Room service, vanilla, brothers, and boar bristle brushes

Chapter 16: Room service, vanilla, brothers, and boar bristle brushes
==Meta==
This adorable art by glassvines was commissioned to illustrate this chapter. Enjoy!
==Text==
Am I dead? Newt wonders. This is way too nice to be any room I’d ever get to sleep in. I’m waking up under my … uh … boyfriend’s (Is that the word I should be using? It’s not like we’ve ever talked about it … .) wings. I’m moving to a private island in two weeks.
Yeah … I probably fried my brain and this is some weird coma dream.
Hermann shifts next to him and sighs in his sleep, breath tickling Newt’s chest, while his feathers whisper against each other.
A smile creeps across Newt’s face. Whether it’s a dream or the afterlife or reality, I’ll take it, he decides.
Wait. If this was a dream or heaven, I wouldn’t be sitting in front of the UN tomorrow trying to make excuses for beating the Kaiju. And Hermann and Hansen wouldn’t insist I wear an actual jacket. So, yeah, this is probably my life now.
Awesome.
He relaxes into the closeness of another body and daydreams about island life and, you know, there actually being a future worth looking forward to, until Hermann stirs. Newt nearly melts as the other man smiles sleepily at him. He grins back.
"You know what I just realized?" Newt asks gleefully. Hermann manages to quirk an eyebrow as he fights his way to full wakefulness. "We’re in a five-star hotel and have an expense account. We’re totally ordering room service!" he crows triumphantly, launching himself out of bed toward the phone. With a sigh, Hermann lets his head drop back into the pillow.
The pair arrive at the Jaeger team’s rehearsal for the next day’s hearings a few minutes late and mid-bicker. Marshal Hansen adopts an unimpressed look which wouldn’t look out of place on his predecessor. As they practice their presentations and take turns fielding likely questions, Hermann nudges Newt’s ankle under the table when something about Newt’s answer displeases him. By the end of the session, Newt responds to each touch with a kick of his own. "What the hell is up with you bruising my ankle in there?" Newt growls.
"I was simply trying to help both you and our cause," Hermann responds. "You were rambling or about to reveal classified information and neither will produce a positive result tomorrow."
"Oh, come on. I was keeping it lively. Someone has to keep the suits on their toes," Newt replies with a wild grin.
Hermann’s lips thin and the muscles of his jaw tighten. "You don’t reveal classified information on a whim!"
"It shouldn’t be classified! People should know what happened!"
"That’s not the way the world works! Some secrets need to be kept." Hermann glares and his grip on the handle of his cane goes white-knuckled.
"Because you have a secret doesn’t mean everyone should have them."
"Secrets, when created for a good reason, should be kept."
"Who’s going to decide what makes a ‘good reason’? You?" Newt asks, making a frustrated gesture.
"If it is the PPDC’s secret, it’s their choice. If it is my secret, it is my choice," Hermann declares with finality.
"But … ," Newt begins.
"‘But’ nothing, Newton," Hermann interrupts sharply. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk. Alone." Hermann spins on his heel and stalks away.
"Hey! Wait!" Newt shouts as he prepares to run after Hermann, but Tendo grabs him by the elbow.
When Tendo finally releases him ten minutes later, Newt’s moved beyond furious and into volcanic rage. "Stupid busybody techs … ," he mumbles. He harbors no illusions about Tendo’s goals. The man wanted to help Hermann escape. Newt tries calling Hermann’s phone, but the call goes straight to voicemail. On the off chance it will be better received he sends a text, too. "Where r u?" he types then jogs back to their room. No Hermann. He’s gone and taken his coat.
Well, I found him in the Shatterdome by chance, Newt thinks, maybe it will work again.
A sunny afternoon fades into a gray, rainy evening as Newt strolls the nearly empty paths of the city’s botanical garden after four hours of directionless wandering. The precipitation plasters his hair to his scalp and he’s long since given up on clearing his glasses. Hoping to dry off at least a little bit before starting his walk back to the hotel, Newt ducks into the glass-enclosed Winter Garden and the near-tropical heat slaps him in the face. He immediately squirms out of his coat.
Despite the warmth, the building appears deserted. From a distant corner, Newt hears a cell phone chime and moves toward the sound on autopilot. As he draws closer, he recognizes Hermann’s angular form resting on a bench near the vanilla vines.
"This spot taken?" Newt asks quietly as he steps in front of the seat. Hermann doesn’t look up from the text message he’s composing, but inclines his head in permission. Newt sits and waits, tapping one foot to the rhythm in his head.
Hermann looks up and catches Newt’s eyes. "Do you understand why I was upset with your comments this morning?" he asks.
"Yeah. I think so. Sometimes secrets mean life or death or happiness or sadness," Newt answers quietly. "I’ll try to behave."
The other man nods in acknowledgement and thanks, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. They watch each other for a long moment without moving.
Hermann’s phone beeps, breaking their trance. He checks it and his smile grows wider. "It seems both of my brothers are in town. They invite us to join them for dinner."
"Please tell me it’s someplace casual," Newt pleads. "Dressing up tomorrow will be enough of a pain."
"Your current attire will be appropriate."
"Thank god."
Newt isn’t sure what to expect from Hermann’s brothers. All he knows is that the older one is a doctor and the younger one is in law school. What he sees at the restaurant waving himself and Hermann over to a table is broad-shouldered blonde in a neat button-up shirt and a brunette with sharp features in a well-worn sweater. Both smile widely at the sight of them and jump up from their seats to hug Hermann and shake Newt’s hand. Bastien—the younger, dark-haired one—and Hermann clearly share a gene pool, but their only similarity to Dietrich are similar pairs of warm brown eyes. Bastien proves to be talkative and expansive, with an easy laugh. Dietrich is more reserved, with something like Hermann’s dry wit and a calming aura which must work wonders with his patients. Both speak English with German accents, though Bastien’s has a bit of a London lilt.
The meal is pleasant, even if Newt gets the feeling that Bastien is subtly interrogating him. Then he learns the guy is a law student, so it sort of makes sense. It’s clear to Newt he’s very protective of his older brother.
Newt likes both of them and the feeling is mutual, as far as Newt can tell.
He wonders what Hermann has told them about their … relationship.
After the meal the quartet stroll the three blocks to Dietrich and his family’s flat. Dietrich’s two daughters greet Hermann with running-start hugs that nearly topple him. Newt braces him with a hand against his back. The girls haven’t seen their uncle in the flesh before, only over skype, and quickly tow him into the living room to question him and show off their latest accomplishments. Bastien and Dietrich’s wife Sabine follow the little parade grinning from ear to ear.
Dietrich pulls Newt aside. "I want you to see something," he says. He leads Newt down a hallway to his home office. There, unlocks a drawer of his desk, removes a small stack of what look like journals, and places them on the surface. "These are what’s left of my mother’s research notes."
"Hermann said … ."
"I’ve never told him about these. I don’t want him to see what she thought of him. He’s already been hurt badly enough." He gestures to the pile. "My father doesn’t know, either. Take one, Newt. They’re all essentially the same. I found them when we sold the Berlin house and hid them. She watched him. Cataloged his every change, every development, every act like he was a lab rat."
Newt looks up from flipping and skimming pages. "This is awful. Did she ever think of him as a kid? As her kid?"
"I’m not sure. She barely thought of the rest of us as children. We were a responsibility, yes, but, after the first month or so, nothing more. Father is actually the better parent. At least he treats us as people and wants, in his own awful way, the best for us. Hermann, though … . The sight of Hermann makes him angry. Hermann is … a symbol of everything that went wrong in his marriage and his life. Father seems to have decided it better to focus his frustration on one child rather than spread it across all of us."
"How-how can parents act like that? To their own kids?"
"They probably shouldn’t have been parents. None of us should be here. We learned early that we needed to take care of each other. We always have."
"That’s why you’re a doctor."
"To take care of us, yes. It’s what I needed to be ever since Hermann fell. That’s what older brothers do. We take care of our brothers and sisters." He shrugs, a gesture nearly identical to his brother’s. "Someone needed to hold him together until he won the war. Here, take this." He hands Newt a non-descript flash drive. "I scanned all of my mother’s journals and my own records. If you’re going take care of him, you should have all of it. His medical history for the last sixteen years and his first eight is on that drive."
"Uh … thanks." Newt pauses. "You trust me, but you don’t know me." "I trust you because Hermann trusts you. He doesn’t trust often and rarely makes a mistake." Newt switches back and forth between being confused and being flattered. He rubs the back of his neck. "Is there anything about his health I need to know right away?" he asks.
"You know about his bones, yes?"
"Yeah, I’ve already had to set one," Newt says and shivers at the memory.
"His wing?" Newt nods.
"He can’t seem to protect them." Dietrich sighs. "The other pressing matter is his heart. The muscle is thickening because the extra work of supplying blood to his wing muscles and bones is stressing it. It’s probably only his underweight keeping him from an arrhythmia and other problems already. His heart will likely fail someday."
"He knows?"
"He does. He knows to watch his blood pressure and not work himself too hard. Of course, that doesn’t mean he actually does so," Dietrich shakes his head sadly. "There is one other thing. It shouldn’t be an issue with you in his life, but you should know." He locks eyes with Newt. "Hermann has tried to kill himself before."
Sometimes Newt hates sharing Hermann's memories. This time one surges up as he glances at his inked wrists. He feels the cold nip of the razor against bony arms that were never his, damp grass under his back, smells old pennies and earth, and follows the pull a peaceful sleepiness. Dietrich’s voice, much younger, asking questions, keeping him awake, bandaging his forearms. Newt’s stomach lurches as the gray images fade. "When … ?" he asks.
"He was sixteen and back from university for the first time. He and Father argued. I don’t remember what about; They argued so often. Maybe it was about that boy. Karla and I separated them and tried to keep an eye on Hermann, but he slipped out to the garden when we turned our backs. He almost died. Karla had the car keys in her hand when he finally stopped bleeding. We were going to risk exposing him to save his life. Father would have disowned all three of us on the spot."
"Where was your dad while this was happening?" Dietrich shrugs again. "I don’t know. Probably his office. We didn’t want to tell him because he doesn’t think clearly when he’s angry. We were terrified that he’d do something which would guarantee Hermann died."
"Jesus. How are the four of you still sane?"
"We’re remarkably stubborn," Dietrich says with a wry smile. "We had each other and got out of the family home as quickly as we could, too. Though I do wish we lived closer together. I want to be able to keep an eye on Hermann."
"I’ll watch him for you," Newt promises. "The dude needs someone handy to make sure he takes care of himself."
"He always has, but he’ll never ask." Dietrich pauses. "My brother is the most stubborn man I’ve ever met."
Newt laughs. "Same here."
Dietrich smiles warmly even as his eyes take on a calculating light. "Now I’m afraid I must do my duty as an older brother and thoroughly intimidate you." 
"Bring it, dude. I’ve faced down kaiju so I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you’ve got." Newt leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. 
It takes some coaxing, but the adults’ combined efforts finally convince the girls to relinquish their hold on their uncle. Newt studies Hermann’s expression on the taxi ride back to their accommodations. The man looks brighter and more relaxed than at any point since they’d left Hong Kong. He really loves kids, doesn’t he? I’ve never seen something so guaranteed to make him happy. Good thing we’ve got a spawnling coming with us to New Zealand, Newt thinks. 
By the time they reach the hotel, however, Hermann slips back into tension and anxiety, while Newt’s worries—mostly about Hermann’s health—recede. He looks forward to tomorrow’s opportunity to rock a global stage. Hermann, though, idly rubs his sternum through his layers, a nervous gesture Newt first noticed years before that’s taken on a new shade of meaning since the Drift. 
He’s worrying about being found out. I need to get him to relax or he’s going to be up all night. Newt thinks about possible methods for them to unwind before turning in for the evening. It hits him as Hermann dresses for bed, freeing his wings in the process. 
"Don’t get too comfy," he orders Hermann, who starts to argue, but Newt ducks into the bathroom before he gets too far. Newt unhooks the shower curtain liner, balls it up, and returns to the main part of the room. He spreads it out on the floor and deposits the room’s hard-backed chair in its center. He retrieves his hairbrush from the bathroom. 
"Take a seat," he prompts, pulling Hermann to his feet and herding him to the chair. As Hermann sits he notices something odd. 
"Are you wearing my slippers?" he asks. 
"Yes. I forgot mine." 
"You forgot your slippers? You. Forgot. Something? You? Mister Organized?" 
"Yes, Newton. I’ve already said as much." 
"Oh my god. Whatever. This is gonna be great," he says gleefully. 
"What, exactly, are you planning, Newton?" Hermann asks warily. 
"I’m going to help you preen." 
"You’re what?" Hermann asks from under a skeptical eyebrow. 
"I’m going to use this brush on your wings, to groom them. It’s boar bristle. Good for providing shine." Hermann snorts. "Hey! Don’t laugh at me because I know how to enhance what nature gave me." 
"Is that what you call all of the work you put into making your hair appear as though you have recently gotten out of bed?" 
Newt braces his hands on his hips. "At least I’m obeying the style rules for the right century." 
"Those have to be the only rules you see fit to obey, then." 
"They’re the only ones worth following," he replies. "Anyway, I’ve seen videos where people groom their pet birds with toothbrushes. It’s supposed to feel good and help remove excess dust and damaged feathers. I thought something bigger might work on you. And, you know, feel nice. Or relaxing. Or something. The curtain’s to catch any feathers you lose. Just let me do this, dude. Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop if I see it messing you up, too." 
Hermann grumbles but allows Newt to step behind him. Newt raises the brush, presses it firmly against the scapulars on Hermann’s right side, and strokes downward. Hermann gasps. 
Newt jerks the brush away and freezes. "Did I hurt you?" 
"N-no. That was surprisingly pleasant. Again, please." 
Newt grins and repeats the motion, a little more slowly, a little more forcefully. Hermann arches his back, pushing his wing against the brush. 
"Harder, please, Newton," he says, his voice nearly a purr. Newt grins and complies. 
Newt works his way along the leading edge of each wing, then along each set of coverts, secondaries, and primaries. Hermann quivers and sighs contentedly when the brush passes over certain parts of his wings. Noting these sites, Newt makes certain he brushes each several times. At the same time, he carefully avoids the down between Hermann's wings, remember how the man dislikes it being touched.
A fair-sized pile of feathers with shredded vanes or broken shafts slip free from Hermann’s wings as Newt works. Newt bites his tongue against an urge to ask how Hermann does this on his own. The number of damaged feathers calls into question Hermann’s ability to properly groom himself. He really needs help to stay healthy, Newt thinks, even in ways I take for granted. This is like I couldn’t wash and brush my hair by myself. 
Hermann collapses on the bed afterward, nearly boneless in relaxation. Oh yeah, we’re going to have to do this more often, Newt says to himself. 
Newt gathers and adds the fallen feathers to the bag in his suitcase they’ve designated to collect them. Maybe he won’t notice if I keep this batch, he thinks with a mischievous smile. 
Still grinning, Newt turns off the lights and tucks himself next to an already sleeping Hermann.
==Meta==
Yes, the Geneva botanical garden really does have a glassed-in Winter Garden full of tropical plants. Since I can’t find any pictures of the interior for some reason, I’m totally guessing about the benches.
I’m almost sorry about the mountain of OCs I’m creating in this universe. Most of them are pure filler, I think. But I said that about Marshal Xiong after she showed up the first time and she’s turning into quite the bad penny.
The hairbrush scene is actually one of the first things I wrote for this ‘verse. It’s only taken about ninety pages of content to find it a proper home.
The boys are lucky they fly private/military jets for reasons other than the full-body scanners. In a lot of places possession of raptor (including owl) feathers has legal limits. They can’t be plucked or otherwise harvested. You may only collect a limited number of those naturally shed and found in the birds’ natural habitat.
Feel free to ask any questions or make any suggestions you have in the comments or message me at my Tumblr. The Ask on Tumblr has been eating messages lately, so use the Submit option to make sure I receive it.
I’m also still looking for art prompts. I’ve managed to come up with a couple on my own and have commissioned the artists, but I NEED MORE.
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