuf looks around the dingy shop skeptically. The shelves are full of bottles and boxes marked with kaiju parts, indicated for the kinds of uses that tiger bones and rhino horns used to be traded for. He wonders briefly if the abundance of kaiju "products" has done any good for conservation of other earth species. He thinks he recalls reading something about black rhinos still persisting, at least in captivity.
The balding man at the counter leans toward Yusuf, waving his hand at his wares. "Kaiju bone powder, good for virility. Or Kaiju Blue, cures everything from cancer to the common cold."
Yusuf scrunches his eyebrows. "Isn't Kaiju Blue extremely toxic?"
"The dose makes the poison," the man says, showing off a bottle. "This is homeopathic."
Yusuf huffs. "I am here to see Hannibal Chau."
"On what business?" The man replies.
Yusuf gives a shake to his messenger bag. "I understand he has some interest in somnacin."
"This way," the man says, directing him from what is apparently an antechamber into an active lab, a large round room finely detailed in red.
A tall white man in gold-scaled shoes approaches Yusuf with an arched eyebrow over his dark glasses.
"I take it you're the Chemist," Chau says.
"I am," Yusuf says, eyeing the large tubes holding gigantic disembodied organs that seem not quite dead. "I am told you can get for me what I am looking for," Yusuf says, digging an ingredients list from his pocket and holding it up. Chau ignores it.
"What do you have for me?" Chau asks.
Yusuf purses his lips, before digging a locked case from his bag. "Custom blended somnacin, of my own design. Among the highest quality in the world, more stable than what the military uses."
"Is that the stuff used on that job for Saito?" Chau asks, glancing at the case.
"Better, in fact. It has been improved to diminish dangers for deep dreaming," Yusuf replies, with barely a stumble at the mention of the Fischer job.
"Good." Chau snaps his fingers, and an attendant comes to retrieve the list from Yusuf. "Leave the case here. Come back tomorrow, we'll have everything boxed up for you."
Yusuf pulls a single vial from his bag. "I will give you one dose today, in good faith, should you wish to test my product. I will give you the rest when I receive my part."
"Fine." Chau sneers a grin. "You're smarter than I took you for, considering the job you're taking."
Yusuf pauses. "Excuse me?"
"You're running an extraction on that spastic PPDC biologist, is what I hear." Chau fixes him with a side-eye. "I know I wouldn't want to go poking around in that little bastard's head."
—
Kowloon Shangri-La Hotel, Hong Kong
Arthur stands at the end of the bed, laying out the documents he has collected. Ariadne sits curled in an armchair, sketching, while Eames fiddles with a poker chip.
The quiet shuffling of paper is interrupted by a hurried knock on the door. Eames looks to Arthur, and Arthur lifts a gun from the nightstand before looking out the peephole. He sighs and opens the door.
"I am so sorry I'm late, "Yusuf apologizes, stumbling into the room. "With all the destruction and reconstruction in the city last year, it seems the taxis do not yet know the best ways to get around."
"Or perhaps they were just taking you for a ride," Eames muses.
"That they certainly did," Yusuf huffs. "All right, enough about me, let's get to work,"
Arthur nods and waits for Yusuf to sit down. "Here's what we have so far.
"The mark is Dr. Newton Geiszler. He is part of the Kaiju Science division at the PPDC, focusing primarily on kaiju biology. Born in Berlin, grew up around Boston. He earned his first PhD from MIT at age fourteen, and five more by the time he reached twenty-five. Doctorates are in Electrical Engineering, Biology, Biological Oceanography, Neuroscience, Biomedical Engineering, and Medical Science."
Ariadne utters a quiet "wow". Arthur glances at her with a smirk, then turns to Yusuf.
"Bipolar disorder, medicated with lithium and lamotrigine. The latter was prescribed last year because it's also an anticonvulsant.
"Geiszler taught at MIT until 2016, when he joined the PPDC. He stayed with the organization throughout its decline, eventually forgoing his salary to continue his work under Marshall Stacker Pentecost. For the past six years, he has shared a lab with the only other scientist who remained, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb."
"Which brings us to the next part," Eames declares, waving his hand through the air. "Dr. Gottlieb is, depending who you ask, Dr. Geiszler's closest friend, longest held enemy, or romantic lover. From my observations, it appears to be all three. They have known each other for over a decade, and despite the fact that they are constantly at each other's throats, they are inseparable."
Arthur resumes. "The information we have been tasked with extracting is about two alleged neural bridges—that is, drifts, using a modified PONS—that Geiszler conducted with kaiju. One was a partial brain fragment, the other was an intact, though recently deceased, kaiju. We are to gather everything we can about the drifts themselves, information Geiszler gained during the drifts, and anything notable about the aftermath."
Ariadne sits up straight. "Question—if the PONS can be used to directly access a person's brain and memories, why isn't it used for extractions? Wouldn't it be easier connecting to the consciousness, rather than the subconscious?"
"Ah," Eames interjects. "The neural bridge is just that—a two way link. It leaves both participants exposed, and therefore vulnerable to each other. Much safer to root around in someone else's subconscious without getting your own involved. Hence why our dear friend Cobb has finally retired."
Yusuf taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I am concerned," he starts. "Do you think there is a risk going into Dr. Geiszler's subconscious, since he has interfaced with a kaiju?"
"Always the possibility," Arthur replies. "But he's not a vegetable, and he hasn't gone off on a murderous rampage, so far. We'll keep the extraction simple—one level, no diving in deeper. If it gets dicey, we bail." Arthur glances at Eames.
"No complaints from me, darling. We've certainly done worse." Eames claps his hands together. "So! What's our strategy?"
Ariadne spreads her sketches out on the bed. "The setting will be a conference center, during a kaiju science expo. The main hall will be a poster session—you can use the posters for Geiszler to populate with the information we need. The end doors loop onto each other, while the side doors connect to the hotel bar, here," she points to the sheet, "and to the garden grounds here."
Arthur nods. "Eames will forge Gottlieb, and walk through the poster session with Geiszler. If we don't get everything we need, you can retreat to the bar or the gardens and use a private journal to get the rest. I'll be trailing to pick up the information as you go.
"Geiszler and Gottlieb are flying to San Francisco in two weeks. We'll bump them up to first class, sedate them both, and do the extraction on Geiszler."
Eames leans back in his chair, gesturing expansively. "What could go wrong?"
—
"What's the matter?" Arthur asks later, sitting on the arm of Eames's chair. Eames harrumphs.
"This Gottlieb character is too smart for his own good. Look at this," he swipes through pages and pages of technical papers on his tablet. "Advanced mathematics, quantum physics, programming... He doesn't have as many degrees as our dear Dr. Geiszler, but he's at least as well published. Remind me next time to just forge a janitor."
"If you stuck to your own level, what kind of forger would you be?" Arthur smirks.
"You never fail to fail to compliment me, love."
"Is the forge going to be a problem?"
"No, no," Eames scoffs. "Just a bloody lot more work than usual. And the way those two move together, they're like a unit, in sync, orbiting. The only thing I've ever seen like it are the two big heroes, Mori and Becket."
Arthur frowns. "Do you think they drifted? Gottlieb and Geiszler?"
"I'd lay my chips on that bet."
"Do you think Gottlieb also drifted with a kaiju?"
"Now that I could not say. I've seen no evidence of it, but the same could nearly be said of Geiszler, at least in day-by-day observation. But enough for now," Eames says, laying his tablet aside and tugging Arthur by the hips. "I believe we deserve a break."
—
Hong Kong Shatterdome
Newt stays up for three days straight to finish closing his side of the lab before the flight across the Pacific. All of the kaiju specimens have to be prepped and catalogued for long-term storage, several outstanding reports need to be finished, and his makeshift PONS needs to be thoroughly dismantled (to his great dismay). Hermann of course finishes cleaning days before, but all he needs to do is stow his blackboards and backup the servers. Still, Hermann stays in the lab to make sure Newt eats regularly, and to participate a continuous stream of bickering throughout the process.
Hermann really is the best, Newt decides, not for the first time.
The morning of the flight, Hermann finds Newt in the storage space for the yellow-gleaming tanks of kaiju specimens. Newt's eyes shift and focus on movements within the tanks, veins and nerves reaching out for connections.
"Newton," Hermann says softly, coming to stand at Newt's back.
"The kaiju decompose so fast, the only way we could keep specimens preserved was by keeping the tissues active. Does that," he breathes for a moment, "does that make them alive? How do we qualify life like this? Are viruses alive? What are—"
"Newton," Hermann repeats, wrapping his arms around Newt. He leans to whisper in Newt's ear, "Come, it's nearly time to go. Let us go say our goodbyes."
Newt nods and allows himself to be led from the storeroom. Bye, he whispers as he locks the door.
The K-Science division is seen off by the remaining Shatterdome crew—fistbumps from Tendo, hugs from Mako, bemused claps on the back from Raleigh. Hansen gives them each a handshake and a stern warning to stay out of trouble, and Hermann returns with a salute that makes Newt roll his eyes.
They make their plane on time, and the exhaustion hits Newt once they have reached cruising altitude and drinks have been served. He lays his head on Hermann's shoulder, and feels Hermann's cheek rest against his hair.
He barely feels the prick of a needle before he falls into a dream.
—
Eames scans the conference hall, looking peeved and gripping Gottlieb's cane. Eames needs to find Geiszler before he can produce his own projection of Gottlieb. He locks eyes with Arthur for a moment, then they shift in opposite directions.
Eames trudges through the hall, maintaining a limp but moving faster than he really should for the forgery. He sees a door open from the hotel bar, and Geiszler emerges with a can of Doctor Pepper in hand, followed shortly by Arthur, who nods, then disappears into the crowd.
"Newton!" Eames shouts in Gottlieb's voice, "Must you insist on drinking such swill? You'll make yourself ill one of these days, honestly."
Geiszler's eyes light up at the sight of him. "Hey man, I gotta give you something to complain about in every aspect of my life."
Eames grins internally. Hook set.
"Come on, we're here for a conference, not to waste time at the bar," Eames admonishes and directs Geiszler toward the poster displays.
Geiszler snorts. "As if there's anything here I don't already know. My name is on half of these studies as a coauthor or advisor, anyway."
"It's a shame you can't publish your findings from the drift," Eames says with tightened lips. "That would certainly teach them something."
"Ugh," Geiszler groans. "Don't remind me. Biggest discovery of my career—possibly ever—and it's all 'PPDC secrets' and 'For your own good, Newt,'" he complains, taking a chug from his soda. "I'd have the most badass presentation in the history of history."
Eames glances over at the poster beside Geiszler to see it now titled "Xenobiological Drift Interface" and subtitled "Rockstar Science Saves the World." Arthur trails behind, studying the information avidly.
Eames pulls Geiszler along.
—
The soil is wet, and slides under Hermann's feet. The sprinklers must have just turned off. He steadies himself with his cane and makes his way across the lawn to the solid surface of the patio.
He rests for a moment against a bench wall, trying to get his bearings. He is dreaming, that much is obvious. Hermann has been a lucid dreamer since childhood. Through the doors appears to be a conference of some kind, but he does not recognize it from memory or from dreamer's intuition. Newt is inside somewhere, intuition tells him that. But something feels thoroughly unfamiliar. Not just the setting, but the air, the matter, the very structure of this dream. It does not feel like his own mind, nor Newt's. It feels foreign.
He is not sure what to do with this information yet.
Hermann takes a deep breath and pushes himself back onto his feet. He opens the door and walks inside.
—
Arthur divides his attention between memorizing the content of Geiszler's posters, and surveying the room. He spares no thought to the content of the information for now, just that he collects it accurately. He is thankful, as always, for his perfect recall.
Halfway through the second poster, he is interrupted by a disgruntled voice.
"Excuse me, what on earth is this?"
Arthur glances up in confusion to see Eames behind him, looking livid.
No, not Eames. Gottlieb.
Arthur curses. If Geiszler's projections are becoming aggressive, he must be getting suspicious. This is always a risk when forging someone so close to the mark.
Arthur steals a glance at Eames and Geiszler across the hall, then turns to the projection.
"Dr. Gottlieb, I have a proposal for yourself and your colleague that I think you will find most interesting," Arthur says with intrigue. He directs the projection away from Eames. "Should we find a quiet place to talk?"
—
"Something's wrong," Geiszler says, stopping suddenly. Eames stumbles from the mirrored pace he had established with Geiszler.
"Come on, there's still much to see and the session will be over soon. We want to go through everything before the evening keynote," Eames admonishes, reaching for Geiszler's elbow.
Geiszler does not respond. He stares down at his hands, shifting them slightly this way and that, as if testing something. He looks over to Eames's hands.
"Something is definitely wrong."
—
Arthur ushers the projection into the bar and closes the door, shutting off all noise from the conference hall. Gottlieb shuffles to a stool and grumpily motions to the bartender to order a drink.
Arthur pulls a gun from his waistband and shoots him in the back of the head.
—
A roar of pain tears through Newt's skull. He is blind for a moment, screaming and falling and digging his fingers into his scalp to get at the source. He catches a glimpse through someone else's eyes—collapsed on the ground, cane clattering, blood spilling.
"Hermann!!" He cries. He tries to get up but the pain in his head is too sharp. He collapses back to the floor, feeling the ghost of hot blood leaking across his scalp.
"Bloody hell—"
Voices come from somewhere above him.
"Eames!"
"Arthur, what the hell is happening?"
Footsteps pound the ground.
"He just collapsed—"
"Gottlieb got into the dream somehow. I thought he was a projection, but when I dispatched him, he disappeared—"
Newt chokes on something that reeks of copper and ammonia, sliding down the back of his sinuses.
"Christ, he's got a nosebleed—"
"Is that what this is? His blood is fucking blue—"
Hands grab him around the shoulders, turning his face toward the ground. Phosphorescent blood drips onto the floor.
He chokes a laugh. Kaiju blood. Of course.
It isn't funny.
Where is Hermann?
The thought makes him nauseous. He thinks he might know the answer, but he can't consider it.
His head pounds, pushes against the scars and burnt out neurons that once locked into a massive alien hivemind.
The scars start to tear.
A rift opens.
Something crawls out.
—
Yusuf leans back in his chair and sighs. "I wish I'd brought something else to read. There is nothing good in SkyMall."
Ariadne looks up from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles. "They'll be done soon, right?"
"Not soon enough. Trade you," he says, holding out the catalog.
"No way," Ariadne retorts.
They both jump at the sound of a gasping breath. Yusuf scrambles to his feet to see Gottlieb awake and breathing heavily in his seat, clutching his head.
"Oh shit," Yusuf mutters, grabbing a syringe from his bag. He moves quickly, leaning over Geiszler and grabbing Gottlieb's arm. Gottlieb snatches his cane and manages to crack Yusuf over the shoulder, but not before the sedative is administered. Yusuf takes the cane and eases Gottlieb back carefully into his seat, once again unconscious.
"What was that about?" Ariadne asks.
Yusuf rubs his shoulder tenderly. "I have no idea."
—
The soil is wet, and the ground shakes cataclysmically beneath Hermann's feet. He tumbles to the ground, landing hard on his knees in the mud. A dark shadow moves across the early evening sky.
No...
Fear strikes at the heart of Hermann, clutching his breath in his lungs. He watches the monster move past toward the conference hall.
No! He shouts at himself. Get a grip! There is no kaiju, this is a dream!
He stumbles to his feet and makes his way for the doors.
Through the windows he sees two men shouting, pointing in terror at the massive kaiju wreaking havoc across the grounds. As Hermann grabs the doorknob, he recognizes one as the man who shot him.
Blinded by rage, he tears the door open to find the men gone, and Newt collapsed on the ground.
"Newton!" Hermann shouts, stumbling over to his partner. He presses his fingers against Newt's throat and finds a steady pulse, but his breathing is erratic. "My God, Newton, what happened?"
Newt does not respond. Hermann wipes the blood from Newt's face—kaiju blood—this is just a dream, do not forget that—and notes briefly that Newt is laying in the recovery position, as if someone was trying to make sure he does not choke and suffocate.
The wall at the end of the hall crumbles beneath a giant claw, and an empty void lies beyond.
Just a dream.
Hermann leans over Newt, combing his fingers through his hair. "You're dreaming, Newton. It's just a nightmare. You can wake up."
Newt is real, Hermann is sure of that. Since the drift, they often get pulled into each other's dreams. He can feel the heartbeat beneath Newt's skin beating in time with his own, just as it does when they collapse in a heap on the overstuffed couch in the lab.
But Hermann doesn't understand what is wrong with him. Maybe he is really injured, up there... wherever they are in the waking world.
Newt's breathing turns to a whine, and his jaw clamps shut. His head snaps back and his spine arches. Tremors race through his limbs.
"No, no no no no! Dammit, Newton! Wake up!"
Hermann watches helplessly as Newt begins to seize.
—
"What in the hell was that?" Eames nearly shouts, lunging from his chair. Arthur growls as he pulls the cannula from his arm.
"Are you all right? What happened?" Ariadne exclaims, rushing over.
"Don't need a bloody totem after that, Christ," Eames grouses.
Arthur catches his breath, then levels a look at Ariadne and Yusuf. "Just a giant kaiju collapsing the dream. Fucking delightful." He runs a hand through his slicked-back hair. "I think we're both fine, but—"
A strained, gurgling gasp interrupts them.
"Oh my god!" Yusuf grabs his bag and runs over to Geiszler as he twists in his seat and begins to seize. "Don't hold him down, but make sure he doesn't hurt himself."
Yusuf retrieves a midazolam autoinjector and yanks off the cap. He holds his palm against Geiszler's thigh to steady him, then jabs the needle into the muscle, counting to ten before pulling it back out. He watches with baited breath as the seizure begins to break. The tremors slow, and Geiszler slumps in his seat. Yusuf checks his pulse and breathing, then collapses back into his own chair.
"Please tell me after all of this that you got everything," Yusuf entreats them.
Arthur looks down at the floor, exceptionally pissed. "We need to go back in."
"What?!" Ariadne exclaims. "It's way too dangerous—for you and for them!" She waves a hand toward the unconscious scientists.
"It wasn't dangerous for us, we got out just fine. And you broke his seizure, right?"
Yusuf nods.
"Then we do it one more time. I think I know what we did wrong. If he seizes again, then we bail on the job." Arthur fixes them with a hard stare.
"Jesus, darling," Eames mutters, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "So Plan B? I go in as Marshall Hansen, wave around confidential files, and hope he puts everything in there?"
"That's right," Arthur says, settling back in his seat.
Yusuf sighs and reinserts the cannula from where it was pulled out of Geiszler's arm, wiping the trickle of blood away with a swab.
"Are you ready?" Yusuf asks, then plunges them in.
—
Hermann focuses his attention on Newt, carding his fingers through his hair.
He does not look out at the void surrounding them, the empty space left by the collapsed dream.
He does not look at the massive shadows swimming in the void.
He looks down at Newt, face stained with blue blood and breathing slow, but steady. He sees his eyes start to move beneath his eyelids.
"Are you dreaming within a dream?" Hermann asks quietly, burying his nose into Newt's hair. Newt's lips twitch quietly.
After some time, Newt's hand moves clumsily to hold Hermann's and press it to his chest.
"Hey," Newt says in a raw voice.
"Hello," Hermann returns, smiling down at Newt. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," Newt rasps, leaning into Hermann's touch.
"I imagine you do. I'm afraid you've had a seizure." Hermann squeezes Newt's hand.
"Ughh," Newt groans. "Did I piss myself?"
Hermann shakes his head. "No, I don't believe you did."
"Ok then, I'm gonna just lie here for a while." He nestles his head in Hermann's lap.
"Hush," Hermann admonishes.
"You hush," Newt whispers.
"No, you," Hermann replies, and resumes combing his fingers through Newt's hair.
The void stretches on infinitely around them.
—
Something pricks at Hermann's skin, that feeling of foreignness he felt in the dream of the convention center. He grits his teeth and looks up to find that he and Newt are stretched out on a couch in the corner of a not-quite-familiar lab.
"Scheisse," Hermann hisses.
He hears footsteps in the hall, the heavy boots of Marshal Hansen. Hermann shoves a hand beneath the couch cushions and concentrates with all his might.
Newt starts as the doors swing open and Hansen walks in. Hermann presses him back down gently and fixes Hansen with a murderous stare.
"Dr. Gottlieb," Hansen calls, seemingly ignoring Hermann's expression. "I need the final reports from you and Newt on all of the kaiju drifts." He holds up a folder as he approaches.
Hermann pulls a pistol from beneath the couch cushions and levels it at Hansen. "Don't come any closer," he snarls.
Newt looks at the gun, then back at Hermann. What the fuck? he mouths.
Hermann squeezes his hand. "It's alright, Newton. You're dreaming."
Hansen raises an eyebrow at Hermann. "Dr. Gottlieb—"
"Shut up," Hermann growls. "I know you aren't Marshal Hansen. I expect you're part of a—what's the term—dream sharing team? Searching after intelligence on the kaiju drifts?"
"Dr. Gottlieb, I honestly don't know what you're talking about. Now put down that gun before you hurt someone," Hansen orders.
Hermann cocks the pistol and tries not to let his hand shake.
"Tell me who you are, now."
Hansen sighs and shrugs. His accent slips. "I'd rather not, darling." He flips through the folder, looking disappointed.
Hermann sucks in a breath. "Then listen to me, you degenerate. If I catch wind that you have released any information on the drift, I will track you down and destroy you. I will follow you to the ends of the earth and make your lives a living hell."
Hansen fixes him with an unimpressed look. "I've tangled with dangerous men before. I very much doubt it, love."
"Only recently we slew three-thousand-ton monsters and locked them out of our universe. What do you think I wouldn't do to you?"
Hermann pulls the trigger without waiting for an answer.
—
Faculty Housing, Stanford
"Dude, they even dug my tattoos!" Geiszler exclaims, tossing his jacket over the couch. "I'm telling you, best research team ever. Present company excepted."
"Well I'm glad you've finally found someone with as poor taste as yourself," Hermann retorts. "And we were never on a research team together. We merely shared a lab." Hermann walks into the kitchen and stops short.
"I feel like 'merely shared a lab' is a gross mischaracterization, dude," Newt says, and nearly bumps into Hermann on his way into the kitchen. "Hey, what—"
"Dr. Gottlieb, Dr. Geiszler," says a lanky man with slicked-back hair, standing in their kitchen. "I have a proposal that I think you will find most interesting."
Hermann reaches for the knife block and hurls a butcher knife at the intruder.
"Holy shit!!" Newt yells, pulling Hermann back. "You can't just throw knives at people! Even if they are smug home invaders in fancy suits."
"That is one of the men who attacked us on the plane," Hermann snarls.
"The—dream sharing thing?" Newt asks.
"That's what I'd like to talk to you about," the man says, easing away from the knife stuck in the wall. "I think there's much to explore between the realms of dream sharing and the drift."
"Oh man, cool!" Newton exclaims.
"Newton!" Hermann shouts.
"Do you have a PASIV? Can I see it?"
Hermann growls and makes another grab for the knife block before Newt can wrestle him away.
"I'll just leave my card here," the man says, dropping a slip on the counter. "If you're interested, give me a call and ask for Arthur. I'll see myself out."
"Okay, bye!" Newt calls, holding Hermann until the apartment is empty.
"You, Newton, will be the death of me," Hermann says, shaking him by the collar.
"That's not even a little bit true," Newt says, pulling Hermann in tight.
"It's at least a little bit true," he grumbles in Newt's ear.
"Maybe just a little bit," Newton concedes.
"You are not calling that man," Herman scowls.
"Not tonight," Newt offers. "Probably not even this week."
"I hate you with every fiber of my being."
Newt buries his face against Hermann's neck. "I love you too."