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Newt has to wonder why in his almost two-decade-long career, no one’s ever decided to host a K-Sci convention anywhere but on the bottom floor of a stuffy hotel. Otherwise unoccupied ballrooms chock full with plastic fold-out chairs and tables so that industry professionals can meet and mingle, and talk over one another because they’re all just as insufferable to be around. Newt feels like maybe every once in a while, these big conferences should be held somewhere with a little more character to it besides a gaudy, variegated hotel carpet.
He’s sure he’ll feel a bit better about it all once he gets a chance to check out the hall of merchandise vendors, but for now, he only finds solace in his tiny cup of event-provided lemon water that he poured for himself from a spigot in the corner. Maybe he can convince Hermann to stop by the front desk’s convenience shop with him on their way back up to their room and pick up some of those mini vodka bottles. If fruit essence water is all this convention is providing him with, he might as well make the most of it.
Frankly, he’s tired of the pleasantries. The shaking people’s hands, keeping eye contact, and all the polite nodding. He’s still not all that comfortable with the thanks they — him and Hermann — receive. Of course, he appreciates it. It is better to be recognized for your feats as a scientist than to have it all swept under the rug.
Some of it was, of course. Newt’s direct contact with the enemy had been deemed by officials with more influence than him as, “unsanctioned and a poor reflection of the PPDC,” therefore, “not noteworthy”. While drifting with the Kaiju brain was one of several key events leading to the ultimate war-ending discovery, Newt was encouraged to keep his methods out of the public eye, presenting only the facts gleaned from the experience. The word “disturbing” was thrown around a lot when considering what the public reaction would be. “Horrifying” was thrown around more.
Uncharacteristically, Newt didn’t start a riot over this. Maybe he would if Hermann wasn’t so adamant in every post-war interview that Newt’s involvement was crucial to obtaining the knowledge necessary to close the breach.
So, they both ended up in textbooks, were interviewed for documentaries, and were often caught off-guard in the junk food aisle of their neighborhood grocery store by someone thanking them for their service. Newt never truly knows how to feel when that happens. His hands halfway to the salt and vinegar chips in front of him, while he looks wide-eyed at whoever has just caught him by surprise. There’s much to be said about the mundanity of buying a party-sized bag of greasy snacks contrasted with the knowledge that just over two years ago, he helped save the world. He appreciates the thanks, but the weight of gratitude can be overwhelming sometimes.
He knows Hermann struggles with it too, maybe even more than him. He cuts people off when they launch into their stories, praising him for saving them, their family, the city, the country, the world. The second the conversation slips into messiah territory, he gives them a courteous nod and heads on his way. Abrupt, but politer than he’s typically known to be. It’s hard to be short when someone’s expressing undying gratitude. He’s always quiet for a while after that, biting the insides of his cheek. Newt rests his hand on Hermann’s upper back and lightly rubs at the base of his neck. I know, man. I feel it too.
Luckily, not everyone knows what the K-Science division of the Hong Kong shatter dome looks like. They aren’t exactly late-night talk show material like some of the Jaeger pilots or the younger faces of the K-Sci field. That changes when they’re at places like this though. Conventions where everyone either admires them, envies them, or wants something from them. Personally, Newt just loves it when he’s in conversation with a colleague and can’t tell if their ultimate goal is to become his own personal doormat or to kill him and steal his identity.
It’s just for the weekend, Newt reminds himself as he throws on his jacket and grabs his hotel key card, ready to head down to the convention floor.
“It’s just for the weekend,” Hermann echoes to his left, fiddling with his lapels in the mirror. They lock eyes briefly and send each other comforting smiles. Newt’s going to pocket the image and hold onto it all day.
It’s Friday evening and as one of the invited keynote speakers, it’s Hermann’s job to grumble about his work on stage for 30 minutes, and give almost the same presentation he’s been giving for the past year and a half. Almost, because after he practiced in the hotel room in front of Newt the night before, Newt’s main criticism was that his visuals were boring as hell. Hermann reluctantly let him add some pops of color and sick slide transitions, but unfortunately drew the line at animated flames and outro music.
Newt isn’t speaking at the symposium but has a couple of panels he’s supposed to be participating in on Saturday and Sunday. One dedicated to the future of K-Science, where it goes from here and what we can still learn in the aftermath, and the other — strikingly more lighthearted — Queers in K-Sci. For now though, he gets to delight in being an audience member for once.
They’re about to walk into the presenting room, lingering outside till the sign of clapping lets them know that the current speaker is done and it’s appropriate to sneak their way in. Newt’s leaned against the outer wall, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other swirling his glass of slightly flavored water, still wishing it was spiked.
Hermann is fidgeting in front of him, not necessarily from nerves. Newt knows he’s taking the time to go through his presentation, getting himself in the headspace, the fussy impatient part of himself just wanting to get it over with. Hermann has never had a fear of public speaking but that doesn’t mean he enjoys any part of it.
Newt pulls his hand out of his pocket and stretches it towards Hermann, palm up. Hermann jumps a little and his gaze darts between the hand and Newt’s face, which is half hidden by the cup of water he’s sipping from. His stiff shoulders are quick to fall into a relaxed hunch. He releases the pressure he’s been holding between his brows as one of his hands leaves the other where they were both resting atop the handle of his cane. Once his hand finds its way into Newt’s, it’s clutched softly, a light grasp he can easily wiggle his way out of if he pleases.
The pad of Newt’s thumb runs gently across his knuckles, “Day’s almost over. No need to stress. It’s unnecessary.”
“You’re unnecessary,” Hermann huffs but inches closer to Newt and holds on to his hand a little tighter.
Newt takes it as permission to bring the hand up to his lips and press a kiss to the bony joints he was just rubbing.
“If you want my opinion, I think we should just save ourselves the stress and retire right now. We’ve made enough contributions,” he talks against his knuckles, peppering soft kisses every so often. “I’m tired of contributing. Can’t we just-“
He’s interrupted by the noise of applause behind the door he’s leaning beside. Actually, he’s interrupted by Hermann jerking his hand away upon hearing the applause and returning to his stern countenance. It’s definitely not a secret that Dr. Newton Geiszler and Dr. Hermann Gottlieb are dating, but Hermann’s not one for public displays of affection. He knows the second they get back to their hotel room he’ll pull Newt onto the comforter and bury his face in the crook of his neck.
Hermann starts to move towards the door, but Newt’s arm shoots out to form a blockade, “Hey...”
Hermann lets out a weary sigh, “Yes, Darling?”
The corner of Newt’s mouth quirks up, “You’re literally going to be the smartest and hottest person in that room so if anyone should be worried, it’s me.”
Hermann rolls his eyes, but it seems like Newt’s attempt to loosen his knots once again has worked, if only for a moment. He’ll take that.
The previous presenter is still taking questions as they enter the auditorium, house lights brought up dimly for the moment to let people make their way to and from their seats as needed. He gives Hermann’s arm one final squeeze before ducking past him towards an aisle seat.
He’d like to just be able to dip out once Hermann’s speech is over, squeezing past as few people as possible, so they can fuck off and find something actually cool to do. Once again, Newt’s thrilled about a potential artists’ alley. Hermann’s banned him from hanging up Kaiju prints in their home but that won’t stop him from doing a little perusing.
He finds a group of freshly abandoned seats at the end of an aisle and decides to take the middle one, so he’s got space to be a general nuisance. He relaxes into his chair, kicking his leg up over his knee, before plucking a folded-up pamphlet from his front pocket. He opens it up, scanning his eyes over the convention details including the schedules for all the speakers and happenings. It’d probably be beneficial in the downtime he has before Hermann comes on to plan out the in-betweens of their weekend. He pulls a pen out to circle events he thinks they’ll have time to make. He also stops to draw a couple of hearts around Hermann’s name in the program.
He’s paying minimal attention to what’s happening on stage, but with the lack of audience questions, he presumes that the guy presenting before Hermann is wrapping up. Newt wads the pamphlet back up and starts to shove it in his pocket as he hears the sound of a cane clicking to his left, up the aisle and towards him.
He’s shocked at first, about to whip his head around and say something along the lines of “What are you doing, dude? You’re almost up!” but he luckily catches the words in his mouth before he embarrasses himself by speaking to a complete stranger.
It’s a kid. Not a child, but young enough that Newt can comfortably call him “kid” in conversation. The implications of what that means for him and his growing age are something he refuses to think about. He couldn’t be older than 25, but doing the weight-bearing of his right leg is a gold-accented wooden cane. The slump of his shoulders and the bloom of purple in his pitted under eyes are familiar, but it’s definitely not the man that the Pavlovian response in his brain thought it would be upon hearing the sound.
He reaches the aisle bordering seat beside Newt and places a hesitant hand on the backrest.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks in a thickly accented voice that Newt can place as vaguely eastern European. Suits him, he thinks.
Newt scootches over in his own chair, reigning in his manspreading and switching which leg was resting on which so that he doesn’t have his Doc shoved in this kid’s face for the entirety of Herm’s speech, “All yours, man!”.
He lowers himself down beside Newt, settling into the chair but keeping his cane close to him, between his thighs. Once relaxed in his seat he lets out a breath he’s been holding, tired and shaky. Newt has heard the term resting bitch face before, often applied to his partner, but this is the first time he’s seen someone’s resting face look so perpetually exhausted.
Newt continues to watch him from his peripheral, probably not doing a very good job of being discreet, but what’s one more person added to the list of people who think he’s sort of a wackadoo. The boy pulls out a pamphlet, much like the one marked up and stuffed in Newt’s own pocket, and flips it open to a dog-eared page showing the symposium schedule. Newt follows his pointer finger as it runs down the long list of names, skipping urgently over all of the presenters from this morning and afternoon, before stopping at Dr. Hermann Gottleib. It lingers significantly but ultimately finds its way a little further down the page, to the name just below Hermann.
Jayce Talis, MS student in Jaeger Technology, Piltover Shatterdome.
Newt searches his brain. He’s sure he’s heard the name somewhere. The field isn’t small, certainly no shortage of niches to study within it, but it’s not massive by any means. If there’s a master's student presenting during the same time block as Hermann fucking Gottlieb…well, he better recognize the name.
Maybe he should start listening harder when Hermann reads off work-related news during breakfast, instead of letting himself get distracted by how cute his glasses look falling off the bridge of his nose or how he’s got jelly smeared on the corner of his mouth.
He contemplates pulling his phone out to google the name, but polite clapping from the audience around him suggests that the current speaker has finally left the stage and Hermann should be up soon.
From the corner of his vision, he can see the kid’s slender fingers fidgeting with the paper between his hands…nervously? Now that Newt notices it, his whole vibe is emanating restless nerves. His brows are pinched as he stares ahead with anticipation and his presumably unaffected leg is bouncing quickly. Newt contemplates checking in, introducing himself, and asking what’s up. He’s no stranger to crossing social boundaries with people too quickly, but he isn’t sure if knowing the weird dude with all the Kaiju tattoos sitting next to you has been watching you this whole time and knows you are nervous is a comforting thought.
He leans forward inconspicuously, trying to sneak a glance at the convention-provided name tag pinned to the kid’s vest. However, his efforts are futile as the house lights are brought back down, the room’s light being replaced by the glow of a title slide that Newt’s already familiar with. Applause erupts around them as Newt smugly slouches back in his chair, feeling quite proud about who all the ruckus is for. As Newt sits back, the figure to his left sits up, scooting so far forward he’s almost falling off the edge of the seat.
Newt hears the sound of Hermann’s footsteps walking onto the stage before the audience sees him breach the barrier of curtains. The second he’s visible the applause goes from contained and polite to uproarious. Hermann doesn’t seem phased. He simply bows his head to each section of the room and makes his way across the stage to the spot he’s been designated to stand in.
Newt smirks. Rockstar.
Curiously, Newt takes another glance at his new friend beside him. He’s not cheering. He’s barely even clapping, hands out in front of him and hanging like he wants to, but they’re stuck in place mid-clap. He just stares, eyes wide and glossy with the slide’s reflection. His slack jaw leaves his mouth parted in the most relaxed expression he’s had since sitting next to Newt. He’s looking at Hermann the way Hermann looks at numbers on a chalkboard in the few seconds before he realizes he’s made a breakthrough.
Newt moves his gaze back to Hermann who stands awkwardly on the stage, both hands clutching his cane as he stares out to the crowd with a tight-lipped smile. He’s annoyed that they won’t stop cheering. Newt chuckles to himself then cups his hands around his mouth before shouting something to the effect of, “WOOOO!!! LET’S GO HERMS!!!”
Both Hermann and the kid’s necks snap in Newt’s direction. Hermann momentarily looks ready to shoot daggers but can’t keep the smile on his face from turning somewhat genuine.
“Thank you, Newton…Thank you, all,” he says into the small microphone attached to his collar. He adjusts it awkwardly causing a bit of feedback which actually aids in the silencing of the excited audience.
Newt turns to meet the kid’s stare, who is now looking at him in disbelief. He sees him look from his face to his tattoos to his name tag — which Newt took artistic liberty in decorating with juvenile drawings of sea creatures — before finally landing back on his face. Based on his fairly unique appearance and Hermann’s gratitude, he can guess that the kid has finally realized who he is sitting next to.
“Dr. Newton Geiszler?” he stammers out, not so much as a question, more so in search of a confirmation of his realization.
Newt gives him a quick two-finger salute before reaching his hand out towards him for a shake.
“Call me Newt. Nice to meet you, man!” he answers softly, being courteous to those around him now that Hermann has begun his introduction. Newt glances down to the name he didn’t get to see before, featuring a name scribbled out in the kind of messy writing that could only belong to a fellow scientist. “Nice to meet you, Viktor,” he adds.
Viktor barely blinks or loses eye contact as he goes to shake Newt’s hand, “Yes, uh, Newt.” A breathy laugh escapes from his chest. He shakes himself from his shock and reciprocates Newt’s firm handshake, “Likewise.”
They both turn to look at the stage again, not wanting to keep their attention off the man of the hour for too long. Viktor falls right back into listening to Hermann like his life depends on it.
Newt has heard this spiel an endless amount of times. He was there during the culminating research, was there during the refinement of all the information, and he was there to be Hermann’s first audience member for it. On top of that, he’s either heard it from backstage or been an audience member for it at every event Hermann’s spoken at for the past year and a half. Obviously, it’s been updated here and there to be kept current, but Newt could still recite it in his sleep.
However, what Newt hasn’t experienced is hearing this speech while sitting next to someone he’s come to realize is a pretty big fan of their work. He gets a kick out of looking over every so often to see the way Viktor reacts to the key points of Hermann’s speech.
At some point, Viktor pulls out a pen and begins to scribble notes in the margins of the symposium schedule. He’s a picture-perfect listener, tongue caught between his teeth in focus. Awe-struck by the man on the stage, he barely notices as his hair falls in front of his eyes and hangs too far forward in his field of vision. He cartoonishly blows upwards at it.
His messy writing crawls up the sides of the page and curves around the printed text. He even goes in to underline or put a star next to certain elements. Newt feels a bit pleased when it’s something that he told Hermann to put a bit of extra emphasis on for effect. It gets to the point where he’s paying more attention to Viktor’s reactions to Hermann’s presentation than the presentation itself.
There’s something cathartic about it. Newt remembers being Viktor’s age. He remembers daily stops by the mailbox on his way home from the lab, and the lonely ache that followed a stack of advertisements and bills. He also remembers tripping over his own feet because he couldn’t get inside fast enough to write a response letter when his mailbox yielded a letter from Hermann.
He remembers cramping hands and writing calluses. Kissing stamps before sticking them on envelopes and buying a polaroid camera just to send a photo of himself in a dumb Godzilla shirt.
He remembers reading over Hermann’s handwriting in dim desk lamp lighting, learning all about him, his academic achievements, and the times he got to see his own inspirations speak at seminars. He pictures Hermann as a kid in the crowd, taking in information and being in awe of it all. The mental image isn’t too far off from the reality in front of him.
As Hermann is wrapping up his presentation, Newt takes a moment to appreciate him in this element. It is not the ideal manifestation of the contributions he’s made by a long shot. It is just one of those annoying things he has to do as a scientist whose job it is to deliver his findings to the public. His ideal work environment is being encompassed by a trifold of green chalkboards. Sometimes behind a desk, toying with digital projections of the breach and running scenarios. Always across the room from formaldehyde, viscera, and Newt.
While this isn’t Hermann’s comfort zone, he looks damn good up there. He knows what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t let people forget it for a second.
As soon as the floor is opened for questions; Viktor’s hand shoots up with a startling speed. He probably should’ve been prepared for Hermann’s fanboy to jump at the opportunity, but he didn’t expect to be scared half to death in the process. Hermann was frankly already scanning the crowd for Newt, wanting the familiarity that comes with seeing your significant other after an energy-draining task, so calling on the hand closest to him was to be expected.
“Yes, young man in the aisle seat,” He gestures across the crowd and towards Viktor as the house lights are brought up to make the audience visible to Hermann. “What might you have for me?”
Newt notices something shift about Viktor’s outward display as he stands. He takes a deep breath and lifts himself from his chair with a pop of his joints. As he does so, the antsy energy dissipates, leaving behind a veneer of refined poise. It reminds Newt of the times they’ve been alone in the lab, guards down, and had an unexpected visitor drop by. The quickness with which Hermann snaps back into his arrogant confidence and professional composure. Not that he isn’t arrogantly confident all the time, Newt lives with him he would know, but he’s more polished when other people are looking.
A late-night conversation echoes somewhere in his memory, “If I make an impression before they can form an assumption then I can control the narrative.”
Viktor’s preparing to be perceived by a room full of his fellow scientists. He steps to the left slightly, out from behind the row of chairs in front of him and into the aisle, so his body is for the most part fully visible, to the crowd and Hermann.
No one knows the repertoire of expressions that cross over Hermann’s face quite like Newt. To the untrained eye, no significant change has happened in the past few seconds since Viktor has stood up. The flat line of Hermann’s mouth remains stoic and constant as always but Newt is positive that he’s the only person in this sea of scholars who notices the way Hermann’s face softens when he spots the cane, like he’s looking in a mirror.
Viktor clears his throat and projects his voice to reach Hermann across the auditorium, starting his question off with a well-mannered greeting. “It is an honor to be speaking with you Dr. Gottleib…” before launching into the most mind-numbingly boring string of words Newt’s heard outside the boundaries of Hermann’s side of the lab.
Physics jargon that goes in one ear and on its way to his brain gets tangled up in the canal, and clogs the rest of the incoming information from being processed. The number of PhDs that have his name on them may take up an entire wall of his home, but the word Physics doesn’t appear on a single one. Sometimes he regrets not expanding his knowledge of physics past that of a college sophomore, but most of the time he’s perfectly happy playing dumb so that Hermann can explain the simple concepts he’s forgotten about since undergrad.
He’ll twirl the length of hair at the base of his neck and bat his lashes, hamming it up real hard with an “Oh wow, really? That’s so cool, Herms.”
Hermann sees through it immediately yet never passes up the opportunity to educate him, cheeks going flush with crimson as he consults his bookcase.
Generally, when it doesn’t apply to his mischievous partner, Hermann isn’t so lenient while answering questions he deems “not worth the energy”. Newt prescribes to the notion that there is never a stupid question, and even those that seem unorthodox or out of place can have something of importance gleaned from them.
Hermann believes that stupid questions are being asked all the time, every day, and he has the power to not engage with them. Except for when you’re getting paid a not insignificant sum of money to speak at an event in front of all your peers, then he at least has to entertain the duds. It's why you’ll never find his name on a panel of any kind. On the unfortunate occasion that he has to take questions, he’s quite short with his responses. Some have even said abrasive or unpleasant. Shocker.
Looking up on stage now he is anything but the expected. Hermann takes his time to answer Viktor’s question, mulling it around in his brain for a couple of seconds to process. There’s a flash of excitement in his eyes, a shared curiosity peaked by the inquiry, right before he launches into his response. His answer is unpredictably thorough and enthusiastic. He takes his time, going back through his previous slides to reference his own findings. He goes past simply answering the question and bounces off of it, moving through all the potential theories that pertain. He even lets himself go off on a tangent in which he suggests other papers and research for Viktor to look into on his own time if he’s interested.
Viktor is pure delight beside him. He briefly leans his weight on his left leg and tucks his cane up under his arm so he can sloppily write all of Hermann’s suggestions on his marked-up pamphlet.
Newt has to contain the chuckle that narrowly escapes at the idea that Hermann is having fun right now. God forbid people start asking him good questions more often. Newt will never be able to drag him back home, let alone from this convention hall.
Something off stage gets Hermann’s attention mid ramble, probably alerting him of his dwindling time. Hermann nods to the unseen figure and begins reluctantly fumbling to a close, “Well, I apologize for all the unnecessary fluff, but I hope somewhere in there I was able to answer your question.”.
Viktor is elated, “Yes! Yes.” He attempts to reign it in, “Perfectly. Thank you, Dr. Gottlieb.”
No fucking way does Hermann actually send this kid a smile.
Newt is thoroughly fazed.
Hermann shrugs the appreciation off before it even reaches him, “No, Thank you…” He pauses in search of something that he doesn’t have yet, “I’m sorry, What was your name?”.
“I-“ Viktor’s words catch in his throat, only uttering broken sounds of shock for a second, too stunned at the implication that Hermann would care in the slightest what his name was, “It’s Viktor.”
Hermann nods in earnest, seeming to compartmentalize it in his brain for later remembrance.
“Well, Viktor, Thank you. I look forward to having you as a colleague in the field. If you continue asking questions of that caliber, I see you doing great things.”
Hermann moves on quickly to take a few more questions from the eager crowd before his allotted time is up, an added pep to his demeanor from the interaction. Viktor begins to lower himself back down to his seat but just resides to falling into the chair with a thud. His arms are curled inward, clutching the pamphlet against his chest where his necktie tucks into the V of his vest, as if the paper could be blown away by some nonexistent wind.
Newt notices the way Viktor leans forward, back arched and shoulders pinched, beginning to shake. The educator in him jumps forward to comfort, having dealt with a handful of crying students, most of which were Chemistry related breakdowns. But just when he’s about to lay a hand on Viktor’s back, hesitating a bit to contemplate if a gentle pat or a soothing rub is in order, he realizes that Viktor isn’t actually crying.
He’s giggling. A string of giggles, raspy but uncontrollably fond and filled with pure elation,
bubbling up from his lungs.
Newt sighs in relief and settles for a light jab to Viktor’s side with his tattooed elbow, “He’s so full of himself, isn’t he?”
Viktor swiftly pulls his hands back down to his lap, seemingly embarrassed, like he forgot that the colleague of the man he’s currently fawning over was sitting beside him the whole time. Newt cocks his head at him and grins, waiting for the kid he’s made so many observations about in such minimal time to actually speak for himself.
As if he’s sensed the question in the air between them, Viktor begins to unload, “He-...He’s a genius. I’ve, uh, followed his work since before I even started my undergrad. All of his papers, all of his books, all of his interviews- I’ve consumed them all they are..” Newt can’t tell if Viktor’s shaking his head because he disagrees with Newt’s banter or if he’s still in disbelief and trying to process it, “...to put it simply, extraordinary.”.
Newt tosses his head back and forth in an exaggerated nod, kicking his feet up onto the chair in front of him as the people occupying them get up to exit.
Viktor continues and who is Newt to interrupt.
“I remember being fresh at university and, while I knew I always wanted to be a scientist as the desire’s practically in my blood, the Kaiju sciences and Jaeger technologies were all so new and unsupported, but scientists like Dr. Gottlieb — and of course too you Dr. Geiszler — gave people faith in them. The public was desperate for immediate solutions; they didn’t want to wait for someone to gather research to give them answers. While the rest of the world panicked and sped towards the goal of closing the breach, Dr. Gottlieb understood that any attempts to do so with limited knowledge would undoubtedly be a death march. When he published his first findings on breach activity, moving the conversation surrounding the closing of the bridge between worlds from the physical and into the theoretical, he not only saved lives but opened up the avenue for students like me to contribute to that conversation.”
He’s speaking lowly as to not distract from the remainder of Hermann’s time on stage, but his words are passionate and unwavering. “Watching some of his most criticized theories become part of our supported common knowledge. Sitting in a lab with a group of STEM students, watching the live news coverage of the breach closure on someone’s laptop, and knowing it all stemmed from his research. Continuing to watch his work make massive waves in the field…He’s the reason we are even able to sit here today and talk about hypothetical futures. I don’t just believe that Hermann Gottlieb should be a household name, it should be one of the highest regarded names when remembering our victory. Up there with the Jaeger pilots.”
Newt couldn’t possibly agree more but wow this Viktor kid sure is making a convincing argument.
He draws out a long dwindling whistle. “Quite the scathing review, huh?” he quips, tossing him a toothy grin. “That’s actually really neat to hear, man. I tell him all the time how proud I am of him, but he expects that kind of sappy stuff from me. I think it’d be beneficial for him to hear it from someone else for once.”
Newt can see the moment that the realization of who Viktor is actually dumping his internal monologue on crosses his mind once again. His polite smile as he nods along to Newt’s words suddenly drooping into mortification.
“I-I’m so sorry Dr. Geis- Newt!” he stumbles over his words, “I, erm, am also a big fan of your work as well. I mean, my partner is more familiar than I am with the bulk of your research, but I greatly appreciate your non-traditional approach to academia. Like the rest of the world, I’m so grateful and value your contributions endlessly. You had a paper published recently on the morphology of Category 4 Kaiju that was-”
“Oh God, please, no,” Newt tosses up his hands in a humble decline. “I’m not trying to milk appreciation from you, dude. I don’t need any of that. You’re here for Hermann. I think that’s sick.”
Newt feels a little bit like he’s sitting on some massive secret. Not that he has any desire to steal Hermann’s number one fan from right under his nose, but it’s these moments when a fellow scientist shares such strong passion about giving credit where credit is due that makes him wish he had fought a little bit harder for his. Viktor doesn’t know how heavily Newt’s contributions that day were buried, and if the NDA Newt signed has anything to say about it, then he never will.
Somehow, Newt thinks Viktor would get it though. The desire to toy with human limitations. He feels like he understands how this kid’s brain works a little.
Newt follows where Viktor’s gaze has drifted back up to the stage. Hermann is decidedly having a not-as-fun time now, answering his final question for the evening. He catches Newt’s eyes and tips him a charming nod.
Wait, no…that wasn’t for Newt.
Newt wonders how there could possibly be enough room in his heart for that all-consuming love he feels for Hermann to grow any bigger, but here he is, swooning, “He really is the most brilliant man I know.”
Viktor doesn’t take his eyes off Hermann. They’re practically twinkling as he clears his throat to speak, “Newt, I’ve never been one to doubt my abilities. I am aware of my limits and strive to exceed the expectations I know people form for me the second I walk into a room.” A hand subconsciously goes to the hilt of the cane in front of him, “..Or lack thereof.”
He turns to make eye contact with Newt again. He realizes that the twinkling was a collection of tears forming at the brink of Viktor’s eyelashes.
He falls back into it before Newt can say anything, “But I’d be doing a disservice to the both of us if I denied the emotional impact his work has had on me. Seeing a photo of him for the first time and finding out that this scientist I’ve grown up following in the footsteps of, a man whose very presence demands respect, shares a disability not dissimilar from my own. Then watching as that man literally saves the world...” Newt can hear the emotion welling up in his throat, “Well it’s just a different kind of pride altogether.”
Newt’s neurons reach back through a collage of memories and pull one to the front of his mind. He tastes salt and he’s sure it has something to do with the wet trails leading down his hot cheeks to the corners of his mouth. There’s a stabbing pain running the length of his leg and hip bones, and he’s hunched over a little writing desk with his forehead lying against his crossed upper arms.
He doesn’t recognize the interior of the relatively empty TU Berlin dorm. It’s not his pain and they aren’t his tears. Still, he remembers feeling it all despite it being a fractured memory shared from the drift. He has not fully unpacked yet. Karla offered to help several days ago when he first moved in, but he turned her down.
All day, every day, he’s bathed in the condescension of his classmates. They never say anything. It’s cowardice, really. They simply stare and make every minute movement he makes part of their personal business. It’s a cane, sometimes a leg brace, but never an anomaly.
He lifts his head from his writing desk and wipes at his cheeks with the rough wool of his blazer. Well, if they’re going to stare, he might as well craft the lens they view him through.
Applause pulls Newt back into the auditorium. His cheeks are dry and the only pain he feels in his knees is the dull ache from nearing 40 and walking the convention halls for several hours.
Hermann’s leaving the stage and the crowd around has awarded him with an uproarious departure and a standing ovation, which he joins albeit a tad later than everyone else. He’s disappointed to look to his left to see that Viktor is not only standing, but he’s also coming in at about 3 inches taller than him. He curses himself for not packing any platform boots. The idea of talking to someone who looks up to him while they look down on him is ego annihilating.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, a very Hermann text which reads out in a simple one-word message, Done.
Newt rolls his eyes. He hadn’t noticed.
He types out a quick string of emojis, mostly varying colors and styles of hearts with a couple of kissy faces thrown in for good measure. In Newt text speak it translates to Cool! Meet you out in the hall!
Newt goes to get up, making sure he's collected all his belongings, only to be blocked by the wounded puppy eyes Viktor is currently giving him, “Oh, you’re leaving?”
Now this was an unanticipated portion of his evening. 30 minutes ago, he would’ve jumped out of his seat, probably not even staying through the Q&A portion of the presentation. Yet, here he is, being emotionally manipulated and developing attachments.
Newt spots the pamphlet still held in Viktor’s hand and reaches out for it, taking the pen with it too. It’s still crumpled because of the vice grip he’s had it in all night.
“Yeah, we’re probably gonna head out of here, buuuut…” Newt struggles to find a section of paper not littered in illegible notes, but once he does he jots down his phone number before handing it back off to Viktor. “Once you’re done with whatever else you got planned for the day, why don’t you catch us up on what you've been up to since completing your undergrad?”
Viktor blinks up at him. “Us?” he questions, surprisingly his curiosity seems genuine.
“Yeah! Me and Herms!” he inches between Viktor and the seat in front of him to make it out into the aisle. “Sorry, haha, Me and ‘Dr. Gottlieb,’” he puts on a piss-poor imitation of Hermann’s accent while correcting himself.
Viktor nods enthusiastically, “Yes, Of course, I- We, uh..” Viktor gestures up to the screen but is too baffled to form the sentence to go with it.
Newt follows Viktor’s trajectory up to the stage where the presentation has now switched over to a new title screen.
2026 & 2027 Geological Survey Yields from Pacific Breach Site: The element the Kaiju left behind that will power our future.
At the bottom of the slide, listed under contributors, Viktor and Jayce Talis.
Newt clicks his tongue. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about being an elder gay yet, “Go ahead and bring your partner along too. I expect the in-depth rundown of that research with very minimal physics talk.”
Viktor agrees to the terms and waves him off with the folded-up pamphlet just as the lights dim once again for the next speaker.
Newt slinks up the aisle and moves across the back wall towards the exit. He has a hand to the door handle, stopping just short of pushing it open when he hears resounding applause around him.
Are there suddenly like 10x more women in this crowd than before?
Hermann’s going to be fighting off the masses. Newt has time to kill; he thinks before inching out of the way and onto a portion of the wall behind the audience where he can observe for a minute or two.
The first thing he notices is that the dude on stage is built like a Jaeger pilot. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the path his commanding officers would try to steer him down if the war was still going.
The second thing he notices is more of a realization. He does know who this kid is, at least when seeing the name, the face, and the research all put together, it rings a couple of bells.
Jayce Talis is a name he's heard a couple of times since the war ended and a new wave of K-Scientists stepped up to spearhead the post-war research efforts. He’s fairly certain this is the same Jayce who had been the subject of an article Hermann read to him one morning on advancements in drift technology for use outside of Jaeger pilots, stabilizing the technology enough to provide it to the public.
He’s almost positive this is the same Jayce who has sent him emails on the multiple occasions he’d been in Hong Kong for research and wanted to see if the esteemed Dr. Geiszler would join him. Not that it doesn’t sound cool, Newt just has a lot to work through before he gets back into the field. He’s a little bit worried about what might come up if he gets too close to it all.
“Good evening, everyone! Thank you! I’m honored to be afforded this opportunity to speak with you all today!” He’s quite charismatic, Newt thinks, sending every corner of the audience a charming grin to take home with them, ”I don’t know how I’m possibly going to follow up Dr. Gottleib and do justice but I promise I’ll try my best!” The crowd claps.
Newt hardly notices the shake to his hands as he waves in response to the crowd’s warm welcome. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed at all if he couldn’t see the anxiety laced within every movement, but he knows what that looks like all too well.
Jayce launches into a very rehearsed introductory speech which looks planned down to the motion of his hands and the tilt of his head. He’s preaching something about progress and forward-moving innovation when Newt realizes he can still see Viktor from where he’s stood like a fly on the wall.
It’s different from how he looked at Hermann. Hermann was awe-inspiring to Viktor. The whole time Hermann was presenting, Viktor was captivated, eyes wide like a child staring into fair lights.
Looking up at Jayce now, Viktor is softer. There’s comfort in his eyes. Familiarity. He knows the sight of Jayce on stage, commanding a crowd. All the adoration is still there but it’s gentler now. His mouth is closed in a meek grin, lips upturned ever so slightly.
At some point, Jayce says something else that makes the crowd turn into his personal laugh track, making Viktor not so inconspicuously shift his hand to cover the lower half of his face.
He’s not suppressing a chuckle, just the goofy grin that’s threatening to expose how fond he really is of the speaker to his fellow audience members.
Newt can see it. His eyes are beaming.
He’s seen that look on Hermann’s face too. If Viktor looks at Hermann like Hermann looks at numbers on a chalkboard, then Viktor looks at Jayce like Hermann looks at Newt. He can’t help but wonder if they’ve ever hated each other’s guts too.
Newt takes a deep breath and ducks back towards the exit of the auditorium. As much as he’d love to stay for Jayce’s full presentation, he’ll get the spiel later.
He just feels like admiring his boyfriend right now.