Chapter Text
Trips thereafter became shorter and involved a far wider array of places that Hermann would never have thought possible. It was clear that Newton was no longer intimidated by the idea of scaring Hermann away with the far-off wonders of the universe, whether they be the distant past when dinosaurs roamed the Earth, or the edges of the galaxy with stars that burned white-blue. The sight of Newton, so incredibly in love with the universe from its atomic structure to the supermassive black holes that destroyed it, made Hermann’s heart ache with want.
He followed him dutifully, heart leaping to his throat whenever Newton would reach for his hand and take it in his, knowing that regardless of whether they were about to take off running after something or slow down to stare, Newton wanted him at his side. He could cope with their purely platonic relationship, he figured, so long as Newton continued to hold his hand. The large, bright smiles that he was given was a mere bonus.
This time, Newton had taken him to the 1970s to see a band that he liked–before they got big and started selling out every show that they announced. It was… nice, Hermann decided, to be able to see something so quaint. Newton’s excited grin was contagious, and even though his singing was certainly not the greatest, Hermann didn’t even mind.
The band had not been of Hermann’s typical taste, although if what Newton had told him was accurate (and he believed it to be so), that sort of music had not been commonplace for a near century by the current time period. Even though Newton tended to ease Hermann into the changes of culture on Earth more than he did alien planets, the things he found out still managed to shock him. Music, of all the things humanity had invented, had seemed to be one of the few constants it possessed, at least prior to the introduction of instruments like guitars and saxophones.
They had been walking around London after the show, debating over whether to try and find a hotel to stay the night or just sleep inside the TARDIS, when Hermann heard his name being called. He ignored it at first, seeing as the only one who feasibly could have known his name was Newton, and they were already deep in conversation with one another, but the call kept growing louder and louder. By the time Hermann caved in and turned to see whoever was calling his name, the person had already gotten close enough to reach out so that their fingers brushed against his forearm.
The likelihood of an encounter with Vanessa had been astronomically low. Hermann knew that with absolute certainty, had calculated the chances every single time before they landed somewhere in England after the 30s, moreso to comfort himself than Newton despite his hang-ups about things like being recognised. If it hadn’t been for the terms of their parting, Hermann would have called the encounter ‘lucky’. As things were, however, it was very much the opposite.
Vanessa's hair was greying and clearly had not seen a straightener for quite some time, nothing like the short jet black bob she had kept in her youth that only had the slightest curl at the bottom. In the forty years since she'd seen him last, a timespan of which Hermann was unsure he had passed himself, she had gained the beginning of liver spots on the backs of her hands, more wrinkles had formed alongside her smile lines, and her eyes, which had once been bright and full of life, had grown sad and almost dewy-looking.
“Hermann?” she asked again, all of the confidence in her voice lost as she acknowledged the wide-eyed look on Hermann’s face. “Is it really you?”
Hermann reached for her outstretched hand and held it gently, as if she was royalty. He was distantly aware of Newton stopping beside him, drawing himself to his full height (still far shorter than either Hermann or Vanessa) as if threatened by her. Hermann waited for Vanessa to smile before pulling her into a hug, his cane still placed firmly on the ground so that he wouldn’t put too much weight on her, even if it meant he could only embrace her with one arm. She hugged him as if she was scared he would disappear, and he could not blame her for thinking so.
“It’s been so long,” she said, hands clasping around the back of his chest as if forming a prayer. Does she know He is not there? Does she know and pray anyway? Hermann was not sure when he had become so certain of such things, when they changed from mathematical speculation to fact in his mind, but it must’ve been when he was with Newton. There was no other option. “I was beginning to think I made you up. The last Hermann Gottlieb I could find that matched your description was from–”
“1895. Born in 1874,” he said with certainty. Vanessa ended the hug first as if his words had broken her out of her reverie, but then looked to where Newton had been standing. Hermann followed her gaze, and that was how he realised that Newton had left. Hermann felt his heart ache, somehow guilty-feeling over how he had not noticed his friend’s disappearance even though he failed to announce it. He thought he had gotten so good at reading him that sometimes he forgot that there was so much he could still never know. So many “not yet”s and even more “no”s.
“You were with Newton,” Vanessa said, bringing Hermann back down to Earth. Humanity often felt so far away now. Sometimes Hermann forgot. She studied his face–deep brown, almost black eyes picking through his mind as if he hadn’t been gone at all. As if he was still her English tutor and friend, one of which was still true. Hermann wasn’t sure that they were on the same page as to which one it was. “Neither of you have aged a day, how is that possible?”
Vanessa’s hands were on his shoulders, tethering him to the ground, a steel pole connected to a hot air balloon keeping it from flying away. Poetry was human, this was human, but he wasn’t sure he liked it anymore. "...What are you?" she asked, slowly, her hands leaving him like a knotted rope being untied. Hermann was a hot air balloon, being set free. He didn't want to be human.
He was uncertain as to how long it had been since he saw his family last. He knew that it had been years but the exact number eluded him, and when he looked in mirrors either in his bathroom on the TARDIS or in any of the many places they had stayed in on their travels, he looked nearly the exact same as the day he had left. His clothes had changed and his cane had grown more weathered and perhaps, if a coloured photo was presented to him, Hermann would be able to say his hair had become a lighter brown from the sun, but there was almost no sign of the ageing process.
He remembered, then, what Newton had said about his father. Despite how he did at first glance appear to be Hermann’s age, if not younger, there was no doubt that he was far, far older; if not twice his age, then more. It was something that could only be seen in his eyes and from the distant look they would at times acquire, but even then, Hermann found himself wondering if it really was as blatant of a give-away as he thought, or if he simply spent too much time staring at the swirling, bright, alien greens of his irises.
“Human,” he said, and even though it was the truth, it felt wrong. “Just like you.”
Vanessa had settled down in London some time in the past decade, having apparently decided that the small town in the moors wasn’t what she needed. She chatted pleasantly enough with Hermann about what life had been like after he and Newton had disappeared, how the judgemental looks never really stopped any time she mentioned how she never wanted to be married, and how distraught the more conservative parents were to find that their children of which Hermann had tutored had not magically rid themselves of his anti-capitalist doctrine the moment he had vanished. She poured two cups of tea as she continued to ramble, and although Hermann was thankful, he couldn’t help but feel disconnected from it all.
It was not as if he was unaware as to what changes had caused him to reanalyse the mundane happenings of human life under a new lens. Whilst before he had been more than content to hop around Earth’s timeline, staying in certain places he felt more comfortable in for months or, sometimes, over a year at a time, the introduction of alien worlds had… broadened his horizons, somewhat. What had once been so intimidating, the mere prospect of setting foot on the rocks, soil, or sand of a planet so far away from his own, had become nearly addictive. An adequate replacement for his once awful smoking habit, Hermann supposed. Newton wouldn’t let him anywhere near a cigarette so long as they were regularly boarding the TARDIS.
Speaking of, the man’s sudden leave had not been forgotten by Hermann. It was rather the opposite, really; he was trying desperately to figure out just what could have caused Newton to wander off without so much as a word, and the longer Hermann pondered, the deeper into conspiracy he became. It wasn’t as if he had some form of claim over Newton’s thoughts as his closest friend–such a thing would be ridiculous to assume, no matter how much Hermann sometimes wished he did. It would at least mean he would be able to know what had caused him to run away.
“You’re not paying attention,” Vanessa said, waving a hand in front of Hermann’s face. He shook himself out of his thoughts quickly, before carefully picking up the tea Vanessa had poured for him and taking a sip. It wasn’t scalding, but it still burned his tongue, and the bitterness was familiar. Not something he’d had in a while, not with Newton’s adoration for cold, sugary drinks like milkshakes and iced coffees with far too much whipped cream, but it was familiar. A nice change of pace.
“I apologise,” Hermann responded, once he finished his sip. “I haven’t exactly been the most… grounded, as of late.” Hermann allowed himself a chuckle, although Vanessa didn’t find his joke anywhere close to being funny. A pity, really. He had thought he was getting better at lightening the mood.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vanessa asked, borderline incredulous. The disapproval and distaste in her tone struck Hermann’s nerves, and the ungentlemanly part of himself thought of snapping back with twice as much venom, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Vanessa was his friend. Although, he wasn’t entirely sure if that was the right word for their peculiar situation; she hadn’t seen him for decades after all. How long had it been for himself? “Are you meaning to tell me you’ve been spacing out this entire time?”
“Something like that,” Hermann shot back without a moment’s hesitation.
“Will you stop being so vague! I always remembered you as being so… direct! What happened, Hermann? Where were you? What did you do? Why did you leave?” The final question hung over both of their heads, unasked and, for the same reasons, unanswered; why didn’t you say goodbye?
Hermann allowed himself to truly look at Vanessa, to analyse just how much she’d changed in the years that had passed. Mere physical features were in no way all-encompassing, especially in regards to the personality of an individual, and he supposed that his attempts to summarise all that had changed by noting her wrinkles and greying hair had been, for lack of a better word, foolish. Hermann would be the first to admit he had never been particularly sociable, often retreating to the confines of his own bedroom well into his teenage years during gatherings at the family home that would typically spill over into the second and even third drawing rooms, but he had been getting better. With Newton’s assistance, of course.
The years had clearly hardened Vanessa’s once endlessly inquisitive mind—not to say that she wasn’t curious anymore, only that it was directed towards things other than it once had been—and turned her once endless optimism into something else. There was no word for it that he could think of, but it was something akin to melancholy. Her German accent, once thick and impossible to disguise, had been replaced with a vaguely English one, and Hermann already knew why. If the forty-or-so years would have been harsh enough on Hermann and his… eccentricities, he didn’t even want to think of what Vanessa had had to stomach. They had been friends, and he hadn't even been there to support her. What kind of friend did that make him, then?
“I’ve been travelling with Newton, but you wouldn’t exactly believe me if I told you where.” Supposedly, humanity only managed to reach the moon in 1969, something which had greatly shocked Hermann considering some of his colleagues’ ambitions, and so it was only natural to assume that telling Vanessa he had been travelling through not only space, but time, would be a bit much to swallow. He was aware of how unsatisfying his answer must have been, but as far as he was concerned, it was the truth. It would be another few hundred years before humanity would even attempt to travel beyond their own solar system, after all.
Vanessa, however, seemed ready to prove him wrong. "Try me."
Her jaw was set, eyes hardened into what could almost be described as a glare. She was challenging Hermann to say no to her, to prove what she had said to him all of those years ago right. To prove that he was stubborn, to prove that he was lacking in the reason and resolve that he prided himself on if something else got in the way. Vanessa, even all these years since Hermann had last seen her, still managed to be the most convincing person he had ever met.
“Alright. I’ll tell you. I hope you are comfortably seated.”
By the time Hermann had finished recounting his story, his cup of tea had long gone cold and undrinkable. The sun had begun to settle on the horizon, casting bright orange sunbeams through the blinds and onto the brown carpet. Vanessa, to her credit, had remained enraptured the entire time, although it was clear that the information, whether it be by content or length, was weighing on her greatly; her posture, which had started out straightened and polite, had gradually drooped until she sat with slumped shoulders and her elbows on her knees to keep herself upright. Her eyes closed halfway, as if she couldn’t open them any further, and she looked unspeakably tired. It could’ve been her age, but she hadn’t looked nearly as bad when they had started their conversation.
Hermann chanced a glance at his wristwatch, frowning when he saw just how long it had been since they had reunited. He had managed to spend three whole hours in Vanessa’s company, barely aware of the passage of time. Normally he wouldn’t pay much mind, but normally Newton didn’t disappear without explanation or, seemingly, reason. He didn’t want Newton to fret over him and where he was if he arrived back at the TARDIS to find he wasn’t there, but he didn’t want to abandon Vanessa again; it was already bad enough that he had the first time, now that he had seen what effect it had had on her.
She had adjusted well, given how Hermann had been her tutor and closest friend for nearly a year before leaving without a trace. It wasn’t as if she would have had many other people to talk to—after all, Hermann hadn’t exactly made his presence well-known within the village, and Newton had been borderline avoidant of the townsfolk—but she had managed. He might even go so far as to say that she had done well for herself, with her cosy house filled with porcelain trinkets of her liking. Everything was well-worn and well-loved, an echo of what life looked like forty, thirty, twenty years ago. It warmed his heart.
Hermann stood from his seat and cleared his throat, drawing Vanessa’s attention. “I believe it’s time I left,” he said, with all the unfamiliarity of a friend of a friend, as if he and the Hermann that had tutored her so long ago were only superficially the same. “Newton will be waiting for me, I expect. It doesn’t do good to keep him waiting, he really is the most impatient man.”
He made to leave before Vanessa could protest, but she grabbed him by the arm. Despite her old age, her grip was strong. “I have one more question,” she said, and Hermann couldn’t bring himself to deprive her of the answer. If it was the last time he ever saw her, he didn’t want to leave her still unsatisfied. He nodded his permission. “What is so enticing about him?”
Hermann blinked. “Pardon?”
“Perhaps I misspoke. Clearly he finds you just as difficult to part from as you do him, otherwise you wouldn’t be so concerned, right?” Vanessa shook her head when Hermann didn’t immediately respond, as if disappointed he didn’t understand what she was trying to say. She tried again. “Why do you go with him?”
Seconds seemed to tick by slower than usual, painfully so, as Hermann tried to figure out how to respond. He supposed Vanessa had a point in wondering just what it was that made Newton so special to him, what kept drawing him back in even when he was seemingly content. It was an understandable mistake to make, that of assuming that Newton had been the reason for Hermann’s sudden disappearance. After all, out of the two of them, Newton had been the more physically distant one. That didn’t stop Hermann from being distant in a mental sort of sense, though.
“I don’t think I’m meant to stay anywhere,” he finally decided, although he said the words with far more caution than he had everything else he’d said that day. “Nothing ever feels right. Nothing ever needs me.”
“I was your friend, Hermann. I needed you.” Vanessa’s eyes were watery, and it was then that Hermann felt more shame than he had ever felt before. He couldn’t possibly think of something to respond to that with, he couldn’t belittle Vanessa like that. So instead, he waited for Vanessa’s hand to let go of his arm before he walked out of her house, staring resolutely at the ground.
Figuring it would do himself good to try and take his mind off Vanessa’s parting words as he tried to find the TARDIS, Hermann began taking note of the cobbles and concrete beneath his feet. The stones were drab and grey, although smoothed over from years of wear as people tread on them going from home to school, work, or the shops. Concrete didn’t offer any story nearly as exciting, except for the rare instance in which someone had written their name in it or something else along those lines while it was still drying. The surface was at least easier for his cane, though, and the grass and weeds that sprung up in the cracks were nice to look at.
Roads were another beast entirely. Although he’d crossed plenty before on his travels, he’d scarcely done so on his own, and none anywhere near as densely populated by cars as the ones that populated London in the 70s. Hermann had never been the most consciously thankful of things before, seeing as he typically spent far more time thinking of more important things (such as whatever mathematical equation was troubling him at the time), but he was two streets away from becoming lost at any moment and desperately needed to keep track of where he was. It wasn’t too much of a surprise when he found himself mentally thanking the city planners for being so liberal with their placements of stoplights and crosswalks.
Hermann had just managed to find the concert hall which Newton had taken him to when a friendly voice called out to him. “Hermann! There you are!” There was barely enough time for him to brace himself before Newton had put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a half-hug. It was bad enough that he used seemingly all his weight to pull Hermann down to his height, but what was worse was that he didn’t even mind; if anything, he found it to be endearing.
“I wandered off for a second to give you and that nice lady some privacy and the next thing I know, boom, you’re gone!” Newton was laughing, just as jovial as ever, seemingly having completely forgotten about how he had bristled up the moment he recognised Vanessa. Hermann wasn’t stupid—he knew Newton didn’t forget anything as seemingly quickly as he had his negative reaction—but Hermann didn’t want to rock the boat. Perhaps it was because he wanted to keep the mood as preppy as Newton had made it. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to think much about Vanessa anymore.
“I hope you didn’t struggle keeping yourself entertained for the three hours I was gone,” Hermann said, attempting a smile. He cautiously pulled himself out of Newton’s hug, although not without some resistance. “I know you only made a stop here to see that concert.”
Newton shrugged, seemingly unbothered, although Hermann had gotten better at reading him. “Eh, it was fine. Got to go to the museum, corrected the guides on whatever they got wrong. Got kicked out of the museum for being right.” The man had, undoubtedly, been bored out of his mind. Hermann couldn’t blame him; he seemingly knew everything about the time period. A particular favourite of his, Hermann supposed.
“Well then, we should get back to the TARDIS, shouldn’t we?” Hermann cringed at the sense of urgency that he wasn’t quite capable of removing from his tone, but Newton remained unbothered. He simply took Hermann by the arm and began dragging him through the crowds of people, not even waiting for the stoplights to turn red before beginning to cross the road. His confidence would be commendable if it didn’t scare the living daylights out of Hermann, who was incredibly conscious of the air rushing past him as they narrowly dodged cars or other pedestrians.
Beforehand, Hermann had restricted his reading to books on mathematics, although he would be remiss to say that that had truly been all he had read during his time with Newton. Sometimes, when feeling burned out, he would find himself grabbing fiction books from the shelves which he was absolutely certain were only populated by mathematics papers from his own future. Sometimes it was something from his time, a novel about the drama occurring at some fictional noble house. Sometimes, however, it was science fiction, which was far more to Hermann’s tastes (even if he was able to point out the flaws in every novel he read).
Needless to say, he had read about the prospect of horseless carriages before, just as he had read about Martians (which apparently did exist, although they did not go by that name and Newton was yet to introduce him to any) and world-ending doomsday events. Newton had told him before that the latter occurred far more often in the Earth’s future, although Hermann figured they couldn’t all be world-ending if there was still an Earth afterwards to ruin. Horseless carriages were meant to be the least of Hermann’s troubles, and yet he found himself far more terrified of them than any supposed doomsday event.
There was a part of him that was capable of rationalising it—after all, cars were a far more immediate danger than an alien invasion, especially since Newton kept avoiding them—but he still felt somewhat of a fool. To be afraid of metal horseless carriages was ridiculous, plain and simple. There was no mathematical component to it, just animalistic fear. Hermann would be just as ashamed of himself if it were rage, or, heaven forbid…
He pulled himself out of his thoughts. Hermann was aware they had stopped walking a brief moment ago, obviously having found the TARDIS, but Newton hadn’t opened the doors yet. Hermann risked a glance at his companion to see what the cause of the delay was and found himself relieved to find that Newton had simply forgotten he had placed his key around his neck. He was, instead, rifling through his pockets with one hand, seemingly unwilling to let go of Hermann’s arm. The sight made his heart swell, and the unbroken contact made his cheeks flush.
Heaven forbid he be in love.
“Allow me,” Hermann said, freeing his arm from Newton’s grip so that he could take the key from around his own neck. He unlocked the door and quickly pushed it open, making his way inside without allowing himself to look back at Newton. Emotions were, without a doubt in his mind, ridiculous. Especially ones as primal as fear and love.
“That was Vanessa, right?” Newton asked, not even waiting for the doors to close before beginning his probing. Hermann busied himself at the control panel, his free hand hovering over the buttons and switches. He had given the TARDIS’ manual a quick flick-through a while back, but the majority of it had been beyond his comprehension. It hadn’t helped that the TARDIS had refused to translate half of the text. “Haven’t seen her for a while, huh? How long was it for her?”
There was a fast return switch, that much he knew. He just needed to find whatever matched its description, then wait for the TARDIS’ monitor to show what he wanted to see. He didn’t need to know how to actually pilot it, all he needed was—
Just as Hermann laid eyes on it, Newton grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing, Hermann?”
What Hermann should have done was lie. He should have lied and waited for Newton to leave him alone in the console room so that he could do what he wanted. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I need to see Vanessa again. Sometime between when we left her and now, I don’t care when, I just need to see her.”
Hermann was desperate and he knew he looked the part—when he looked Newton in the eyes he was greeted by a disgustingly pitiful stare. The words Newton said next made Hermann frown so deeply he was aware of his nose scrunching, but he could not say that what he said was unexpected. “You can’t, Hermann.”
“Why not?” he pushed, desperate to find if there was any actual quantifiable reason for it. There was meddling with important events in history, and then there was going to see Vanessa again so that he didn’t feel so hollow. Surely, surely Newton understood why the latter was in no way as influential as the former? Surely the same rule of non-interference did not apply? He didn’t even bother to keep the frustration out of his tone. “What actual reason is there?”
“‘What actual…’” Newton paused as if to process what Hermann had said, to truly take in the meaning of his words, before bristling. “Are you kidding? It’s for the same reason we don’t go around changing any other event in history, Hermann, you have no idea what the consequences could be!”
“Oh, please. I have a hard time seeing how visiting Vanessa again could be harmful in any way.”
Newton let go of his wrist, and Hermann regretted his words almost immediately. “That’s the thing, Hermann. You can’t see,” he began pacing around the console, already inputting coordinates to who knows where. Hermann wasn’t even entirely sure Newton knew what he was doing in his ranting state. “I don’t blame you of course, it’s not like human brains are exactly made to comprehend the full ins and outs of time travel. You didn’t get schooling for it.”
“What on Earth are you even saying? ” Hermann spat with far more venom than he intended.
“What I’m saying, Hermann, is that you have no way of comprehending what events could possibly occur by you doing something as small as seeing Vanessa again before now,” Newton said, a renewed fiery confidence to his words. For a second Hermann had thought he had begun to wear himself down, what with his distracted console fidgeting, but it appeared that was not the case.
“I understand how tempting it is to go back and do something different,” he continued, and the TARDIS made some beeping noises as if she agreed with him. Blasted sentient machines. “Do you have any idea how tempted I’ve been? It’s like… it’s like a snake is trying to get me to eat a golden apple, every day, for thousands of years, and I have to keep saying ‘no’.”
Hermann smiled for a fraction of a second at the jumbled analogy. “You’re mixing up mythologies, Newton.”
Out of all the things Hermann could have said, that seemed to be the one capable of breaking Newton out of his rant, even if only for a moment. He finally looked at Hermann again from across the console with an expressionless face before it broke out in one of the most radiant smiles Hermann had ever seen. His grin was so large that his eyes scrunched up and dimples appeared in his cheeks, and if Hermann strained his hearing, he could almost swear there was a giggle bubbling away at the back of Newton’s throat. It was barely present and he was clearly trying to be kept down, but it was there.
Then it was gone, and Newton was back to ranting. “That’s not the point! Don’t try to change the subject! I’m trying to get you to understand that you can’t just change the course of history, no matter how seemingly minor, just because you feel like it, okay?”
“It’s not just because I feel like it, don’t be ridiculous. I have a reason.” Hermann rolled his eyes, offended Newton would even insinuate he could possibly be that shallow. “She needs me. She told me so.”
“Well then, Hermann, you should have thought of that before you decided you wanted to leave her,” Newton said, and Hermann froze. It had been his decision to leave. Newton had appeared perfectly content to stay in the village longer and had only left because Hermann had asked him to.
“But… but that still doesn’t explain why we can’t go back to sometime in between. Please, Newton, I have to see her again,” Hermann pleaded, walking around the console to hold Newton’s arm, although not without hesitating. There was a fraction of a second where Hermann thought he might have convinced Newton, but it was not so.
Newton shrugged Hermann off, his gaze firm. He would not be backing down. “You made your decision to leave, and you’re just going to have to accept it. If we hadn’t seen her today I would have allowed it, but be honest with me, Hermann, would you have even thought twice about leaving Vanessa if you hadn’t seen her again?”
Hermann took one step back, then another. It was as if Newton’s words were physically pushing him away with nothing but the anger that powered them. “No. I wouldn’t have.” Newton, seemingly satisfied with Hermann’s answer, turned back to the console and continued inputting commands, but Hermann wasn’t finished. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re so insistent. It’s one thing if I was asking if we could assassinate some famous historical figure, but this is an entirely different situation.”
“Is it, Hermann? Is it really?” Newton shot back. He didn’t give Hermann time to respond as he then groaned and turned on him once more. “If you wanna know why I’m not allowing you any wiggle room that badly, then I’ll just show you. Happy?”
There was a feeling in Hermann’s gut that whatever Newton was promising could not, in any way, be pleasant. However, gut feelings were often wrong, given their emotional bias, and so he especially did not trust it given he and Newton had just argued. Or perhaps they were still in the middle of an argument, Hermann wasn’t entirely sure. And so, he said, “Please. Show me whatever it is that’s preventing you from understanding my reasoning. It can’t be all that significant, surely.”
To say that Newton and Hermann hadn’t argued before would be a lie—it was, after all, one of the first things they had done after Hermann had entered the TARDIS—so Hermann felt justified in saying that, out of the two of them, Newton was the one more prone to exaggeration. He was a fan of blowing things out of proportion to an incredible extent, and so Hermann believed that this was just another one of those sorts of things. It was simply logical. Nothing that he had been entirely truthful about had ever enraged him as much as this argument had. Then again, the majority of the time, Hermann and Newton’s arguments weren't this long.
The TARDIS let out a worrying array of beeps and hums, although not because it seemed as if she was failing. Rather, they sounded almost… concerned. Given how the seemingly ceaseless excitement in Newton’s eyes had faded, he could not blame the machine for being worried. Despite this, Hermann dutifully took the seat closest to Newton, although it didn’t make much difference—it didn’t take long for Newton to return to his mad dash around the console, refusing to even glance in Hermann’s direction.
There was, for once, not enough time for Hermann to dwell in his thoughts. Normally the TARDIS would take a decent amount of time travelling from one destination to the next, allowing time for Newton and Hermann to talk about where they were heading next. There was no other reason it would take so long otherwise, seeing as it was a time machine. Their speedy arrival only served to unsettle Hermann more.
“We’re here,” Newton announced. As if on command, Hermann sprung out of his seat, before fumbling for his cane to steady himself. The sooner Newton showed him whatever it was that had been ravaged by the unpredictable nature of time travel, the better.
Hermann followed Newton to the doors, not daring to utter a single word. It didn’t feel fitting, given his friend’s uncharacteristic silence. Normally Hermann would have no complaints about such a thing, but circumstances were a bit different from normal. The doors opened on their own, slow and quiet. It was as if the TARDIS itself were in mourning.
Outside the doors, though, there was nothing. In the far-off distance Hermann could make out the twinkling lights of galaxies or star clusters, but immediately outside of the TARDIS was nothing. “This isn’t funny, Newton,” Hermann chided, brows already beginning to knot together. “You had me worried, but all you’ve done is take me to empty space. What kind of sick joke is—”
Hermann turned so he could look Newton in the eyes as he continued his tirade, but then he stopped. There was no cheeky grin, no sly smile on Newton’s face as if to say, “Ha, I got you!”. There was just… nothing. Nothing but the hollowness brought on by grief.
“Where are we, Newton?” Hermann asked, carefully. As if Newton was porcelain ready to shatter.
“Where my planet should be.”
Hermann looked back outside, determined to copy everything he saw into his memory. The dread made sense now, he thought. If only he’d listened.
Hesitantly, Hermann brought a hand to Newton’s shoulder. When he wasn’t shaken off immediately, he reached his arm around so that he could pull Newton into one of those awkward half-hugs he seemed to be so fond of. He decided against mentioning how Newton’s body shook with choked sobs.
“What was it called?” Hermann asked. “What did it look like? What animals were there? Tell me about it, Newton. Tell me everything you like.”
Newton let out an almost-laugh. It was a little bit too shaky, and Hermann could practically hear his tears, but it was something. “Everything? You sure, Hermann? We could be here for hours.”
“I’m absolutely certain.” He held Newton tight, as if doing so would help… help what, exactly? Help change the fact his home was gone? It was ridiculous, but Newton seemed to appreciate it. That was all that mattered. “And, if you don’t mind, you could tell me what happened?”
It took a few seconds for Newton to respond, as if he was debating with himself on whether he should reveal that information to Hermann or not. Eventually, though, he nodded. He took two deep breaths before pulling himself up to his full height, courage (or arrogance, at least) seemingly restored. Hermann allowed his arm to fall away.
“I’m not sure exactly what happened, and neither is the TARDIS, but… there was a war between my people and an alien race called Daleks. I didn’t take part in it myself, but I was able to see the effects of it on some of the planets I travelled to while doing research.” Newton looked back out at the empty space, and Hermann felt his heart sink. It wasn’t just Newton’s planet that was missing then, but possibly a whole star system, or an arm of a galaxy, or maybe even more. A chill ran up Hermann’s spine.
“After I pieced together that the Time Lords and the Daleks had started a war that spanned time as well as space, I knew I had to get back home. But it was already too late.” The dark was cold and uninviting. It did not care about Newton or Hermann, nor did it care about their planets or people or feelings, or anything else. Space did not have the capability to care. “No matter what time I go to, my planet isn’t here. Neither is the planet of the Daleks, or so many others that were caught in the crossfire.”
Space, like numbers, had no emotion. It did not think or feel, it did not take sides, and it did not tease. It simply existed, void of such things that hindered so much of creation. That was what had led Hermann to once revere it so highly, to view it as something that, while once beyond his understanding, was above him. Now, however, it was different. Perhaps, if space was capable of caring even a little bit, Newton’s planet wouldn’t be gone. That did, however, raise questions.
“How are you here if your planet never existed?” Hermann asked, and although he wasn’t doubtful of Newton’s story, not when it clearly affected him so deeply, it was still a query that he thought to be genuine.
To his credit, Newton didn’t appear to have been bothered by the question. If anything, he looked like he wanted to answer it. “One of the quirks of time travel. I come from a planet that, according to this timeline, never existed, and by extension a timeline that never existed as well. I’m an echo of it, if you will. I predict that when I die, everything will behave as if I had never been there at all, although it may potentially retain memories of—and any experiences or knowledge related to—me.
“My people invented time travel, Hermann. We were masters of it, and we knew that to alter it in any way could create ripples that may affect the rest of the galaxy. That’s why we had a non-intervention policy, and this, my whole entire species ceasing to exist, is why I won’t let you go to see Vanessa again.” Newton walked back to the console, and although he didn’t follow him, Hermann kept his eyes on him the entire time.
He had speculated such things to be possible, of course. There were obvious reasons why they couldn’t change major historical events, even if doing so would objectively bring nothing but good things. They were time travellers, that didn’t give them the right to dictate humanity and how it progressed. Something, though, was bothering Hermann immensely. “Why let me travel with you, then?”
Newton didn’t turn around. “What are you talking about?”
“If it’s so important that history remain unaffected, if when you die I will be able to retain at least some memory of our time together, why let me into the library? Why take me to the future and to alien worlds to learn of ideas that I and my peers will never be able to dream of otherwise?”
“I have… my reasons,” Newton said, voice barely more than a whisper.
“Well then, what are they?”
Sometimes Newton was difficult to read, as if the alien language he spoke to the TARDIS with translated into his expressions or body language, but there was no mistaking the way he caved in on himself as anything other than sadness. Hermann had a feeling he knew, but he wanted—no, needed—Newton to confirm it. If only because he didn’t want it to be true.
“Newton… Newton, please, look at me,” Hermann begged.
Hermann slowly limped his way towards Newton, resting one hand gently on his shoulder so he could turn Newton around. His friend did so without resistance, but his eyes stayed focused on the ground. “You’re meant to die. The night we met, on your way home you were meant to get into an accident and die.”
Hermann swallowed. “And what of my father? Why did you travel with him?”
“It was a long time ago, Hermann,” Newton said dismissively. “Before I’d found out what had happened. Besides, it was only for the one trip. No offence, but your dad is kind of a major asshole.”
That comment, at least, managed to make him smile. “Yes, well… my father has never been known for having a particularly pleasant personality.” Hermann sniffed, then, before straightening himself out. Their trip was meant to be pleasant and, although they couldn’t exactly change what had happened during it (or anything else of significance, not really, Hermann now knew) he could at least try to not let it end on such a sour note. “How do you fancy taking a break, Newton? You haven’t shown me even a quarter of the rooms in this machine, if your claims of it being near endless are to be believed.”
Newton saw through him with ease, although he didn’t find himself as resistant to it as he had been with Vanessa. Their extensive time together was certainly a contributing factor, but there was something else, too, not just in how Hermann felt about it, but how Newton could read him. “No more questions? Not at all?”
Hermann pursed his lips. His hand drifted from Newton’s bank to one of his hands, which he took gently. Newton interlaced their fingers with the same exact cadence. “I can’t promise there won’t be more in the future, but… for now, yes.”
Newton smiled, and that was that.