French girls, feral children, gifts, and poker nights

Chapter 24: French girls, feral children, gifts, and poker nights
==Text==
Hermann eases into consciousness on his last full day with Newt in Hong Kong with a twinge of regret, which surprises him. Only two months ago he would’ve welcomed a week without Newt with party hats and streamers. Now, though …
He considers nipping that bud of regret as Newt, seated at the desk scribbling in a notepad, begins to hum tunelessly with the music in his head.
Perhaps I will appreciate a week of quiet after all, he thinks with a sigh as he rolls over and sits up.
Newt’s head pops up and he stares as Hermann stretches his arms and wings luxuriously. "No, dude! Can you lie back down like you were? I’m almost finished with this sketch, but I need another look at the angle between your wings and your shoulder."
"You were … drawing me?" Hermann asks with his voice rising in bewilderment.
Newt grins and replies, "Like one of my French girls." He cocks his head and takes on a contemplative expression. "Maybe I should buy you some excessively gaudy jewelry for your birthday. A necklace would probably look good on you," he continues. "Maybe not as good as a ring on your finger, but … good." Newt shakes his head forcefully as though to dislodge an idea. "Anyway, I’ve got a whole notebook full of you already."
Hermann blinks and gapes.
"You don’t believe me, do you?" Newt steps closer and peers into Hermann’s face from point blank range rendering himself a blur in Hermann’s eyes. "Your brain’s locked again, dude," Newt says. An affectionate smile pulls the corners of his mouth up. "Here. Flip through this while I get your meds," he says as he sets the notebook in Hermann’s lap.
While Newt rattles about in the bathroom, Hermann slowly turns the pages of the sketchbook. Owls. Anatomical diagrams. Pattern for the new binder. Wings. Eyes. Shoulders. Eyelashes. My cowlick.
He isn’t joking, Hermann realizes. There are only a few pages left. He carefully closes the cover and sets it to the side.
Newt appears beside him offering a glass of water and a handful of pills and watches Hermann sort them into proper order then swallow them in three handfuls, each with a gulp of water.
"So, are you properly flattered by being an artist’s model?" he asks.
"I’ll inform you when one adopts me as such," Hermann snarks.
Newt’s face crumples. "Okay. I know I’m not Van Gogh, but, ouch, dude, I’m not that bad. You’ve seen my sketches before this. I do all the diagrams for my papers and my tattoos are based on stuff I’ve drawn."
“I said that without thinking. You really are quite skilled. Sometimes, I forget I am supposed to be openly kind to you now,” Hermann says with a crooked smile. “After five years sniping and inexpensive shots come too naturally.”
Newt laughs. “Yeah, same here. This is going to take some getting used to.”
While Newt checks his email, Hermann stands in front of the bathroom mirror and touches the back of his neck just below his hairline. Damn, he thinks, they’ve already regrown. He sighs and retrieves a set of tweezers from the cabinet behind the mirror. Leaning his butt against the sink for support with a small mirror in one hand and the tweezers in the other. He takes a deep breath and clamps the tool around the root of one of the downy white feathers on his nape and tugs. The feather pops free and Hermann sets it aside for disposal.
Newt pokes his head through the door as Hermann grips a second feather. "What are you doing?" he asks. "Are you plucking yourself?"
"Yes," Hermann hisses as he pulls the next feather loose and a drop of blood wells up at the point to which it had been attached.
Newt’s mouth opens and closes silently for a few seconds. "Dude, why?" he finally squeaks.
"Because these near my hairline show above my collar. The fabric also rubs against them most annoyingly," Hermann says and shrugs. "I’ve done this since I was a child."
"Uh. Do you need help?"
"Thank you, no. I can manage this on my own." A third feather comes free with a flinch.
"Sooo … you just yank them out?"
"Yes. From as close to the skin as I am able." A fourth disconnects with another spot of blood.
"You said you’d done this since you were a kid. Have you always had those feathers?"
Hermann hums in the affirmative as a fifth comes free.
"Hey. Did your feathers change over time? Were you all fluffy as a baby? Did those big, sexy flight feathers grow in at puberty?"
"In short, yes." He pulls a sixth loose. "I’m told I was, as you put it, ‘fluffy’ until I was three or four and these," he says as a seventh feather joins its companions on the edge of the sink, "have always been present. After that, I grew transitional immature feathers. My siblings say I looked half-plucked while the change occurred." Hermann requires two attempts to remove an eighth. "My adult plumage, you might say, grew in when I was twelve." He pauses after the ninth feather separates from his neck. "Before you ask, yes, I moult every summer."
"All the big feathers drop?" Newt asks and Hermann notes the other man’s calculating look with concern.
"They do, starting with those nearest my body and progressing toward the far edge."
"Exactly like an owl."
Hermann’s nod becomes a wince as he yanks a final feather. "That should take care of all the problematic ones," he says as he wipes the blood from his skin with a tissue.
"How often do you have to do that?"
"It’s necessary every week or so," he answers.
Newt pauses and leans against the doorframe. "Dude, now I know why my dad wouldn’t let me have a parrot. You guys require a lot of special care and grooming."
"I understand his concern. You are barely capable of grooming yourself," Hermann says with a smirk as he gathers up the loose feathers and pushes past Newt to add them to the others awaiting proper disposal in the back of his closet.
Newt blows a raspberry at Hermann’s back and Hermann waves a wing in a dismissive gesture.
He retrieves his binder and allows a clearly pleased Newt to step up beside him and help select his day’s outfit (black trousers, jacket, and shoes; ‘maroon’ jumper; and an ‘ivory’ shirt, all newly purchased in Geneva). When Newt clears his throat and reaches to undo his tightly buttoned collar, Hermann huffs a half-hearted protest, but makes no move to correct the fastening.
They’ve been in the lab only minutes when Newt, who should be preparing the final samples for cryogenic storage, ends the short interlude of silence. "I’m still thinking about fluffy baby Hermann,” he says. “Do you have any pictures of yourself as a kid?" he asks.
Hermann jumps at the question, having been fully absorbed in reading his email, before looking up and scowling.
"No. My family didn’t want to immortalize my existence. I was a deep, dark secret."
"You mean ‘my father didn’t want to immortalize my existence,’ right?" When Hermann doesn’t respond, Newt treats it as an affirmative. "I take it he doesn’t keep a picture of you in his office."
"He never has kept any family pictures in his office. He is without sentiment. His wedding ring came off the day after Mother’s funeral. I’m not sure he kept it."
"Jesus Christ, that’s cold." Newt shivers for emphasis.
"She would’ve done the same. They never loved each other."
"Then why were they … ?"
"I don’t wish to discuss it further," Hermann says decisively and turns back to his computer.
Newt, characteristically, refuses to let the subject drop. "So, this is further evidence your dad is a total asshole," he says. "I ask again: Did he ever do right by you?"
Hermann ponders quietly for a moment before replying. "It was my father who insisted I be educated. My mother would have allowed me to grow up feral."
"Oh god. A feral Hermann. With even fewer social skills.” Newt grins down at Hermann from where he has crossed the room to perch on the corner of the mathematician’s desk.
Hermann raises an eyebrow. "You’re one to talk."
"I have social skills!" Newt yells, jumping back to his feet.
"You simply decide not to employ them, I’m sure," Hermann replies levelly.
"You’re not exactly Mister Suave either."
"That is a fact I readily admit, which is why I hope Mister Choi will handle most of the public relations for our new project."
"You think I’m going to give up a chance at the spotlight?"
"I am hoping against hope you will leave that burden to one more skilled and focus on your research."
"Well, keep hoping, dude. I’m pretty sure everyone’s going to want to talk with you or I. You know, the heroes,” he says with an enormous grin.
"Somehow, I believe they will prefer Miss Mori and Mister Becket."
"No way! We’re much more interesting," Newt says with conviction.
"That is debatable.” He adds, “They are most definitely more attractive," to needle Newt’s vanity.
"Wrong again! How could anyone look away from beautiful specimens like us?" Newt beams. The corners of Hermann’s mouth turn down.
"For fuck’s sake,” Newt says as he throws his hands up in exasperation, “if you freak out every time I say ‘specimen’ we’re not going to get any work done."
Hermann sighs. "You continue working and I’ll acquire some caffeine for us."
"Cool. Thanks, dude. Hurry back, but you’re not off the hook for the ‘specimen’ thing yet." Newt waves and strolls back to the remainder of his lab humming tunelessly.
Hermann trades warm smiles with Tang Mĭn as he steps to the counter at the coffee shop and places an order for himself and Newt. The young woman offers to help transport the drinks back to the science division and the two talk amiably as they stroll, with Hermann carrying Newt’s latte (complete with Trespasser-shaped foam) and Tang Mĭn handling a cappuccino and a thermos bottle of tea for him.
Newt thanks him for the mug, smiles at the kaiju, and allows his fingers to linger a half-beat longer than necessary on Hermann’s as he accepts the latte.
Tang Mĭn laughs and both scientists turn to look at her. "You two have changed so much. It used to be we would make the shortest straw come down here if we had to, and then it was only me and Officer Tse suggested I join the ... bet?"
"The 'who would kill whom when and where' pool?" asks Newt.
Tang Mĭn nods.
"Yeah, I should thank him for starting that. Who won, by the way?"
"No one," she answers. "The latest bet was for the New Year festival."
Hermann snorts into his beverage.
"But you're so different now! We wouldn't be surprised if you sleep together like kittens."
The men’s eyes meet and then drop to the floor. Hermann feels his face heat with a blush and sees Tang Mĭn’s wide grin in his peripheral vision.
She addresses him in Cantonese, shutting Newt out of the conversation. "Really, Doctor? Good for both of you. It’s about time you said something to him."
Hermann looks up and asks, "Am I that transparent?"
"No," she replies, "When you most often deal with incoherent people, you learn to extrapolate from very limited communication."
He bows his head in deference. "Ah. I will miss you, Miss Yeung."
"Good," she replies. “I’ll be writing you about my linguistics paper, don’t forget.”
”You know, for an infamous misanthrope, you certainly can charm the youngsters,” Newt says from behind his coffee as Tang Mĭn vanishes down the hallway. “Not that I’m implying anything! Kids like you and—what do you call people who aren’t kids anymore but are younger than we are?—whatever … those people listen and look up to you. It’s like you have magical kid-taming powers, dude.”
Hermann sniffs. “It’s probably because I have a younger brother. I’m used to interacting with people younger than myself.”
”It’s more than that. I think you’ve actually got charisma. I think I just missed it somehow.” Newt takes a thoughtful sip. “Or maybe they can see what a sweetheart you are under that prickly exterior.”
Hermann snorts and settles himself behind his desk again, hoping to actually finish his email before Newt finds another excuse to interrupt him.
He can’t help but listen as Newt digs through the last remaining pile of paperwork on his desk and emits a cry of triumph when he locates the object of his search. “Here. This is for you,” he says as he jogs over to Hermann, who saves a draft reply with a resigned noise. “I suck at wrapping things, so they’re naked.” He passes over two books.
“This is lovely,” Hermann says, running his fingers over the cover of a notebook embossed with a representation of the constellation Cygnus.
“So you don’t get sand in your tablet when you work from the beach. And it was the only one they had we’ll be able to see from the new place. No other reason. Really.” Newt holds his hands up to ward off disapproval, but Hermann only smiles at him. He visibly relaxes. “Check out the other one,” he chirps.
“Jacqueline McGlade. I’ve read many of her papers,” Hermann says as opens the cover to read the description the dust jacket flap.
“These are essays. I thought you’d like some light reading while I’m not around. And I know you like having actual pages to turn, you old-fashioned dork you,” Newt teases.
Hermann answers with a small smile, then looks down. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you,” he says sheepishly.
“No worries. I’m the primary earner in this household, after all,” he smirks.
Hermann sputters indignantly.
“Oh, don’t give me that. We both know better,” Newt says as he braces his hands on his hips. “You’ve been on military pay since 2014 and I can only assume you made pennies teaching before that. I got real money at MIT and some of my patents are still generating income.” His mischievous grin widens. “Besides,” he goes on, “I know what the Ministry will pay each of us and, well, mine’s bigger.”
Hermann glares, then sighs. “Very well,” he says, “I no longer feel sorry about not having a gift for you.” He takes a sip of his cappuccino.
“Perfect. I’ll just expect you to put out later.”
Hermann nearly chokes on his drink and coughs violently to clear the liquid from his airway. Newt hovers nearby, hands flailing indecisively.
“Kidding! Just kidding! Ohgodpleasedon’tdie,” he exclaims.
“I’m not dying,” Hermann croaks when he regains his breath. “I would, however, ask you to refrain from comments like that where others can hear.”
Newt rolls his eyes. "Dude," Newt gestures at the door in a 'uh, duh', motion. "Kittens?"
“I suppose there's nothing for it then,” Hermann grudgingly responds.
“And, for the record,” Newt continues earnestly, “I was totally kidding. No pressure. We’ll get to the ‘putting out’ point if and when you want to, okay? You’re in control.”
“Thank you,” Hermann says and gives Newt’s hand a quick squeeze.
“Hey! Public display of affection! Progress!”
Hermann sighs, retracts his hand, and opens his new book, looking away from Newt in the process. Infuriating little man, he thinks.
Newt parks himself on the edge of Hermann’s desk again and the mathematician reaches, without looking away from his book, to rescue the thermos Newt nearly knocks off the surface.
“You remember I’m not going to have phone or internet service for a couple of days, right?” Newt prompts. “There’s something wrong with the satellite connection or something.”
Hermann continues reading. “I’m aware of the issue. I worry that you will be bored enough to cause yourself accidental harm.
“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much,” Newt huffs. “Besides, there will be contractors there during the day, at least.”
“They will hopefully keep you away from sharp tool and heavy objects as I’ve suggested.”
“You seriously called the builders and told them to babysit me.”
“Someone has to.” Hermann turns a page.
Newt flips him off with a grin. “Yeah, we’ll just see how well that will work.”
Hermann snorts, sets down the book, and turns to his chalkboards, nearly the only item left on his side of the lab. He picks up chalk, taps it against the board twice to orient himself, and begins writing a new row of equations, the start of a possible method for predicting a future re-opening of the Breach.
"Freeze, Hermann!" Newt yells. "Don't move!" He scoots Hermann's ladder into position next to the mathematician. He holds a measuring tape up next to Hermann's raised hand and drops the free end to the floor. He makes note of the measurement and retracts the tape. "Okay. You can move again," he says.
"Do I want to know what that was about?" Hermann asks as he picks up writing where he left off.
"Probably. I'm fitting you for custom office furniture for the new lab." Hermann blinks in confusion. "Look, it's kinda hard to explain. You'll see it when you get there."
This will certainly end poorly, he thinks as he finishes a line and begins the next.
After the pair retire to their quarters for the evening, Hermann hunches over his desk annotating the most recent environmental survey of their soon-to-be-occupied island while Newt kills time before the final Shatterdome poker night. Hermann can’t be certain, but Newt seems to be sketching again.
Ignore him, Hermann tells himself and shifts his wing to block most of Newt’s view of his body. From the the other side of the room he hears a quiet, frustrated noise.
”You sure you don’t want to join us at the game?” Newt asks. The bed creaks as he stands up and his back pops as he stretches.
”The Marshal banned me from them years ago,” Hermann replies. “I am also very comfortable here.” He lowers his wings and glances over one at Newt.
”Oh. Right,” Newt says quietly. As he leaves Newt runs his warm fingers through the down along Hermann's spine ending the motion between his shoulder blades, gently parting the feathers and brushing his skin. Hermann shivers and growls a reminder to Newt how little he appreciates that particular type of physical contact.
Hermann hears Newt's defiant snort the instant before the man repeats the action, this time dragging his fingertips from from Hermann's hairline to the small of his back. He shudders again, arms coming out in goosebumps as his wings flare. He snarls again and Newt waves and laughs as he saunters out the door.
Infuriating little man, he reminds himself. My infuriating little man. He smiles and the astonished, warm feeling which invades his heart when he thinks of Newt surfaces. He shuts down the reader on his tablet with a sigh and closes his eyes. My little man, he thinks again.
He bows his head and passes his hand over the same feathers Newt touched earlier, tickling the very tips like a gentle breeze. His wings open and shift, seeking lift, and his stomach flutters.
Newt returns, somewhat worse for wear and with emptier pockets, long after Hermann finishes his shower and makes himself comfortable reading in bed. “Well, that went about as well as expected,” he mumbles as he flops onto the mattress. “They’re still playing and I’m broke and already have a killer headache. You need to teach me to count cards. Or something.”
Hermann looks down at him affectionately. “Get up and change for sleep while I fetch some water and aspirin for you.” He shoves the smaller man’s shoulder gently until Newt groans and shifts himself off the mattress.
When Hermann shuffles back from the bathroom, Newt has stripped to his boxers and a battered t-shirt with a Striker Eureka logo on the chest. Hermann blinks at the outfit. That’s my shirt, he realizes. He’s borrowing my clothes now.
Hermann shrugs and pushes the glass and pills into Newt’s hands as the man sits at the desk cradling his head in his hands. He takes both without protest and downs them quickly before folding onto the desk with his head resting on his arms.
”You really should know better than to do things like this, Newt,” Hermann says gently as he rubs soft circles across Newt’s shoulders. “Especially when you have to travel in the morning.”
Newt responds with an unintelligible sound, but his muscles begin to relax.
Recognizing he’s done as much as he can for his … partner, Hermann pushes the wheeled chair to the edge of the bed so Newt has only to roll himself into place. Satisfied Newt will not fall off the mattress, Hermann returns the chair to its proper place, flicks off the lights, and lightly crawls over the other man, who is already snoring deeply.
Hermann dozes off feeling the warmth from Newt’s body where he has burrowed under his outstretched wing.
==Meta==
This chapter brought to you by Wire’s 154, specifically “Map Ref. 41 N 93 W.”
Yeung Tang Mĭn belongs to artificiallifecreator. You’ll see more of this cool OC in alc’s upcoming works. She’s also got another cameo or two in my writing coming up.
Jacqueline McGlade is a leading scientist in the field of environmental informatics, which applies mathematical principles to complex natural systems. Just the sort of techniques Hermann needs for his new job.
Some of the language in the middle, around the poker game section, might look familiar. It would be a direct copy of the SFW section of the NSFW sidefic “Touch.” That fic is what happens in the gap between Newt leaving and returning to the room. For those who don’t want NSFW content, you totally don’t need to read it to follow the main story. The take-home point is that Hermann is at least as attracted to Newt as Newt is to Hermann. But that’s probably pretty clear from the SFW stories. XD
Speaking of NSFW, the Newt portion of the NSFW action, "Sparks," actually takes place on the morning of this day, before Hermann wakes up. That's why our favorite biologist is already at the desk and sketching when Hermann finally drags himself to consciousness. The same rule applies to this one, if you don't want NSFW content, just skip that story with no penalties to understanding.
That's going to be my policy going forward. This story stays Gen (hugging, hand-holding, cuddles, kisses, maybe some a little making out) and anything with a higher rating for sexual content will be handled in sidefics. If plot points happen on the side, I'll make sure they're mentioned in this story so everyone stays on the same page.
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