#* daniel

     “ — aaaanyway.” Hermann’s come and gone in a flurry of complaining and honestly, really, truthfully, deep down, being real here, Daniel is glad to see the back of him. He waits until the sound of his footsteps has faded before he turns back to Newt. “I have no idea what’s up with this thing.” He means the drift device he’s holding, kind of limply and at a distance, like it’s going to start spitting acid at him. It might. How is he to know. “And I could go to engineering but,” he makes a face, “I didn’t. You’re smart, you can fix it, right?”

     He’s spent too long feeling sorry for himself and not long enough actually sourcing his band-aids. They’re buried under a pack of latex gloves. On his way back over to Nova he reflects that this might be the most surgical thing he’s done in a good long while. He puts his hands on her shoulders to steer her over to sit on his desk, and takes her arm with a level of care he’d apply to handling eggs or expensive commemorative plates. “Oh. D’you have a preference?” He offers her the tin to take her pick. It’s Jaeger-themed. For kids, you know. “I think I ran out of Crimson Typhoon ones.”