fortune favors the brave, dude

Newt's been busy as hell lately, between working on his regular research project at the lab and the drug Lincoln had brought to him a couple weeks ago. He's managed to figure out what compounds make up the drug, thinks he can even replicate it in the next few days if he wants, though Lincoln had said that's not what he wants out of this. Still, Newt's the one tasked with handling the damn thing and his curiosity so often outweighs anything else.

The drug is supposed to make people aggressive, that's what Lincoln had said, but maybe Newt can just... fiddle with it. Maybe he can turn it into a drug that can enhance strength without the violent side effects, it's possible, if he works at it long enough.

Either way, Newt decides he needs a goddamn break so he leaves the lab to head for the nearest cafe for some caffeine he probably doesn't need but is definitely going to drink anyway. The line isn't too long, to his relief, and he rolls up his sleeves as he steps behind a redhead who looks kind of familiar from the back. Mostly because it looks like Marius's head.

"Hey, buddy!" Newt exclaims, clapping a hand down on his friend's shoulder, though he quickly pulls it away once he realizes that it's actually not Marius he's totally just violated. Well, it is, but it isn't. Newt's pretty sure it's Other Newt but hell, can anyone ever really tell in this city? "Oh, shit, sorry. Thought you were someone else. But we've met, right? New Year's Eve, we fought bats together? You're the other Newt. Which is going to sound really weird if you're like, another guy with the same face."

Today's the day. It's a big day, one Newt had cleared his schedule for because the last time he'd done something like this, the Crentists had fucked him up--and on his goddamn birthday, no less. Admittedly, that'd been poor planning on his part, which is why he'd totally be more conscientious about it this time around. Besides, he's pretty sure Chuck might try to kill him in a laughing gas-induced rage if Newt took him out in public after the fuckery they're about to endure.

Had he properly warned his best friend about the Crentists? About those frosty-tipped sons of bitches who are kind of creepy, kind of hilarious, neither of which Newt would really consider a good thing?

Nah.

In the end, they'd gotten the job done right, and Newt hasn't had problems with his teeth at all since his last visit. Granted, he's pretty sure getting gassed up isn't standard for a dental checkup, but he's also not a dentist so whatever. The objective of this visit is to get Chuck's tooth fixed, get Newt a checkup, and get the hell out of dodge. At least, they'll get out of dodge once Kate swings by to pick them up because if there's one thing Newt's sure of, it's that he and Chuck aren't leaving this office unscathed.

It’s been a good morning.

As much as Newt prefers to have his wife around, he also can’t deny that every once in a while, having a day off when Kate is scheduled to work can be kinda nice—even when it means Jeff tries to cuddle up next to him when he’s trying to lounge naked on the couch. What makes that worse is the way goddamn Cat stares at him like he’s trying to peer real deep into Newt’s soul.

Otherwise, it’s perfectly relaxing, and he knows Kate would say the same of when he’s out long enough for her to have the condo to herself for the day. Of course, being that the place is so big, there’s only so much tinkering and TV watching and baiting the dog with the cat that he can take before he needs to be out and about. That wouldn’t have been a problem at the ‘Dome, he’d been totally content to be alone in a dark lab for hours on end, not even bothering to take a break to eat unless Hermann would sigh at him from across their diving line before going to grab him a tray from the mess hall. Nowadays, though, he’s about to be around people. It gets too boring without having some to talk at, and the pets don’t count.

Once it hits noon, Newt decides that he’s craving something he doesn’t have to go the trouble of making himself for lunch. Indian, maybe, or Thai. Or pizza. Chinese? A burger. No, probably Thai. Definitely Thai, and he can grab something to go before he leaves the restaurant to drop off for Kate at The Dressing Room to earn himself some extra Super Awesome Husband points. Yes, good, a plan.

Before he leaves, he makes sure the dog has done her thing and the pet bowls are stocked up with food and then he’s out the door, nodding at Jack the Door Guy as he passes through the lobby doors. The Thai place is only a couple blocks away, his mouth is already watering at the thought of shoveling some pad thai in his mouth, but he has to take a moment to pay attention to his surroundings because it’s such a nice day out. The sun is shining, the sky is clear, and all Newt can think is that he’d better not get a burn because he’s so not prepared to deal with a peely nose. Granted, he probably should have remembered to slap on some sunscreen before he’d left but the thing is, he hadn’t so really, it’s up to Mother Nature now to do him a solid.

Squinting up at the offending sun, he adjusts his glasses, losing track of where he’s stepping because of the distraction. Before he can process what’s even happening, Newt crashes into another body, nearly landing his ass on the ground.

“Dude!” he exclaims as he steadies himself, arms held out to maintain his balance. “That was totally my bad, sorry. You good?”

Newt has discovered that he hates shopping for babies.

It's the looks that get him, the looks and the pointing from expectant mothers and their friends who think he can't hear or see them, who are all smiling and whispering conspiratorially about how sweet it is that he's shopping for his little girl, and Newt kind of just wants to rip all his hair out so he can throw it at these women because he so wouldn't be here if he didn't have to be.

He blames Texas Ranger. Yeah, he totally blames Texas Ranger because if Sawyer hadn't had his kid dropped on his doorstep, Newt wouldn't have to be shopping for her stupidly cute little self, thus avoiding the exact kind of attention he doesn't want. Actually, if he's being honest, he maybe doesn't mind it as much as he'll definitely say he does to anyone who asks. He's got a shopping cart full of clothes for Clementine, like this snowsuit with the little ears on the hood and that super badass Batman costume that she'll definitely be thanking her Uncle Newt for one day.

He's never wanted kids, still doesn't want kids, is perfectly happy with his and Kate's decision not to have kids, but it turns out that dealing with his friends' kids isn't so bad. He thinks that's mostly because he can hand them back at the end of the day but whatever, it's fine, Newt thinks that's totally fair. In the end, he leaves the mall with nine new outfits for Clementine, three pairs of shoes, a super soft plush dinosaur that he's thinking of just keeping for himself, and a sweet leather jacket that's warm enough for the winter for Sawyer. It doesn't take that long to haul all his bounty back to Dimera, heading straight for the second floor and knocking on the door.

It's Christmastime, Newt's second in Darrow, and he's glad to share in it when he remembers that for a long, long time, the holidays had stopped being on people's radar. It's hard to think about gift giving when any day could bring more death and destruction to the world, he supposes, but he's here now. He's here, he's married, he's happy, and he's ready to spread a little bit of Christmas fucking cheer.

The last time he'd been in On the Downbeat had been a few months ago, and he's been itching to get back to the store to see if the Epiphone Ultra 339 he'd been eyeing is still there. It had been retailing for about $1300 the last Newt had checked, which isn't much of an issue but he's engaged and weddings cost money and maybe, just maybe, a few bucks have been knocked off the price between then and now. He misses playing music, and he's got way too many co-workers with terrible taste--Tiffany Charlotte and Todd Chad? No. No. No, he refuses, absolutely refuses--so he's eager to be surrounded by instruments that will actually produce good sounds.

When he enters the store, he doesn't bother with browsing anything else, just heads straight toward the wall of electric guitars where, sure enough, the Epiphone is still hanging from its so very majestic hook. "Compact like a Les Paul but with the double cutaway and semi-hollow design of the ES-335," he murmurs under his breath, and it's like fucking poetry, man, that's exactly what this is like. He's only somewhat aware of someone walking up next to him, and he assumes it's one of the Downbeat workers so he rambles on. "Pickup-ring-mounted tuner, NanoMag pickup for acoustic sounds and USB output for direct computer recording capability, and I swear, if I wasn't already getting married, I would marry out the hell out of--"

He turns his head then to find a face he hadn't expected--Jesse--and his eyebrows lift in surprise as a friendly smile curves at his lips. "Oh, shit, dude, so did not know that was you." He holds a hand out for a shake. "How's it hangin'?"

He hasn't been sleeping well since he'd woken from his coma, and he still thinks that's kind of funny. Now that he's back to what he supposes he can call normal, as far as his brain is concerned, he feels a little more confident that he'll be okay; it's just that with the recovery in his head had come the memories of that night and that's a little trickier to deal with. He's managed to fake his way through the motions--he's become a master of slowing his breathing and pretending to be asleep until he can sense Kate drift off next to him because otherwise, he knows she'd just worry. He doesn't want her to worry. He just wants to be okay. It wasn't going to happen right away, he knows that, but nobody's been able to give him a solid time frame for when he's going to stop hurting or when he's going to stop thinking that every noise he hears from another room is that junkie back to finish the job, even though he knows the chances of that are incredibly slim, especially considering that Derek and Helen had taken care of the guy themselves.

"It's just going to take some time" is the generic answer he gets, from doctors and friends alike, and Newt's starting to question whether any of them actually know what they're talking about. They're not going through what he is, after all, right? How could they possibly know, how could they possibly understand what it's like? He's never lived with this kind of fear, never, he's never felt like there's anything holding him back and now he's finding that sometimes he's afraid of his own shadow. He's been doing well enough hiding it, he thinks. He still smiles and laughs at jokes and tells his own and people seem pretty convinced that he's moving on just fine. And it's not like he doesn't think he'll jump over this hurdle, he knows he will because he has to, there's no other option; he just doesn't know how long it's going to take and that uncertainty only contributes to his frustration.

He's in the bedroom now, even though it's just barely seven and he'd left Kate in the other room under the guise of needing a nap. He had tried, he's been trying for the last half hour, but it's just not happening. So he sits back up with a heavy sigh and blindly reaches for his crutches. It's taking less and less effort to getting them in the right place, which he's told is good, very good, it means he's healing the way he's supposed to and he should be happy. Happy. What makes him happy now is knowing that his friends are still there, that Kate is still there, and he hates the idea of being a burden to them even though he's pretty sure they'd all smack him in the head for even thinking that. He just can't seem to help it sometimes. Even so, he'd rather be next to her than be alone in here and he hasn't even had a proper conversation about her day since she'd gotten home from work. It takes a little bit of a struggle, but he ventures back out to the living room where she's got her feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Hey," he greets with a small smile, "anything exciting going on?"

He has no idea what he's doing.

He's standing in the middle of this store, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, and nobody's offered to help him yet probably because he looks awfully shady. He feels kind of shady, actually; he keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody he knows is around, which is a tough task when he's in a busy shopping mall but maybe the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd will make it that much easier for him to blend in without getting caught in this shop. He keeps telling himself he's only here because he's curious, he has no intention of actually buying anything, he's just here to browse and get an idea of what he should look for in the future.

Then there's that really big, much louder part of him that's laughing at that bullshit because he's almost definitely going to walk out of this place with a shiny new engagement ring, assuming he finds one that's right. Yeah, he's going to do it. He's going to propose because even though it had been on his birthday that he'd really admitted to himself that Kate's the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, he's pretty sure he's known longer than that. They've been together for only a few months but he's never been more sure about anything in his life--well, it might be on level with how much he'd wanted to join the PPDC and work with kaiju guts but whatever, whatever, that's business and this is personal.

That's why he doesn't want anyone to see him here, he doesn't want any of his friends or her friends or anyone to try to talk him out of this--not that they could--when he doesn't even have a single doubt himself, not even a doubt of her saying yes. Even if he does walk out of here with a ring, it's not like he's going to propose right away anyway; but he'd really like to be prepared. Just in case.

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?"

Newt is pretty sure there's no truer happiness than being released from the hospital. It's been a few days now, about a week since the accident, and now he's in bed just staring up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Everyone keeps telling him to stay off his feet--something about it not being good to run around with a broken leg and lingering effects of a concussion--which, hi, five doctorates in biology here, he knows his way around the human body. He doesn't know why people feel the need to constantly remind him that he's basically an invalid right now, he hates it with a passion that he can't do anything.

He's had visitors, of course; Kate and Chuck have been in and out to check on him, help him where he needs it, and he appreciates all of it, he really does, isn't sure what'd he do without them. But he's used to getting shit done on his own, so having to rely on others to do simple tasks like pouring a damn bowl of cream is kind of infuriating.

So that's why he decides it's a good idea to roll out of bed, grab his crutches, and awkwardly make his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Except there's a damn overhead lightbulb out, and he feels the inexplicable need to change it right now. He drags a chair over--harder than he'd have thought it to be, if he's honest--and carefully hoists himself up on it, using his crutch to balance himself. He bites his lip in concentration and he's maybe starting to get a little dizzy because okay, maybe this isn't his best idea and hopes nobody walks through the front door.