sciencesaggressively | (no subject)

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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"I'm gonna need about three damn drinks minimum after this," Coop said decisively. Newt was still a dick but Coop had had drinks with worse people and they'd gone through a traumatic experience together so they deserved to drink until they couldn't see straight.

"Oh please, smells don't bother me. I spent nearly two years sharing a prison cell with a guy who was a literal swamp thing," Coop said, thinking of Rodney. "I can handle a little stink. Everyone stinks when you're in prison so your sense of smell dulls just so you can survive your sentence. Guys who are in their for life can't tell the difference between smelling great food or some guy's dirty socks."

He's heard about Swampy before, but Newt still doesn't think that would make any future shared, small spaces with smelly dudes any more tolerable. Whatever, though, if Coop can't appreciate how good Newt smells, that's his problem. He's about to say as much when there's a clanging from the other side of the elevator doors, and Newt's eyes brighten.

"Salvation!" He claps a hand down on Coop's shoulder then takes the couple steps forward to pound on the door. "Hey, get us out of here, man!"

"Can you wait one damn minute?" comes the response. The guy sounds grumpier than the one on the speaker, and Newt's pretty sure is Frank. Goddamn Frank. "We're workin' on it, we got a crowbar and everything."

"Oh, a crowbar!" Coop called from behind Newt. He thought about shoving Newt aside and fighting him to be the first one out but that seemed like it might jostle the elevator or just cause the guys trying to help them to walk away so he waited patiently.

Somewhat patiently.

"I'm so relieved," he continued, shaking his head and tapping one hand against the elevator wall. "Glad we got the experts here after like an hour or calling! My heroes!"

Newt glares at Coop from over his shoulder, kicking a foot back, though he doesn't actually make any contact. "Dude, shut up, don't piss them off!" Lowering his voice, he adds, more urgently, "If it's Frank out there like I think it is, he might actually leave us in here just to spite me."

"It is Frank, and I still heard that."

With a heavy sigh, Newt closes his eyes and drops his head, fist clenched as he pounds it against the elevator door. "I rue the day you were hired, Frank!"

"I've been working here for twenty years, Geiszler, keep your mouth shut!"

"That's literally impossible because Darrow isn't twenty years old but keep lying to yourself, buddy!" He looks back at Coop, exasperated. "He hates me because he doesn't like it when I point out all the discrepancies about the city. I mean, most of the 'natives' here don't like that, but Frank's an old geezer and gets especially pissy."

"Swear to god, Geiszler, I'll leave you and your little friend in there to rot!"

The words don't have the same bite to it that they could have, if only because the doors creak open then, the first bit of new, glorious hallway light starting to shine through.

"Don't kick me, you dick!" Coop said, falling back on an old friend because he couldn't think of anything else witty to say. He just wanted to get out of this elevator and drink until he couldn't feel his toes.

"You leave me in here to rot, you'll have to explain that to my wife and one year old kid!" Coop lied because it wasn't like Frank knew he had nothing but a plant and a few stolen items at home. If he wanted to be a jerk, Coop was going to make him feel like a jerk.

"He loves his daddy and you taking that away would scar him for life," Coop added, muttering several thankful curses when he saw light and the decor of Newt's building beyond that. "Hurry up so I can go home to my kid, man!"

Before Newt can even say anything, mostly because he's glaring at Coop out of pure exasperation--this must me how Chuck feels when they hang out--the elevator doors pry open and there it is. Freedom.

Freedom and Frank, whose ugly mug is staring at them both expectantly, like he wants to be paid extra for doing his job or something.

"He doesn't have a kid," Newt says quickly, stepping out of the elevator, which had totally and conveniently landed right at the level of what he recognizes to be the third floor. "Thanks, bud, we'll just get right out of your hair. Maybe take the steps this time, am I right?"

He grasps for Coop's sleeve then, tugging hard and giving his friend a little shove toward the staircase with Frank's raspy voice calling after them, "You're a real prick, Geiszler."

Not untrue, but that doesn't mean he has to stick around to be verbally abused. Even real pricks have feelings.