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(this is an AU from the original)
Hermann has seen the same face in the mirror since mirrors had been invented. He has cut his hair, let it grow, he has used every possible kind of reading glasses, he has even, on certain rare and never to be spoken of occasions, even attempted facial hair.
But the face under all that has never changed, never, from that unknown and ancient time when he had come of age and- stopped.
Newt is asleep in their bed, tucked away in the tiny room they share in the Shatterdome. For once, it is quiet, settling into the regular rhythm of day and night after the frantic struggle of the war. A breath of calm before the ready themselves to face the new world around them.
Hermann ducks into the bathroom and ducks his face under the tap, drinking a few cupped handfuls of water before looking up and meeting his eyes in the mirror.
It’s not the same.
Hermann blinks, runs his eyes, then leans closer, wiping his damp hair out of his face. At first he thinks it’s just dirt, sleep grime in the corner of his eye, but when he rubs at it, it’s still there.
Hermann touches the slightly looser skin at the corner of his eye, the first creeping corners of crows feet.
Something huge and terrible open in his stomach, a Breach of Kaiju implications and nightmares. He paws at his face, pulling at his mouth to find fine creases that had never been there before, runs tracing faintly from nose to mouth and no no no-
Hermann stumbles away from the sink, he slips and nearly falls, only just catching himself on his stick and spinning away on his heel.
No. No. Oh god no. Anything but that. Dear god please please-
In the bed, Newt stirs sleepily, tangled in blankets. “Herms-” half asleep.
He can’t- he can barely think of it himself. Hermann throws himself at the door and out, staggering down the steps into the deserted midnight corridors of the Shatterdome.
The air is cold, damp and stale. He needs air. He needs to get out-
Hermann has no idea how, but he manages to find his way out to the helipad. He staggers across the bare concrete, feet slipping in the puddles, the driving rain lashing through his jacket. He stumbles, nearly falls over, and gropes at the railing.
“Please god no-” His voice is lost in the heavy, wet rain.
If he dies- and just thinking it is hideous, makes it real- if he dies, he won’t remember. He and Newt will die and be reborn and unless there is some- some miracle- they could live entire lives and never see each other again.
This could be the last life they have.
Hermann screams. The rain deadens his voice, flattens it into the grey haze.
It was always so hard- even before, when he knew and could look for Newt. What chance could they possible have now? The two of them, wandering blind through the world. One of however many billions it would be by then. Ships in endless night, blind and unknowning, forever passing and gone.
(this is an AU from the original)
Hermann has seen the same face in the mirror since mirrors had been invented. He has cut his hair, let it grow, he has used every possible kind of reading glasses, he has even, on certain rare and never to be spoken of occasions, even attempted facial hair.
But the face under all that has never changed, never, from that unknown and ancient time when he had come of age and- stopped.
Newt is asleep in their bed, tucked away in the tiny room they share in the Shatterdome. For once, it is quiet, settling into the regular rhythm of day and night after the frantic struggle of the war. A breath of calm before the ready themselves to face the new world around them.
Hermann ducks into the bathroom and ducks his face under the tap, drinking a few cupped handfuls of water before looking up and meeting his eyes in the mirror.
It’s not the same.
Hermann blinks, runs his eyes, then leans closer, wiping his damp hair out of his face. At first he thinks it’s just dirt, sleep grime in the corner of his eye, but when he rubs at it, it’s still there.
Hermann touches the slightly looser skin at the corner of his eye, the first creeping corners of crows feet.
Something huge and terrible open in his stomach, a Breach of Kaiju implications and nightmares. He paws at his face, pulling at his mouth to find fine creases that had never been there before, runs tracing faintly from nose to mouth and no no no-
Hermann stumbles away from the sink, he slips and nearly falls, only just catching himself on his stick and spinning away on his heel.
No. No. Oh god no. Anything but that. Dear god please please-
In the bed, Newt stirs sleepily, tangled in blankets. “Herms-” half asleep.
He can’t- he can barely think of it himself. Hermann throws himself at the door and out, staggering down the steps into the deserted midnight corridors of the Shatterdome.
The air is cold, damp and stale. He needs air. He needs to get out-
Hermann has no idea how, but he manages to find his way out to the helipad. He staggers across the bare concrete, feet slipping in the puddles, the driving rain lashing through his jacket. He stumbles, nearly falls over, and gropes at the railing.
“Please god no-” His voice is lost in the heavy, wet rain.
If he dies- and just thinking it is hideous, makes it real- if he dies, he won’t remember. He and Newt will die and be reborn and unless there is some- some miracle- they could live entire lives and never see each other again.
This could be the last life they have.
Hermann screams. The rain deadens his voice, flattens it into the grey haze.
It was always so hard- even before, when he knew and could look for Newt. What chance could they possible have now? The two of them, wandering blind through the world. One of however many billions it would be by then. Ships in endless night, blind and unknowning, forever passing and gone.
