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The first year, Hermann wasn't even planning on getting gifts for the lab.
Perhaps he can blame his incredible focus for this - due to his policy of never engaging with non-work related office talk, he hadn't realised it was something the others were organising until Henri said "See you at eight," on his way out of the door - but that would require some suspension of belief, as the real reason was simply that he hadn't considered them close enough to buy gifts for.
He cornered Geiszler in the kitchen, where he was making a sickly sweet-smelling tea. He would rather not let the man see him in a place of misinformation, but he was the only one he'd made an enemy of, so was somewhat contradictorily the only person available to unload his less-than-perfections onto.
"What's this about gifts," he demanded.
"What about 'em?" Geiszler replied without looking up from his precarious teabag draining.
"I haven't heard anything about having to buy each other gifts."
At this, he turned around and Hermann rolled his eyes because he's got his smug grin plastered over an expression of amazement, and he was regretting this conversation pre-emptively.
"JJ's been talking about it since November, dude, you can't have missed it unless you're completely oblivious to life outside your chalkboard."
Hermann swallowed down the natural line of argument that sprung to mind at that, because he needed something from Geiszler for once, and apparently he had a time limit. "I have been... preoccupied."
Geiszler whistled and wheeled back around to dispose of his teabag in the recycling with a flourish. "Well, I guess it's reassuring to know it's not just me you flat-out ignore."
"So," Hermann prompted.
"Right, so, uh. We're going for a drink later and everyone's swapping presents. Should be fun."
"I... don't have anything," Hermann said rather obviously.
Geiszler raised his eyebrows and Hermann could hear an echo of him from some other conversation say, No shit Sherlock.
"It'd be kinda shitty of you to not show up," he pointed out. "Also: we're gonna be here for at least five years, it's about time you started making nice with the guys."
"I am perfectly civil," Hermann retorted.
Geiszler snorted. "Okay, whatever. My point is," he took a sip from his mug mid-sentence, and Hermann had never hated anyone more; it was such a blatant assertion of power, but Hermann had no idea how for remedy the blasted gift situation so he had no choice but to deal with it. "You have, what, three hours? Go get some chocolate or something, or a pair of novelty socks. It's not hard."
"Will that... suffice?"
"We all have the same paycheck, dude."
It's surprisingly sound advice to have come from a moron. He went and purchased the nicest chocolate he could find in his limited window, and by the time he was headed to the bar he had downgraded the whole ordeal to a minor blip in his evening rather than a more damning social blunder he would have to rectify later.
Of course, he should never have taken a moron's advice.
Everyone handed over their books and scarves and yes, chocolate, and it all seemed to be fine until Giezsler himself brought out a splitting bag of presents with great panache and that same smug grin as before.
As he passed Hermann a dossier of Malkin papers - a collection Hermann had been attempting to track down for months now, digitally, because he had been under the impression they had never been commercially printed - he couldn't help feeling slighted. Geiszler had clearly wanted to be in this position, the moral high ground of sorts even if his intentions were less than selfless. His suspicions were confirmed when he narrowed his eyes at the man, and the man merely winked back and carried on distributing his obnoxious gifts.
That was how it started.
The next year, Hermann bought a ticket to the royal ballet in Berlin that coincided with Geiszler's fortnight home.
Geiszler, in return, bought him a Rotchschild orchid .
It was one of the only traditions that held up throughout the years, this one-upmanship of who could find the best present, the surreptitious emailing of the other's relatives to find more and more obscure and personal points of interest. Hermann couldn't work out if it was the reason they had days they could exchange tight smiles instead of insults, or the reason they were still stuck in a perpetual loop of ferocity most of the time, unable to move past such an embedded sense of competition. Whichever it was, it was a highlight of every year, especially as the years started getting more dire.
The Christmas after he turns thirty three, something inexplicably changed. Well, perhaps it was more that everything had been changing so minutely for so long that it was entirely inevitable, if surprising nonetheless.
Neither of them were going home. They had a weekend off for the holidays and it was logistically far-fetched to fly across the globe for a few hours with family, and it was their job now to obey logistics above all else.
Hermann was working late; there was no reason not to. Geiszler was still in the lab, although Hermann suspected not for any useful reason. Occasionally a clatter of metal could be heard, here and there some muttering.
Around eleven, Geiszler knocked on Hermann's desk like a door - a new habit. "It's time," he said dramatically, and it was like so many Decembers before, but almost in the way of parodying them, re-enacting. When Hermann looked up to serve out his customary glare, he saw properly for the first time the circles under the man's eyes and the slant of his tie that was listing beyond even his standards.
He glared anyway, and tried not to analyse the fact that he was doing it because he knew Geiszler's shoulders would relax at the familiarity of their tug-of-war. It was something he'd noticed, over time.
Then he nodded shortly and took up his cane, hooked the end to the handle of his second drawer and pulled it open. Assertion of power.
"Such grace, as usual," Geiszler quipped, and it was perfectly in its place but still sounded like a script. Damn if Hermann was going to be the one to mention it, though.
Geiszler sat on the edge of the desk like a child, shoes barely touching the ground. He plucked the box from the drawer and handed it to Hermann to ceremoniously, and idiotically, hand it back, before producing its counterpart and giving that to him as well.
Normally there's general ribbing at this stage, maybe a stab or two at something Hermann had done earlier in the day, but this time there was just the ominous creaking of equipment and the scrape of Hermann's cane as he replaced it by his side.
Geiszler raised an eyebrow as if to say, Same time?
They opened their respective boxes with pre-prepared accusations on their tongues, ready for what had always come before, but it became immediately apparent that this was not like before.
It was an album - one from the polaroid days, one from before the end of the world. The front said K-SCIENCE MANILA 'DOME in block pen.
There were pictures of the team from move-in day, everyone tired but excited, boxes stacked in the corner and Geiszler flipping a peace sign. There was Henri batting away the camera with his tablet, mouth forming someone's name. The first lockdown, everyone with their heads down. The third, everyone crowded around c-screen, not having slept for two days. Mal biting an apple as she looks up at Hermann's blackboard. A couple of technicians showing JJ how to moonwalk. Press photos. Graffiti'd selfies of Geiszler and most of the team in various combinations. Mal's twenty fifth birthday at Blue Lights. The zeroes. Tiago laughing with Milo and Serenity in August, six days before their Jaeger malfunctioned in the middle of a fight. Henri's leaving dinner. The London conference, Hermann at the podium glancing at his notes. Hermann at the top of his step-ladder, arm outstretched. Hermann's official Oslo placement picture. Hermann writing in the shadow of a blurry kaiju jar, face bathed in eerie red.
It was all there, the whole seven years. Every major event, every inconsequential moment.
Hermann swallowed, and looked up at Geiszler at last.
Their eyes met, and it was nothing like it had been before.
"Great minds think alike, huh," Geiszler said. Hermann just looked down at the album cover again, pressed his cold fingers the the spine. It was older than the one he had bought, a little sun-faded.
Newton cleared his throat. "Where do we go from here, then?"