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“You’ve drunk all the coffee.”
It isn’t a new argument. It’s one they’ve had many times before. But somehow, it feels more urgent this time around, made even worse by the fact that the little toad won’t even look up from his computer screen.
“Newton. You’ve drunk all the coffee.”
“Yeah, dude, I heard you the first time.”
“Then you might try answering when someone speaks to you.”
“Why?” Newton snaps. “You’re gonna bitch at me either way. I thought you’d get done faster if I didn’t interrupt.”
Hermann sputters incoherently for a moment before he remembers his dignity and throws himself into his desk chair. He has work to do, work unrelated to his infuriating lab partner, and if he has to get to it uncaffeinated, so be it.
“Did you at least order more?” he asks.
“Budget’s dry. Can’t order anything until the end of the month.”
“Damn!” Hermann picks up a pencil only to slam it down again. “What did you buy?”
“Don’t act like this is my fault! They cut our funding again, asshole. Have you seen how much our budget’s been slashed? We can barely get rubber gloves and chalk.”
Hermann swears rather more than he likes to in front of an audience. Newton pokes aggressively at the machine he’s tinkering with.
“Just go to the mess hall,” Newton suggests. “Coffee’s free there.”
“They ran out yesterday.” Hermann curls one hand against his temple, hoping to stave off the oncoming headache through force of will alone, and gets to work. He’s not even tired, he tells himself. He doesn’t need it. It’s just that he and Newton both have lived on caffeine and little else for the past few months, and he will experience withdrawals if he skips his morning cup.
“You could drink tea,” Newton says after a few minutes. “You want tea?”
“There is no tea. There’s nothing left but chamomile.” Which is lovely at the end of a long day when he needs to relax, but no use to anyone now.
“Shit,” says Newton. “Look, if you’re desperate, I keep a Monster under my bed in case of emergencies.”
“Vile,” says Hermann. He’ll deal with the headache. Besides, it’s going to be an emergency tomorrow when there’s still no coffee. Newton will need that energy drink for himself.
Hermann continues writing up his reports. Newton keeps working on improving his equipment. Hermann’s headache blossoms.
“Stop moaning,” Newton says after a bit.
“I am not—ah—moaning! And if I were, do you think you have any room to tell me to be quiet?”
“Hermann, you’re moaning,” Newton insists.
“Excuse me for distracting you from your very important work,” Hermann huffs. “I’ll try to keep my misery to a manageable level.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Newton grabs his own half-drunk cup of coffee, storms over, and slams it down on Hermann’s desk. Cold coffee sloshes over the rim, all over Hermann’s paperwork.
“My reports!”
“Drink up, bitch!” Newton yells.
“Don’t call me a bitch, you—you bitch!” Oh, lord, his vocabulary has finally deserted him. “And don’t try to placate me with your leavings!”
“Just take it, Hermann, you’re driving me crazy!”
“For you, that’s a very short drive!”
Newton stares at him in silence for just a second, mouth pinched shut, looking almost hurt. Then he swats the cup off the desk. The last of the coffee arcs through the air. Ceramic shatters on the floor.
Hermann flinches back from the sudden sweep of Newton’s hand. It doesn’t even cross his mind that Newton might be trying to hit him; their interactions, tempestuous as they are, have never been violent. But still, sudden movement, instinct; he flinches.
“Shit.” Newton backs away, hands held up before him. He looks horrified, and that cuts the legs out from under anything Hermann might want to say to him.
“Newton?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m going out.”
He runs before Hermann has a chance to process what’s happening here. And because Hermann does not have time to think it through, he does what he probably shouldn’t, grabs his cane, and follows.
It’s been twenty years since he was able to run, but after so many years of practice walking with a cane, Hermann can move a good deal faster than people tend to expect. He also has better stamina than Newton, who sprints to the end of the corridor and then slows to a brisk, wheezing walk.
“Wait,” Hermann calls after him.
“What, are you following me now?”
“Your powers of perception are unmatched. Come back here, Newton, I’m talking to you.”
“Can you not?” Newton skids around the corner.
Hermann slows, then stops, frowning to himself. He could chase Newton down and make him explain just what exactly is going on here. Or he could let Newton go.
It’s not as if he won’t come back. They can’t get away from each other these days.
He tells himself that, but it doesn’t make the lab’s silence any less unsettling.
Hermann fails to get any more work done that morning. His head is killing him. He has really got to cut down on his caffeine intake. This is absurd.
At last, he gives in to his misery and lies down on the couch under a blanket, hoping a short nap, or at least half an hour of dark and quiet with the blanket over his head, will do him some good.
Naturally, Newton chooses that moment to return to the lab, banging the door open with unnecessary force.
“Hey, Hermann, guess what!” he bellows, then evidently notices Hermann’s position under the blanket, because he lowers his voice to whisper, loudly, “Shit, shit, shit!”
“I’m awake,” says Hermann. “What do you want?”
“I…brought you something?” He shuffles closer, and Hermann peels the blanket back from his face purely out of a sense of self preservation, because when Newton brings him something, there is a not insignificant statistical likelihood that it’s going to be the sort of prank that only Newton could find amusing.
Newton is holding a cardboard container from a local restaurant. The kind one gets for parties. The kind they fill with coffee.
“Is this a trick?” Hermann asks.
“Dude. I had to go to like six different places for this. It’s a peace offering.”
PPDC employees don’t have to rely on the ration books that are issued to civilians, which is a blessing most of the time. But it does mean that they’re reliant on the Shatterdome for most of their sustenance. They can, theoretically, go into town and eat at any restaurant they like, but in practice it’s often more hassle than it’s worth. And the rationing system has so severely cut down on imports and exports, luxuries like coffee are nearly impossible to get outside of the commissary and their own special orders. Having to go to “like six places” in town is likely underselling his effort.
“Did you sell a kidney for this?” Hermann asks.
“Well, not one of mine.” He smiles, and if not for the pounding behind his eyes, Hermann might be tempted to smile back.
Hermann watches as Newton pours them each a cup. No cream or sugar for either of them, which is quite all right. The coffee is enough of a surprise. More would be a miracle.
Newton settles into the far end of the couch. They drink in blissful silence. Hermann’s cup is nearly empty before he remembers to say, “Thank you, Newton.”
“I’m sorry I broke your cup.”
“It was your cup,” Hermann reminds him.
“I stole it from you.”
“Yes, I know. But I never liked that one.”
“Good,” says Newton. “Still sorry.”
Hermann sips his coffee, frowning thoughtfully.
“Why?” he asks after a moment.
“Why am I sorry? I thought you’d want me to apologize.”
“Mm.” Hermann shrugs one shoulder and drinks more coffee. An apology from Newton is neither expected nor required, although the gesture is appreciated. “I was upset that the coffee was gone, not that you had a bit of a tantrum about it. We both have our issues in that regard.” Which is the closest Hermann is willing to come to apologizing for his own past behavior. Their spats are, after all, not always entirely Newton’s fault.
Newton refills his cup, and tops off Hermann’s while he’s at it. He sits back down, more nervous than Hermann has seen him in a long time.
“All right?” Hermann asks.
“You flinched,” Newton says, not meeting Hermann’s eyes.
“What?”
“You looked like you thought I was going to hit you.”
“No, I know you wouldn’t,” says Hermann.
“You do?”
“Of course. I know you better than that.”
Newton hunches over his cup for a long, quiet moment.
“How do you know?” he asks.
“Are you…concerned?” He surveys his lab partner thoughtfully. “You may shout and throw things when you’re angry, but it’s all just noise. Harmless. You’ve never given me reason to be afraid of you.”
“I haven’t?” He’s more surprised by that than he should be.
“You’re not a violent person.” Newton’s abrasive exterior is an effective disguise for what lies within, but Hermann has seen the truth of him by now. He’s…kind, at heart. The sort of man who would rescue a kitten from a tree even knowing he’ll get his arms scratched to ribbons for his trouble. He has a very poor grasp of proper social behavior, but he does not hurt others if he can help it. Not even Hermann, not even when both their tempers run hot.
“You don’t think I might go crazy and, I don’t know, do something?” Newton asks, with a sullen, half-fearful look.
“Good God, no.” He never should have made a crack about the man’s mental stability, but he hadn’t thought Newton would take the comment seriously. “You are—”
“Not playing with a full deck,” Newton finishes for him.
“Stop putting words in my mouth. You are not a danger to anyone but yourself, even at your worst, so don’t expect me to be intimidated by you.”
“Oh. Okay,” Newton says. “I’m, uh…I’m glad you, um…Okay.”
They sit in blissful quiet. The pounding behind Hermann’s eyes subsides into a bearable ache. He silently vows to give up caffeine altogether. Someday.
Newton gets up to pour himself more coffee, and, while he’s too occupied to look in Hermann’s direction, quietly says, “I had this ex.”
“Oh?”
“He used to do shit like…that. Break stuff when I pissed him off.”
“Oh?” Hermann says again, keeping a tight lid on the unexpected surge of anger rising up inside him. “He got violent with you?”
“No, I mean, he never hit me or anything, but it was kind of the implication. You know, like, smash! Shape up or you’re next, dude. I never was,” he stresses, trying much too hard to convince himself that everything is fine. “He was just trying to scare me, he never hurt me, but—”
“Newton,” Hermann says sharply, and Newton falls silent. “I’m sorry,” Hermann says. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
“Oh. Um. No, that—that’s not what you were supposed to take from this. I’m apologizing for being a dick, not looking for sympathy. And, I mean, I kind of did feel like I deserved it for always pissing him off, you know, making him lose his temper, I mean that’s what he always said, and if I complained he’d say I was acting crazy and remind me how grateful I should be because it’s not like anybody else would put up with me, right?”
“Wrong. That man was an absolute bellend,” Hermann says flatly. Newton looks faintly confused, so he clarifies, “Not good enough for you. You should have broken it off immediately.” And slashed his tires. That’s what Hermann would have done. Might still do, if he ever meets the man who made Newton feel so worthless.
“No, I did!” Newton says, smiling at the remembrance. “Once I realized it was always my stuff he broke, not his, because somehow he could manage to control himself then, y’know? When I figured that out I dumped his ass. Anyway, it wasn’t even that bad, it’s just that I never wanted to act like him, and maybe I don’t always think about how I’m coming across, so. Sorry. And stuff.” He takes another swig of coffee.
“I see,” says Hermann. “Apology accepted, then. And you don’t have to worry. You’re not like him.”
“Okay. Sure.” Newton rolls his eyes, which is not the proper response to Hermann’s quite sincere reassurance, but Hermann doesn’t fight him on it. “Still, sorry if I scared you or anything. Which, like.” He sips his coffee to cover a thoughtful frown. “You flinched. You don’t have to tell me, but—you did flinch.”
Ah. So now they’re sharing. Hermann considers his options. He could simply keep his mouth shut, as Newton’s already given him permission not to explain. But Newton has just given him some rather sensitive information, and Hermann dislikes asymmetry in their relationship.
“You reminded me of my father, a bit.”
Newton straightens up, bristling with sudden indignation.
“Your fucking asshole father—” he starts, building up to a furious screech.
“Didn’t hurt any of us,” Hermann interrupts. “It wasn’t a matter of losing his temper and lashing out.” No, it was never about anger, but control. “He liked to make a lot of noise—” Hermann thumps his palm against the couch cushion, a pale imitation of his father’s sudden slams and bangs. “—to be sure he had my undivided attention. It was ‘disrespectful’ not to look at him when he was talking to me.” And Hermann did learn to maintain proper eye contact in times of stress, so as far as his father is concerned, it was all worthwhile.
“Shit,” says Newton. “I didn’t know that. Um…” He fidgets uncertainly, undoubtedly considering all the shouting he’s done and all the things he’s thrown around the room over the years they’ve worked together.
“You are a force of constant chaos. You make noise because it comes naturally to you. You don’t do it suddenly, out of nowhere, for the sole purpose of frightening others into submission.”
“I didn’t think you could be frightened into submission,” Newton says.
Hermann is surprised enough to laugh. Newton doesn’t really know him at all, does he? After all this time.
“I’m pleased to know you think so.”
“Hermann, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kind of a badass.”
“Ah,” says Hermann. “What?” He has no idea what the man is talking about.
“Dude. It’s the end of the world, and we’re the last ones standing. You and me. You could have quit a long time ago, like your asshole dad keeps telling you to do. No one would even blame you, you know? But here you are, ready to save the damn world. Standing up to the kaiju, and the fuckwads who don’t want to pay us, and your old man too, and not one of them has what it takes to keep you down.”
“You are awfully nice when you’re angry at my father,” Hermann says.
“Bitch, I’m always nice.”
“Nice enough to bring back coffee,” Hermann allows. He takes another fortifying sip. “Thank you for that.”
“Yeah, I mean…we need to fuel up to save the day, right?”
“There’s no need to be flippant about it,” Hermann says. “I genuinely…” Ugh, this is rather difficult. “Don’t ever expect me to say this again, but you’re a good man, Newton. Even if others don’t see it, I do, and I’m…” He won’t say too much, but he can give Newton some level of honesty just the same. “There are worse people to be trapped in a lab with at the end of the world.”
“Yeah. You, too, Herms,” Newton says, with the kind of smile that rarely graces his face these days. It softens his rough edges, and makes him not altogether unpleasant to look at.
“I’m glad you left that man,” Hermann says.
“Ohhhhhh?” Newton leans in close. Coffee spills over the rim of his cup, onto Hermann’s leg. “Are you trying to tell me you’re happy I’m single?” He simpers up at Hermann, eyelashes fluttering.
“I was trying to say that I understand how difficult it can be to get away from someone who’s causing you harm, especially when they’ve got you convinced you don’t deserve any better. And I’ve seen the caliber of person you date, Newton. You have terrible taste in men as it is.”
“Dude, I’m bi. I have terrible taste in everyone.” He settles against Hermann’s shoulder. More coffee spills. “You know what, at this point, maybe I should just date you.”
“I do not find that amusing.” He’s trying to have a moment of sincerity, and all Newton can think to do is make fun of him.
“S’just a joke, you big baby.” He sits upright, which comes as something of a relief. There are times when Newton’s propensity for casual physical contact becomes a bit too much. Sometimes Hermann imagines it means more than it does; better to look at their relationship as it is, and not think of the things they can never offer each other.
“I do hope you find someone worthy of you someday,” Hermann says, and gives Newton’s knee a careful pat. He has never learned to be casual with his physical affection. He can only do it carefully.
“Eh,” Newton says with a shrug. Even more of his coffee spills, in his own lap this time. Hermann takes the precaution of moving the cup away.
“Will we be able to budget for coffee next month, do you think?” he asks.
“I sure hope so. If I run out of kidneys to sell, I’ll have to start harvesting yours.”
“I’ll be sure to lock my door at night,” Hermann says dryly. He takes another sip. “In all seriousness, I don’t know how we’re meant to carry on like this.”
“Yeah, I know. If we can’t get our caffeine fix, we might have to actually sleep. Imagine what Pentecost would say if we spent eight whole hours a day not working.”
“That’s—not entirely fair.” Hermann has slept at least four hours every night this week. Sometimes more. And no one is telling them they have to stay in the lab at all hours, working themselves to the bone.
Not in so many words.
“We should go on strike,” Newton says.
“You know damn well we can’t. Fate of the world on our shoulders, and all that.”
“Then they should treat us better.” He drinks the rest of his coffee, and thumps his cup down on the nearest table. “Trying to save the goddamn world and we can’t even get a cup of joe.”
“Yes…” They’ll drink what Newton has brought them. It’ll go cold, then stale, and if they try to save some for tomorrow it will get even worse. They’ll put it in the fridge overnight, and it will come out tasting of last week’s leftovers, and they’ll drink it anyway. And then it will be gone, and they’ll be back to this same predicament.
“Do you think we’ll make it to the end?” Newton asks.
“We’re stubborn batards, both of us,” Hermann says. They won’t quit. But that’s not an answer to the question Newton is asking. What he’s really asking is, how soon will the end come? And the answer is, soon. All too soon, their time will run out. The kaiju get bigger, come faster, and already humanity is barely a step ahead. And they’ll die here, he and Newton, together. And uncaffeinated.
“We have to think of something,” Newton says. His eyes roam around the room, seeking inspiration and finding nothing.
He’s right. They do have to think of something, because if they don’t, no one else will. But how are they meant to solve all the world’s problems when they can’t even find a proper solution to their own lack of supplies?
“I’m going to get back to work,” Hermann says. He uses his companion’s shoulder as leverage to get himself upright, but Newton catches at his sleeve before he can let go.
“I’m going to figure it out,” Newton insists, with a confidence that a more hopeful person might find easy to believe.
“Not if I get there first,” Hermann counters. He gives Newton’s hand some kind of awkward half-squeeze. “Don’t go selling any more kidneys, Doctor. We’ll want you alive at the end of this.”
“Mm, yeah.” He stares, unfocused, at the specimen tanks on his side of the lab. Hermann almost smiles. He’s seen that face before. When Newton gets lost in his head like this, he generally comes up with something brilliant at the end of it. Or something incredibly stupid and self-destructive. Occasionally even both at once.
Hermann retreats to his own side of the lab, where his chalkboard awaits. He makes a silent resolution to be nicer to his lab partner. They can be quite good friends, the two of them, when they make the effort.
He’s not fooling himself; he knows what his resolution is worth. All the best intentions will fall to the wayside the moment either of them is even slightly inconvenienced, and they’ll descend right back into bad habits and hurt feelings. But even so, they’ll work their way forward. And come hell or high water, they’ll do it together.
With worldwide destruction the certain alternative, do they have any other choice?