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"No."

Part of what Semiyon has always liked about Newt is his intelligence so he was never under the impression that Newt was not aware of the danger. Nor that Newt had no sense of self-preservation.

He clicks his jaw in and out of place for a quiet moment, thinking.

"It is supposed to be a reiteration of the fact that there are people who prefer to have you here than not."

"Funny how no one ever thinks to phrase it that way. My life's typically just a revolving door of people telling me not to do something 'dumb' and get myself killed."

He drops the phone onto his stomach. Semiyon's broken his concentration, anyway.

"I'll be careful, Dad, but I'm not cancelling the project."

"I'm not going to tell you that because what you are doing is not dumb. Dangerous and dumb are not always one and the same."

His gaze remains steady, just watching Newt roll over.

"Regardless. I would rather have said that I'd rather you be here than not than to have not said it at all."

Newt grumbles.

"You don't have to worry. Cashmere's signed on to be my bodyguard once we start hunting 'em down."

And she made him feel feelings and it was very touching.

Nothing about Semiyon's demeanor suggests that he is convinced but that cannot be helped. One of the more brutal lessons he's learned in his business is that bodyguards don't really count for more than show. They are a deterrent to those who weren't that determined in the first place.

"If you say so," said in a flat tone is the best he manages.

Then the corner of his mouth quirks and he takes a few quick strides forward then in a swift movement simply flops across Newt, back across the man's belly, as though he was falling back onto a mattress. He shifts a little to get comfortable, arms folded across his chest lazily before shifting his head to peek at the man he's now trapped underneath himself.

"And where is your bodyguard now?"

Newt's ready to leave it at that, but then Semiyon steps into the room.

"What are you—hrk!"

And then Semiyon just fucking bodyslams him because that's where they're at now. Newt wriggles, but he's trapped under a tangle of blankets weighted down by his roommate.

"What the hell? Get off!"

Semiyon hums idly.

"I would prefer not."

Then he reaches up his arms to cross them behind his head

"In fact I am quite comfortable."

"Well that makes one of us."

His voice is a bit strained given he's got a dude lounging on him now, but after a moment of squirming he manages to finagle himself into a more comfortable position. And he can breathe now, so that's cool.

Ugh, though. Semiyon, you are harshing his vibe.

"Cash is probably down at the lab still, or maybe she went home. I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"Why does what matter, Newton?"

Is he specifically asking why having a bodyguard matters? Or why Semiyon cares at all in the first place? There is an important distinction to be made there.

"Oh my god, dude. Why do you care where she is? Why do you care about any of this? It's not like you're helping out."

"I don't. I don't care about where she is. Who she is. What she is doing."

He sighs and moves to sit up, the fun of teasing Newt is fast draining from the moment.

"Your safety was the concern. How you go about maintaining that....that is your business."

Oh, phew. Newt sits up too, just in case Semiyon changes his mind and tries to trap him again.

"Even if I die, you know Hope will just bring me back, right? It's not that big of a deal."

Says Newt, somewhat trying to convince himself.

There's a huff of a laugh that lacks all humor in response to that.

"There are some who believe that death is a wine that should only be tasted once."

Himself included.

"...Okay, but that doesn't change the fact that it's not, not in our current setup. Like, don't get me wrong, I'd still prefer not to bite it. I'm just saying, if I do..."

He shrugs. It's fine.

"So then you simply think no one should be upset if you are to get killed because you will be brought back?"

He actually does take a second to mull that over.

"Yeah, basically. With this host capture plan, the problem would be that I'm heading up the experimentation efforts once we actually catch the thing. No one else is really qualified to do that, so that would suck."

Even if they did have the know-how, it would still blow to miss out on that after he's put all this work in.

"But I'd still come back. It'd be a glitch, not a game-ender."

Semiyon reaches up and with a firm hand to Newton's chest shoves him in the hopes of pushing him over in one frustrated gesture.

Frustration primarily with Newt but also with himself. Newt for somehow managing to be immensely intelligent and yet impressively stupid at the same time. And himself for caring whether or not he keeps breathing. Something that, to his exasperation, shines a light on his own lifelong Achilles heel. Were he Vadim or Dimitri the fate of Newt would account for little to nothing unless it had some immediate consequence for their endgame. In fact they might have killed him by now just for being disrespectful. Certainly they would not be sitting on his bed caring .

Caring is what had gotten him into trouble with Alex Godman. What had laid him open to attack through Ezra. Likely it play a part in what allowed Vadim to run him out of Russia in the first place. And still he couldn't uproot that weakness out of himself.

Edited 2019-03-01 05:15 (UTC)

Newt isn't expecting the shove. In fact, he's not even paying attention, busy fishing for his phone in the blankets when Semiyon's hand finds him. His head cracks against the wall behind him and he yelps.

"What the fuck? What's your problem?"

He knees Semiyon in the back in an attempt to shove him off the bed. It's petty, but the anger caught him by surprise.

"What happened to worrying about my safety?"

The knee gets Semiyon right in the sweet spot near his spine and he wheezes, pitching over as the air gets knocked out of him. He doesn't so much fall off the bed as he does half slide off and half lower himself gingerly to the ground, one hand gripping at his side as he heaves to get air back into his lungs.

He stays there a long while, head pressed against the side of the mattress.

Part of what he feels is anger. The desire to retaliate swells in his chest with the same painful pulse caused by the lack of air but the other part of him just wants to slink away.

He gathers himself off the floor, walks with uneven footsteps to the door, and then slams it behind himself as he leaves. In all of this, he says nothing.

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