Aftermath: 35 - The Garland of the War (2027)

NEWTON IS NOT THE CALM ONE.

Chapter warnings: Realistic depictions of neurological, physical, and bureaucratic trauma. War. Grief. Death. Mental illness. Regular illness.

Text iteration: Witching hour.

Additional notes: None.

2027 (Thirty-five – The Garland of the War)

The afternoon transitions uneasily to evening. An impromptu consultation with Dr. McClure goes a long way toward cooling Hermann’s anxiety, but as the fear goes, anger rises in its place. He makes an effort to stem the tide, but he might as well try and stop the sea with a sieve. 

He has no idea what to make for dinner. He could not care less what he eats. He’s not hungry. He has no interest in food right now. He’ll make dinner anyway.

Why?

Because that’s what people do. 

Newton, hair still wet from his shower, makes an appearance in the kitchen, dressed in a long-sleeved black cotton shirt wholly inappropriate for June. He’s wearing jeans. He leans against the counter, crosses his arms, and prepares to make Hermann’s life a living hell.

Wow, his inner monologue opines, choosing to sound like Dr. Geiszler. Harsh. 

“Hermann, everything is fine.” Newton employs a vaguely didactic manner he likely believes to be reassuring. It is not. Perhaps it would be, if Hermann didn’t know him so well.

“Did you take the extra Keppra?” Hermann asks.

“Yes,” Newton says. “I can tell you’re upset.”

Oh he can, can he? The Century’s Greatest Intellect can tell Hermann is upset? What an accomplishment. Bravo. 

He very nearly says that last aloud, but he stops himself. They’re about to have a terrible argument. Hermann hears the edge in Newton’s voice, knows the man is already digging in. Why is he standing here? Why is he wearing denim?

“Lie down,” Hermann snaps.

“No.” Newton replies with a calm that is absolutely maddening. 

NEWTON IS NOT THE CALM ONE.

“I realize you’re trying extremely hard not to yell at me,” Newton says. “And I appreciate that. But I’m genuinely fine. So come on. Out with it.”

Out with it?

Don’t do it, his mind advises, using Dr. Geiszler’s most provocative tone of faux caution. Unless you want to watch me cry the whole night. Because despite what I just said, I will. You can tell by looking at me. And then, my friend, you’re gonna feel guilty for days. 

This is not Newton’s fault, Hermann tells himself staring at the inside of their cabinet, trying to decide on dinner. This is not his fault. This is NOT his fault. It’s not. There’s no way it can be. Newton cannot control music other people chose to stream. Loudly. In his immediate vicinity. 

“I’m extremely angry,” Hermann admits, clipped and tight, still staring at an overlay of nothingness in front of their cabinet. 

“Yup,” Newton replies. “I can see that.”

“At you,” Hermann says.

“Yup,” Newton replies cautiously. “I can see that too.”

“Not at you,” Hermann corrects himself. “At Lightcap.”

“Lightcap?”

“At Lightcap, at Hansen, Pentecost, at my father—” He slams the cupboard shut. “The PPDC as an institution.”

The other man looks at him, surprised. So surprised, in fact, he seems to have nothing to say.

“No comment?” Hermann turns ironically grandiose. “How disappointing. I’m more than happy to pick up the slack. Caitlin Lightcap was irresponsible, unethical, and pushed people beyond their ability to cope. As she pushed herself. I know. I know. I don’t need to hear it from YOU, Newton; I’m well aware. She nearly killed you in 2017, something that never seemed to register with you, but I have never forgiven her for that. I never will. If she hadn’t sent you out, maybe you wouldn’t have half the problems you have now. She ‘loved’ you, she said she did, but what good did that ever do you? ABSOLUTELY NONE. Herc Hansen? He thought he understood me? He understood NOTHING. He devalued my work for years. He wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to communicate even the simplest things. After Pentecost died, he effectively sanctioned your neurological assault. Did I go to him when that happened? Did I ask him to release you? NO. I DID NOT. Because he wouldn’t have. And Pentecost? Sending you across the city, alone, to contact an underground dealer in kaiju parts? Unreasonable. That entire organization was designed with no checks. No balances. Nothing to stop the overt abuses everyone within it suffered. How were we supposed to WORK, Newton? Without staff? Funding cuts year after year? Resources siphoned away DIRECTLY by my FATHER, who, even to this day, cannot admit what a colossally stupid decision THAT THING was.” He points out the window, into darkness. “I hate all of them. The more time passes, the clearer I see? The MORE I hate them. It is exponential. So don’t tell me ‘everything is fine’ It’s not. It never has been. It never will be. I will hate them all, POISONOUSLY, for every single day of my life. And, as for you, can you not understand that I HATE IT WHEN YOU TELL ME EVERYTHING IS FINE WHEN IT IS, in fact, NOT AT ALL FINE? “

It occurs to Hermann that, during his impassioned monologue, Newton’s expression has transformed from shock to incredulity to extreme focus.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hermann snarls. 

That snaps Newton free of whatever had so absorbed him. He opens his mouth, takes a breath, gearing up for a soliloquy of his own. But then, all he says is: “Sorry. I realized something.”

“What?” Hermann demands.

Newton shakes his head. He pushes away from the counter and closes the gap between them. He stands in front of Hermann, then, deliberately pulls him into a hug. 

Hermann is, at first, too shocked to respond. Physical contact is very much in the Geiszlerian gestural lexicon, but Hermann can’t recall the man doing something like this before. At the peak of an argument—letting it all go?

Letting what go? There’s no point to be made here. Nothing to win. 

Hermann sighs in defeat. He wraps his arms around Newton, tightly enough it’s likely uncomfortable for the other man, tightly enough for Hermann to feel that damned resting tremor. He sobs, once, into Newton’s shoulder. 

“Shhh.” The man strokes his hair. “You’re a mystery to me sometimes, Dr. Gottlieb. For such a committed planner, one would think you’d be more future focused.”

Hermann says nothing.

“Before it got really bad there at the end of the war, you must’ve thought about what you’d do once everything was over. Right? Math in the post-breach era? Math in the apocalyptic aftermath? Aftermath math? Find some quantum-literate cutie to make you dinner. Get a fast and semi-sentient sports car, probably. Hmm?”

Hermann smiles faintly. 

“Sounds like a pretty good life,” Newton says. 

“I suppose,” Hermann replies, miserably. “That was your great insight from all I just vented in your direction?”

“Mmmm no,” Newton says cautiously. “My insight was that I’m frustrating.”

“Profound.” Hermann manages a dry delivery, even with his forehead pressed against the other man’s shoulder. 

“Ha,” Newton says. “More so than you might think, but I don’t care to elaborate further right now.”

Hermann sighs.

“Wanna hear my idea to salvage the night?” Newton murmurs. 

“Very much,” Hermann replies.

“I think I should make dinner.”

“No,” Hermann replies. “You’re exhausted.”

“True.” Newton acquiesces immediately. “I think we should order food.”

Hermann grimaces.

“You’re making a skeptical face,” Newton murmurs, hugging him a bit tighter. “I don’t even have to see it. I can tell. Just grab my phone out of my back pocket and order the same thing we got last time from that Indian place.”

Hermann sighs. 

“Come on,” Newton says.

Hermann complies, loosening his grip on the other man. “Done,” he says, when it is.

“Yay,” Newton says.

“What’s the rest of your plan?” Hermann feels the man’s tremor increase in amplitude as he sustains their embrace.

“Hmm,” Newton says. “Unclear. Something will come to me.”

“I suggest you lie down,” Hermann says. 

“I’m not done with this part though,” Newton says, “you have to come.”

“Very well,” Hermann sighs. 

A few minutes later he lies atop Newton on their couch, and the man is, very slowly and somewhat laboriously, rubbing Hermann’s back. 

“You think you’re so clever,” Hermann mutters.

“I’m a little bit clever.” Newton kisses his forehead. “You were just pissed because I was standing there in jeans arguing with you about how I was fine, which you hate, I know, I’m sorry. I also realize I have a track record of doing that when I’m not fine, which you hate more. So. Myeah. I had a terrible day. I got assaulted by the Baroque Era! I mean, come on. I had to be rescued by my own graduate student, which is embarrassing, and I lost a not insignificant amount of blood in the process. Please cuddle me, Dr. Gottlieb.”

“I’m sorry I said all of that,” Hermann whispers. 

“You think I was scandalized?” Newton sounds amused. “Come on. You and Hansen always had a weird love-hate sibling thing happening. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Pentecost did the best he could with what he had, and you respected that. As for Lightcap—everyone knew you hated Lightcap. Lightcap knew you hated Lightcap and she kinda loved it. You know what she used to say about you?”

“What?” Hermann asks, grudgingly curious.

“That you kept her in line. She liked having that counterbalance. She liked knowing that you never gave her the benefit of the doubt. That’s why she ran so many things by you. Because even though you didn’t like her, you were never unfair.”

“I was. I have been.”

“Maybe in your own head,” Newton murmurs. “But not in the world.” They are quiet for a moment, and then Newton continues. “She thought we were gonna end up this way, you know.”

“Why?” Hermann asks.

“Probably because I couldn’t hide that I had a thing for you. Also our journal club. Remember when she cancelled it? She brought me into her office ahead of time and she said, ‘Geiszler, this is out of control. Are you guys fucking? If you’re not? You should probably consider it. If you are? Keep the weird shit in the bedroom.” He laughs.

“She asked me to look out for you,” Hermann admits.

“Ugh, no she didn’t.”

“She did.” Hermann sighs. “I didn’t hate her, not really. I did and I didn’t,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have. I don’t now, not truly. I couldn’t, with your memories.” 

“EPIC Rapport’d,” Newton says quietly. “I love you so hard, you know.”

“Likewise I’m sure.” Hermann lifts his head to look at him. “Ridiculous man.”

“We have to talk about your dad though,” Newton says. “He’s trying. He committed an international crime for us.”

“Don’t take his side,” Hermann snaps.

“Shh,” Newton replies.

“Don’t shush me, Newton, I am not in the mood.”

“I can see that,” Newton murmurs. “Sorry.”

“Stay here.” Hermann pushes himself up.

“Hermann,” Newton says, plaintive. The man gives him a wounded expression.

“That,” Hermann says, pointing directly at Newton’s face, “does not work on me, Dr. Geiszler, and it hasn’t for years.” He turns and heads for the kitchen.

“Sometimes it does,” Newton shouts after him.