fortune favors the brave, dude

Newt's sitting up on the exam table, swinging his legs and sitting on his hands because he's been itching at where his cast ends below his knee, and it's been driving Chuck crazy since they'd gotten here. It's been a solid half hour of sitting in this room, and Newt's starting to get restless.

"Hey, dude, do you ghost-drift with your dad?" he asks suddenly. "'Cause I totally had drifty-mares the other night, totally felt Striker tearin' me up, it was weird. Got a nosebleed, it was really embarrassing because Kate was there, y'know? And like, it's happened the one other time since I got here but it was so random, so anyway, yeah, does it happen to you?"

He pauses to catch his breath and just stares at Chuck expectantly. It's probably not a good time to talk about this--well, would it ever be a good time to talk about it?--but Chuck's the only one in Darrow who really gets it, and he feels kind of bad bringing it up but he wants to know if he should expect this more often. Also, come on, it's at a point where Chuck should probably be ready for shit like this.

"I'm itchy, where the hell is this doctor?"

A jaeger pilot and a leading K-scientist walk into a bar... and Newt doesn't know how this joke ends because he's already three shots and two beers deep with Chuck at a place he's already forgotten the name of, and they're both shouting things at each other, competing to be heard over whatever awful music is playing overhead. It had started out a little rough because what could they possibly have had to talk about other than, well, world destruction. But it turns out that it's not an exhaustive topic.

Newt leans in and pokes Chuck's shoulder, dangerously close to spilling his beer all over himself. "We did it, y'know," he reminds him for the fourth time, except now with a little more of a slur, "we saved th'world. S'like... if you didn't like, die or whatever, and I didn't fuck m'self up with the awesome kaiju drifting, world be prob'ly be, y'know." He slams his free hand onto the bartop. "It'd be gone." He shouts it this time. "I'm a rock star! We saved the world!"

Newt gestures to the bartender for two more shots and hopes that Chuck doesn't have any other plans for the night. He needs this. Newt suspects that maybe they both do, even if it means that he'll be spending tomorrow morning getting intimate with his toilet seat.