http://bane-6.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2014-03-21 04:18 pm
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2014-03-21 04:18 pm
[March 21] [Pacific Rim] Bone Deep
Title:Bone Deep
Day/Theme: 21. but the salt's a little painful; I'm a sweet tooth after all
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann Gottlieb/Newt Geiszler
Rating: G
It wasn’t allowed.
The whole situation was as simple as that. He simply could not indulge in this. It was professional. It wasn’t done. He wasn’t going to think about it or wish things could be different. That was a waste of time and there was simply not enough time left to waste. The world was ending.
There were lives to be saved and deaths to be avenged. He had work to do, and it was profoundly selfish, childish, and irresponsible to stray from it. Even when he had been writing and reworking the equations for nearly thirteen hours and his hands had cramped and his leg was throbbing, and it had crossed his mind out of nowhere that someone with an understanding of bone structure and nerve pressure could rub his hand and work the pain out of his joints. That was unacceptable. They were both too busy for that. He couldn’t be that weak. Cold and hard was the way of the world now. It was the way he was now, too.
Hermann gave himself a moment to massage his aching hand and leaned against the blackboard to take the weight off his hip. He glanced over at his lab partner, up to the elbows in something horrible and whistling happily about it. It was a riot of color and mess over there. As disgusting as it was, it was probably important, not that he would ever admit that out loud. Neither of them could be spared from their missions, even to comfort each other. Not that Newton would ever need comfort from Hermann. This was all he had ever wanted out of life. He certainly had to reason to want to reach out to a bitter old bag of bones.
A lab tech had said that about Hermann once, muttered under her breath when he had corrected her once too often. The acoustics in the depths of the Shatterdome were such that he had heard it anyway. He hadn’t reacted. He was above such things. Usually. He had lost his temper and his vocabulary with Newton often enough, but that really couldn’t be helped. That man would drive a saint to expletives. Just his voice could be like salt in open wound if he tried.
Hermann flexed his fingers one more time, let the pain flare up around his metacarpals until it had no choice but to fade. He was being ridiculous. Even if Newton was willing to help, he would still have to go through a regimen of sterilization to be safe to touch right now. Even if Hermann would allow it, even though it had been his wistful little idea in the first place, there was no point in this line of thought. More reliable and vital thoughts were needed elsewhere.
Cold and hard, he reminded himself again. Comfort was not a luxury to be had right now. Encouragement was not needed. He started back up his ladder, favoring the bad leg since there was no one to see. He spared one more glance to the candy colors at work with tattoos and viscera across from the room and turned back to the black and white in front of him. No more wishing and wanting. It wasn’t allowed, even if he was the one who wouldn’t allow it. And even if it was, if his teeth didn’t ache for sweetness and his bones for warmth, it still wouldn’t be very likely.
Day/Theme: 21. but the salt's a little painful; I'm a sweet tooth after all
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann Gottlieb/Newt Geiszler
Rating: G
It wasn’t allowed.
The whole situation was as simple as that. He simply could not indulge in this. It was professional. It wasn’t done. He wasn’t going to think about it or wish things could be different. That was a waste of time and there was simply not enough time left to waste. The world was ending.
There were lives to be saved and deaths to be avenged. He had work to do, and it was profoundly selfish, childish, and irresponsible to stray from it. Even when he had been writing and reworking the equations for nearly thirteen hours and his hands had cramped and his leg was throbbing, and it had crossed his mind out of nowhere that someone with an understanding of bone structure and nerve pressure could rub his hand and work the pain out of his joints. That was unacceptable. They were both too busy for that. He couldn’t be that weak. Cold and hard was the way of the world now. It was the way he was now, too.
Hermann gave himself a moment to massage his aching hand and leaned against the blackboard to take the weight off his hip. He glanced over at his lab partner, up to the elbows in something horrible and whistling happily about it. It was a riot of color and mess over there. As disgusting as it was, it was probably important, not that he would ever admit that out loud. Neither of them could be spared from their missions, even to comfort each other. Not that Newton would ever need comfort from Hermann. This was all he had ever wanted out of life. He certainly had to reason to want to reach out to a bitter old bag of bones.
A lab tech had said that about Hermann once, muttered under her breath when he had corrected her once too often. The acoustics in the depths of the Shatterdome were such that he had heard it anyway. He hadn’t reacted. He was above such things. Usually. He had lost his temper and his vocabulary with Newton often enough, but that really couldn’t be helped. That man would drive a saint to expletives. Just his voice could be like salt in open wound if he tried.
Hermann flexed his fingers one more time, let the pain flare up around his metacarpals until it had no choice but to fade. He was being ridiculous. Even if Newton was willing to help, he would still have to go through a regimen of sterilization to be safe to touch right now. Even if Hermann would allow it, even though it had been his wistful little idea in the first place, there was no point in this line of thought. More reliable and vital thoughts were needed elsewhere.
Cold and hard, he reminded himself again. Comfort was not a luxury to be had right now. Encouragement was not needed. He started back up his ladder, favoring the bad leg since there was no one to see. He spared one more glance to the candy colors at work with tattoos and viscera across from the room and turned back to the black and white in front of him. No more wishing and wanting. It wasn’t allowed, even if he was the one who wouldn’t allow it. And even if it was, if his teeth didn’t ache for sweetness and his bones for warmth, it still wouldn’t be very likely.