Chapter Text
Hermann Gottlieb was a prick. He had known it for years, and had never once let it worry him. He knew that he was nothing to look at, that he had all of the personality of an old dish rag, and that he had never been a prime physical specimen. Since the accident in Los Angeles, he had even had to stroke 'able-bodied' off of his mental resume. But none of that mattered, because the only thing that anyone ever wanted from him was his intelligence. He was abrasive, standoffish and oftentimes rude, but his co-workers and superiors alike put up with it because of what he could contribute.
The day he started to smile at strangers, he often thought to himself, was the day he could no longer do math.
Newton Geiszler was the outlier, however. He never fit into the equation. Hermann had known from the start that Geiszler was brilliant. The man was (and Hermann would only ever admit it inside of his own head) quite possibly as smart as he was. Geiszler didn't need his intelligence, and that made Hermann an asshole with anger management issues and absolutely no social graces, and with no redeeming qualities. And yet the man stuck around, not just putting up with him, but actually seeming to enjoy his company. It was confusing, and Hermann hated to be confused.
Dr. Newton Geiszler, he was forced to accept, was simply different from anyone else in a way he had yet to understand. The problem with working around Jaegers for a decade is that the incredible begins to seem commonplace. It was the same problem with knowing Newton Geiszler – you forgot how extraordinary he truly was.
And then, in a moment of sheer panic, he had volunteered to drift with Geiszler. They were trying to save the world, and that was certainly the defense he would give to anyone who questioned why he had done it. In truth, though, he would have drifted a dozen times to spare himself ever having to find Geiszler unconscious on the floor again. He would have put the helmet on and dove into the Kaiju psyche by himself, to prevent that. But Hermann was a very private person, and that was a very private thought. The upsetting part of it all was, however, that Geiszler had seen inside of his head.
It wasn't running away, Hermann told himself. The simple fact was that he wanted to be back in London. And there seemed to be no point in interrupting the celebration happening in the Shatterdome. It was better, much better, to simply pack a bag with his essentials and leave on the morning flight.
He was rubbish at goodbyes anyway, he told himself as the ground fell away beneath him.
~~~
He is determined to settle himself as quickly as possible in London. A furnished apartment, a quick whip round to the local grocery and there it was - home sweet home. He might even start to do the physiotherapy his doctors had been harassing him about. He might start to take his pain medication. He would work on all of the theorums he had been ignoring, what with the world ending and all. Perhaps he would get a cat.
Alright, not the cat. But the other things, certainly.
~~~
He has the first dream within 48 hours of landing in London. He blames it on the new surroundings, and on his hasty departure. It was some kind of subconscious reaction, he tells himself. And it was only a dream, after all.
He seemed to have been carrying a box, a cardboard box full of all of his personal effects that he had left in Hong Kong. He was hurrying, not really paying attention to what he was doing, and he had stubbed his toe on some piece of furniture in the room (why he hadn't been wearing shoes was beyond him). The pain was intense and it made him drop the box, spilling its contents onto the metal floor of the Shatterdome. His battered coffee cup, the one he had used for his entire time in Hong Kong, smashed across the floor. His foot throbbed, and he muttered a curse that sounded more like a sob.
When Hermann jolted awake, his foot was still throbbing.