#also yes the sudden switch from ''newton'' to ''newt'' at the end was deliberate. thinking Thoughts

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

ALSO!!! Kaiju bros, Jaeger pilots au. (Either my au or your take on them being Jaeger pilots?? 👀)

vague idea for like... pretty immediately after their serious accident that you mentioned in your AU, mayhaps

---

Hermann is- not worried, per se, more just lightly concerned. Perhaps a little anxious, though he's not sure if that buzzing, restless sensation is his own or Newton's ghost drift from the other side of the Shatterdome. He's not been sleeping well, and he knows it isn't from lack of desire to on his own part. No, that certainly must belong to Newton.

This is how Hermann finds himself striding — or, well, hobbling, as it is, now, finding balance while leaning on a cane and thinking he's lucky to be cleared to return to piloting ever, let alone in as little as six weeks — towards the medical bay at three in the morning, well after most PPDC personnel have retreated to their bunks.

Perhaps, he thinks, almost hoping, it's nightmares. A natural trauma response and one that they are equipped to work through. If it were so, though, it's more than likely that the memories would have appeared in Hermann's own dreams. He almost wishes they had; wishes he had that knowledge of what his drift partner had gone through on his behalf. He's not sure if the knowing would increase or ease his own feelings of guilt. He still wants to know.

Newton is sitting up in the narrow infirmary bed, bent over a notebook with his glasses perched precariously on the very edge of his nose and a gel-ink pen held equally precariously in one hand. Newton, Hermann knows, has always been ambidextrous; it's a trait that has on occasion passed between them following the drift. Today, or tonight, rather, the pen is held in his right hand, left palm flat against the notebook as if to steady it. Both hands are shaking viciously, visible even from the door.

It's a side effect of the neural overload, one the doctors say will pass given time, along with the recurring nosebleeds and dizzy spells. For now, Newton is trapped in both the infirmary and his own frustration. Even without the connection of their drift bond, said frustration would be palpable in the air, thick enough to cut through.

Hermann clears his throat. "Newton."

"Hey, Hermann," Newton greets, too casually. Of course he's aware of Hermann's presence, just not acknowledging it except through the blip of recognition and, dare Hermann risk naming it, affection through the ghost of a currently unused drift bond. "What's up?"

He asks like it's the middle of a normal day, as if nothing has happened and everything is as it should be. As if his hands aren't shaking too hard to allow him to write down whatever epiphany had kept him awake; as if Hermann's aren't beginning to shake in sympathy or longing for a solution or or or-

"Breathe," says Newton, suddenly lifting his head to look at Hermann. Hermann breathes. "You good?" Newton blinks at him, eyes bloodshot behind the frames of his glasses, but gaze clear and more curious than actively concerned.

Hermann scoffs. "I came to ask you the same thing," he admits. Then, as an added explanation although it's not really needed, "Ghost drift."

"Oh. Sorry, I guess I was keeping you up?" Newton frowns, slaps his notebook closed and lets the pen fall from his grasp. "I'm fine," he says, which is almost surely a lie.

"Would you-" Hermann hesitates. "Would you like me to write down whatever it was you were thinking of?"

Newton stares at him. "I mean... you'd do that for me?"

"Of course," replies Hermann before he can feel uncomfortable about it. "May I?" He takes a step toward the bed.

Newt grins. "Yeah, s- sure, come on, man!" He holds out the notepad in shaking hands as Hermann carefully takes a seat on the mattress. "So I was thinking of this new strategy-"

It's after three in the morning. They both should be sleeping, but aren't. But. Across the quiet drift connection between them, tonight there is peace.