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Don't talk to me, I'm busy... No, seriously, I think I'm on the verge of figuring out how to get out of here so actually maybe you should hear me out because if I'm right like I always am, it's entirely possible that every single one of us could get back to where we're suppos--
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Newt Geiszler, #17
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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."
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Even though that whole getting arrested in Other Darrow thing had happened like eighty-four years ago, Newt is still totally cashing in on it. Coop had mentioned in passing that he still owed him a drink to make up for it, probably more as a semi-joke than anything else, but Newt had decided against the kinder side of his judgment and kept his friend on the hook.

It's the perfect evening for it. Kate's got stuff to do for the store so Newt's working a little overtime at the lab, where Coop's going to meet him. Hardly anyone else is here this late, except for the ones who are crazier than him--but definitely not as smart--and there's nobody to tell him not to blast AC/DC or Metallica or jam out while using various expensive lab tech as microphones.

It's only when he gets the text saying Coop's waiting to be let into the lab that Newt hops down from one of the tables to get the door open, but the music stays on. If he had his way, it would always be on.

"What's up, dude," Newt says with a grin, stepping aside to let Coop in. "I'm almost done here, I swear."
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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?


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.

july 1

1/7/16 20:33
sciencesaggressively: (gettin agitated)
Every once in awhile, the day gets away from him.

Newt hadn't even realized it was past seven until his phone had buzzed with a text from Kate saying that she'd be home late because she was going out for an impromptu dinner with some of her coworkers. He'd shot her back a message saying he was only just leaving the lab, which hadn't even surprised her at all, and it takes another half hour before he finally manages to drag himself away from the blood samples he's been studying. His stomach rumbles as he steps into the elevator with a yawn, and he rubs at the back of his neck as he tries to remember whether or not he'd actually eaten anything since lunch. Allison had force-fed him, as she usually does when she doesn't seem him wander out into the lobby during his lunch hours, but Newt's pretty sure that he hasn't touched anything other than several cups of coffee since then.

When he walks out of the building, the sidewalk is pretty much empty, aside from a couple shadowy figures further up in either direction, and Newt's at a crossroads. Pizza is one way, burgers the other, and life is so goddamn hard right now that he doesn't even know what to do.

"Make a move, genius," he mutters to himself, willing what he is totally identifying as a hunger headache away as he feels the pressure starting to grow at the base of his skull. "Nah, the bar. Burgers and beer, that's where it's at."

Semele's seems like a good choice for that so Newt sets his sights in that direction, walking with renewed purpose and a determined expression.
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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?”
sciencesaggressively: (ruining mah life)
Newt has made a grievous error in thinking that hauling a covered bucket full of ammonia and housing a kaiju skin louse around town wouldn't be that hard. It is that hard, goddamn it, and he has so many regrets, but Seymour had desperately needed to get out of the lab, Newt could tell. Or maybe Newt's the one who needed to get out of the lab because he's working late tonight since a couple of his colleagues had so very conveniently called in sick the day after Christmas, leaving him to pick up the slack. Dick move, total dick move.

By the time nine o'clock had rolled around, Newt had been pretty sure he was going cross-eyed because he'd forgotten to take a lunch today, and Allison continues to attempt to make coffee scarce for him because she's just rude like that, apparently. So he'd decided to bring Seymour out for a little outing, just to see what would happen if he changes the little guy's environment. He hasn't heard a peep out of him yet, which is better than Seymour trying to skitter his way out of this bucket, and Newt settles down on a bench so he can peer in to see how his skin louse is doing.

"You're good, right, buddy?" he asks, keeping his voice low because it's cold enough that people aren't really taking casual strolls out here in the park, but he'd still spotted people here and there--and he's starting to think Kate's maybe right about keeping Seymour more on the down low. It's not even that he's worried he's not supposed to have him, it's more that Newt's paranoid someone might actually try to take him, and he's grown weirdly attached. It's because it's the only thing he really has to remind him of where he's from, he supposes, other than Chuck, but Newt can't keep Chuck nearby in a bucket of ammonia all the time. Or ever, really.

"I really have to start teaching you some tricks or something, Seymour. Allison and Kate think you're gross and everyone else thinks you're pretty much useless, but we can totally prove them wrong." The parasite's six black eyes stare blankly back at him, and Newt sighs. "Just hanging out, talking to my skin louse. The fuck is even wrong with me right now?"
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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.
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He's had a little skip in his step ever since he and Kate had gotten engaged--it's been nearly a month now, and he still feels the urge to do freakin' twirls and cartwheels every time he thinks that, every time he remembers that he's engaged to the most beautiful, most talented, most incredible woman in this city, and he'd say he has no idea how this happened but it only makes sense that the two most awesome people in Darrow would end up together--and today is no exception. What's even better is that his boss has returned from maternity leave so while he's still playing co-pilot before handing the reigns completely back over to her--which he will do gladly because goddamn, that whole thing with her having a baby had really put a damper in his life outside of the lab--the work load has at least been reduced, and he feels like he can breathe again.

He's on lunch now and it's with a twinge of disappointment that he texts Kate only to discover that she'd just gotten back to work from hers--it's impossible to plan lunch dates when they're working, neither of them ever have a set time and it all depends on how busy it is in the store or in the lab and because of that there are have been times when Newt hasn't even taken lunch at all--so he's really just wandering down the sidewalk for somewhere to eat.

He can't decide, and he's walked this line of shops and restaurants many, many times over the course of the past year, but he can't decide. He's staring up at a Burgerpit with a dismayed expression because he's eaten here three times this week. He's regretted it every time, though, so he heaves a sigh and turns to continue his way down the line. He doesn't see her and that's why he bumps into her, and it's with a yelp that he reaches out to grab her wrist before she fall backwards to the ground.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" he explains, making sure she's steady on her feet before releasing her because seriously, stranger danger and shit, not even on his part in this moment but on hers, and holds his hands up for extra measure, just to assure her that he'd meant no harm. "I totally blame the hunger pains, are you okay?"
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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'?"
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In the end, there'd really only ever been the one right way to do it.

He realizes the text he'd sent her had been maybe a little vague, maybe even a little more of a cause for concern. We need to talk had seemed fine at the time but then he'd remembered that the phrase carries a whole bunch of negative connotations with it that really aren't fair for people who are in relationships because sometimes, the need to talk really is there but it totally comes off as a bad thing.

A follow-up text had let Kate know that she should join him on the roof, and Newt has gone to great lenghts to make sure they won't have any unwelcome visitors by creating a false memo for every resident of Dimera--that's a lot of fucking residents, just for the record--that the door would remain locked for the evening. Kind of rude considering it's the Fourth of July? Maybe. He doesn't care all too much. His primary concern is that inviting Kate up to the roof isn't in itself isn't a dead giveaway because the roof has totally been their happy place since they'd started dating.

The flamingos are still up here, the telescope aimed in the direction of their stars, the table and chairs, the boombox--all of it's here. Nobody had thought or cared to move it, and it almost feels like that alone makes the roof theirs. He's been pacing back and forth for a solid half hour, pausing every so often to poke his head out over the ledge to see if he can spot her on the ground because she should be on her way back any minute but the fireworks are going to start soon and Christ, he's not nervous about what this whole thing is going to lead to but there's still that tight pulsing in his chest, there's the overwhelming sense of this could go terribly wrong.

What he clings to is the knowledge that there's not a single part of him that doubts how much he wants this. He's never felt about anyone the way he feels about Kate, has never felt this much love for a single person, and sometimes he wakes up wondering if Darrow hadn't just been one very long, very detailed dream. He couldn't have predicted this or even imagined it because the life he'd had before this wouldn't have allowed it. But right now, standing up on this roof waiting for Kate to arrive with his hand in his pocket, clutching at the ring, he knows that this is where he's supposed to be. This is what he's supposed to do.

Tonight, he's proposing. Tonight, he's going to be the happiest man in Darrow.
sciencesaggressively: (omf your innocent little face)
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?"
sciencesaggressively: (don't like what i'm hearing)
It's 8:08 in the morning.. Newt's been awake for six hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-three seconds. Thirty-four now. He knows this because there's a clock on the wall in front of him and he's been watching it very carefully between rounds of people coming in to fuss over him, ask him questions he doesn't know the answers to, hearing the doctors and nurses talk about him like he's not even there. He doesn't pay very much attention anyway, all he really wants to do is get the hell out of here even though he's pretty sure that's not going to be an option for a solid minute.

When he'd woken up, there'd been only pain--pain in his head, pain in his side, pain everywhere. There's been a respite since because he's got drugs being pumped in him through an IV. He's already been told that he's been in a coma for... Christ, has it really been almost two weeks? He can't really remember much, though the doctors have said something about-- what was it, recessing memories? That doesn't make sense but whatever, nothing makes a whole lot of sense right now because all he knows is that he'd been stabbed and that really freakin' sucks, dude.

The television has been turned on for him by a kind nurse whose name he guiltily can't remember right now but his attention stays with the clock. It's not until the door to his room opens again that his eyes leave the ticking hands and he raises an eyebrow at the entrance, fully expecting it to be more nurses. When he sees who walks through, he relaxes the tension he hadn't even realized has been in his shoulders and a relieved smile curves the corners of his lips. "Hey," he says softly, "it's been awhile, huh?"

[st/lt welcome ftr]
sciencesaggressively: (let's talk later)
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.
sciencesaggressively: (Default)
It's been a month. Well, give or take, but still at least a month since he and Kate had gone on their first date. It seems like so much longer, after everything that's happened--the casket, the car accident, meeting the surrogate parent, the nightmare--and yet, he's still got butterflies in his stomach as he waits for her on the roof, holding a bottle of champagne. It had taken him most of the day to prepare this date, and she's been working so he wants so badly for this to be relaxing and enjoyable and all those nice words that should be associated with a date.

He'd been very specific. Meet him at his place, no need to knock--not that either of them do anyway. Just beyond the door, he'd placed that little pink flamingo she'd told him about, the one that her friend had put in the casket with her, with a note reading Change of plans. Take the elevator. Inside the elevator, another note: To the roof. The door to the roof has a bouquet of daisies propped on it along with another note: No broken limbs this time. P.S. Don't laugh.

And he's here, on the other side, surrounded by more arrangements of every kind of flower he could get from the shop--carnations, lilies, roses, tulips. He'd had help, of course, especially with dragging the round glasstop table and wrought iron chairs he'd found at the pawn shop up here. Plus another lawn flamingo that he'd strategically placed next to what is now being designated as Kate's chair. He figures he can leave it all, let whoever happens to come up here take advantage of it, but for now there's a lit candelabra on the table along with an ice bucket, two champagne flutes, and two plates of roasted lemongrass chicken that are still steaming under their lids. A portable stereo is playing some soft rock radio, and he's going to be pretty damn broke until he secures a job but he wants this to be special. He wants it to be something she won't forget.
sciencesaggressively: (Default)
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?"
sciencesaggressively: (giving me a headache bro)
He'd drifted off easily enough, a smile on his face because his arm had been draped over Kate's waist, their fingers entwined and his forehead resting against her shoulder. He doesn't know how deep into sleep he is when it starts, the images tinted in blue--images and memories and emotions. He can see the Precursors, sees their wide eyes as Gipsy Danger destroys them all and closes the breach, a victory for the PPDC but nothing but pain and tragedy for the aliens; he can feel it when Striker Eureka kills Scunner; when Gipsy blasts Leatherback into oblivion. It's all pain, experience his mind believes he's connected to because of the drifts, and the part of his mind that is still just Newt is desperate to get the hell out of this, for an escape, for the pain to ease and--

He wakes up, chest heaving, and he paws at the nightstand beside him until he manages to find his glasses. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust back to reality, and realizes his hands are gripping the bedsheets so tightly that they're trembling. Or maybe it's his whole body that's trembling, that's quickly becoming a larger possibility. His one relief right now is that Kate only shifts a little in her sleep, and he holds his breath until she stops moving and her breathing steadies again; it's the last thing he wants to do, wake her up because of this shit, but then he feels something wet dripping down his nose and he curses to himself as he reaches up to wipe what he knows is blood away.

"Goddammit," he mutters to himself, trying his hardest to slide out of bed without disturbing her. He makes it to the bathroom quietly enough even without his cane to help and winces when he turns on the light, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. When he catches sight of his bloody mess of a face, he grimaces, shaking his head. He grabs at some toilet paper and perches on the edge of the bathtub, stuffing his nose with a distressed sigh. He has no clue what the hell had spurred the nightmare, he hasn't had one since the first time nearly a month ago. He'd honestly thought this wasn't going to be an issue but even if it is, he needs to be able to figure out if this is going to be a random occurrence or if he'll be able to map this out. Nobody needs to know about this, right? It's nothing.
sciencesaggressively: (i've said too much)
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.
sciencesaggressively: (Default)
It had started out innocently enough, just a casual conversation with Kate on the topic of the envelope mystery. It's when she'd brought up the idea of getting ahold of the security footage that they'd both stared at each other, clearly coming to the silent agreement that they need to get ahold of the security footage. It doesn't take long for both of them to get changed--all black, of course, because that's what the movies always say is best--and rendezvous at the train station at 1800 hours during a convenient switching of the shifts at the information booth.

Newt tries to look cool, leaning against the wall nearest the empty booth as a few people pass him by--and he finds it kind of weird that they seem to be noticing him more than usual, or maybe he's just being paranoid. The door to the security room is just around the corner and the station is emptying out, so it's pretty much now or never. Well, never until the next shift change, whatever. He peers around the corner, failing to notice Kate coming up behind him, so when she taps him on the shoulder he can't stop the yelp that escapes from his throat, and he really wishes he'd bought that ski mask he'd seen at the store because his cheeks are awfully red right now.

"I thought you were the fuzz," he says even as his eyes crinkle from a wide smile and he leans over for a kiss. "I think we're in good shape to do this, you ready?"