Russians, spotless minds, and a pair of mementos

Chapter 21: Russians, spotless minds, and a pair of mementos
==Text==
When Newt wakes, his vision blurred without his glasses, he sees something wrong with Hermann’s face, which seems smudged with a dark material. Newt flails for his glasses to get a better look and exhales in relief when he recognizes Hermann fell asleep wearing his reading glasses. His tablet is wedged halfway under his pillow.
Okay. That’s a new one, Newt thinks. He eases the tablet out and flicks it on to see what had so engrossed his bedmate. Political news. Why the hell was he … ?
Newt’s train of thought derails when he makes out the topic of the article Hermann left open: U.S. UN representative Steven Moore. The asshole who gave us such a hard time in Geneva. What was Hermann … ? Luckily for Newt, Hermann compulsively annotates his reading. If the notes are any indication, he hasn’t found much beyond basic employment information.
He’ll be pissed if he catches me poking around in here, Newt thinks and quickly turns off the tablet and slips it back where he found it. He slides out of bed, pulls on a t-shirt from his part of the closet, and seats himself at the desk with his own tablet.
Newt re-reads his list of purchases and chores he needs to complete before leaving for New Zealand in a week to set up the island for the project and to make the house safe and ready for Hermann’s arrival. He adds a few more items and a reminder to have the paths leveled and patched before turning to his email.
Does the man ever sleep? he asks himself when he spots the message from Marshal Hansen sent in the small hours.
Department chiefs,
The first news from the UN is coming down.
They will not pay to salvage Cherno Alpha or Crimson Typhoon from Victoria Harbour. Direct your complaints to the suits, not me.
The Wall is being abandoned and they're selling contracts to break it down to private companies.
All Shatterdomes still owned by the PPDC will be sold to private buyers, except Hong Kong, which will be given to the city government.
Which means we need to clean up and get the hell out of here by the end of the month. Mister Choi will contact each of you with what you need to do. He's in charge of the decommissioning logistics, so bother him.
Everyone, down to the last janitor, will get a severance package. No, they haven't told me how much they will be worth.
Nothing official, but that last makes it look like the entire PPDC is being shut down. If you haven't started looking for jobs: START NOW.
I'll pass along other news as soon as I get it.
Tell your people.
Marshal Hercules Hansen
"They’re leaving the Jaegers!?" he yelps.
Hermann jerks awake at the yell, wings fluttering frantically. He struggles to focus on Newt through his glasses, which render the biologist an unrecognizable blur. "What is going on, Newton?" he growls in a groggy voice as he finally pulls off his glasses.
"Hansen wrote us last night. The UN is leaving the Jaegers on the bottom of the harbor," Newt answers, disapproval clear.
"How dare they … ," Hermann says as he hauls himself to his feet and lurches across the room to read the message over Newt’s shoulder, wings flaring both to help his balance and in what Newt recognizes as annoyance. "How dare they. The Kaidanovskys are still out there," he says quietly.
"I know, dude. That’s the worst thing in all of this crap," Newt says as he waves a frustrated hand at the screen. "Russia’s probably ironing out a deal with the Chinese to do the work on their own, like Hong Kong city did for the Weis," he adds in what he hopes is a reassuring voice after seeing the distress on Hermann’s face.
Hermann makes a noise in the back of his throat, grabs his cane, and shuts himself in the bathroom. Long minutes pass without water running or Hermann returning. Newt rises and knocks at the bathroom door. "Hermann? You okay in there?" No answer. "Hermann? If you don’t say something in the next ten seconds, I’m coming in." Still no answer.
Newt opens the door to find Hermann sitting on the floor with his face buried in his hands, his wings drooping over his shoulders. As Newt crouches beside him, he sees the tear tracks on Hermann’s cheeks and watches the man’s frame shake as he cries silently.
They were his friends, he thinks, for nearly as long as I’ve been. The ring Sasha gave him the last time he saw her suddenly feels very heavy.
Newt pulls down a clean washcloth and holds it out for Hermann to take when he’s ready. Hermann remains still for a long moment then accepts the cloth and dries his eyes. He exhales a shaky breath.
"I think they knew about me," Hermann says quietly. "They’d probably known since the Academy and I was lying to myself in thinking otherwise. They took my secret to their graves, protecting me."
"Protecting the rest of Hong Kong, too, Hermann," Newt gently reminds him, nudging him with an elbow. He can’t resist asking, "What makes you think they knew?"
Hermann responds with a crooked smile. "They used to be prison guards and I let them embrace me. Tightly and often." He hides his face in his hands again. "I was so desperate for contact … I took the chance without thinking … ."
"You took a chance and it paid off, dude," Newt points out. "You got good friends and affection and living proof that someone can successfully help you hide for over a decade."
"I suppose you’re right," Hermann admits. He takes a deep breath, clamps a hand on Newt’s shoulder, and uses it as a fulcrum to lever himself to his feet. "We should prepare and dress for the day," he says.
"Whoa, dude!" Newt calls. "Before you do that, let’s groom you. It’ll put you in a more positive frame of mind." Hermann looks at him skeptically for a moment before he nods and walks to his desk chair while Newt retrieves the brush.
As he systematically works his way through Hermann’s feathers, Newt decides to pry into why Hermann was researching their tormentor. "I’ve seen you fall asleep reading before, but never with your glasses on. Whatever it was must’ve been amazing to keep you up so late," he says conversationally.
"I’m afraid it wasn’t. The long day of travel caught up with me unexpectedly while I was doing some routine reading," Hermann replies and punctuates the statement with a yawn and a gentle stretching of his wings between brushstrokes.
"Uh huh. I almost believe you," Newt teases as he finishes the final rank of coverts. "You were probably reading Doctor Who fanfiction or something equally nerdy."
Hermann responds with an affronted snort. "After breakfast, should we begin packing the lab or your quarters?" he asks.
Way to change the subject, dude. What’re you trying to hide? Newt thinks. Aloud, he says, "Ugh. Let’s start with my room. I’m not ready to deal with all the stuff that’s built up in the lab over the years."
"I’ve seen cleaner dorm rooms," Hermann says under his breath as he steps into Newt’s quarters after the pair have showered, dressed, breakfasted, and, in Hermann’s case, bound.
"I heard that!" Newt yells. "I’ve been busier than the average undergrad. You know, trying to save the world and all. A little more important than finishing a ten-page paper on Moby Dick," he huffs.
Hermann rolls his eyes and clearly decides against a snarky remark. "Where shall we begin?" he asks instead. "I’m not touching the inevitable collection of hentai."
"Why does everyone assume I’m into tentacles?" Newt whines as he braces his hands on his hips. "It’s getting really old." Hermann fixes him with a most unimpressed look. Newt throws up his hands in frustration. "Here. You can start by gathering up all the Kaiju books on the lower shelves for shipping. If it says ‘kaiju’ or ‘monster’ on the cover it goes in the box. I’ll work on the stuff up high," Newt says and scrambles up onto the desk to better reach. He begins carefully peeling up the tape holding up one of his Godzilla film posters to roll it up for storage. Hermann sighs and sets to on the contents of the sagging bookshelf. They work quietly for a while.
"What about these?" Hermann ask, offering a small pile of hardbacks for Newt’s inspection. Newt climbs down from his perch for a better look.
"Oh god. My yearbooks. I haven’t thought of these in years," Newt marvels. He reaches to take them, then pulls back his hands. "You know what?" he says. "Just throw them out. I don’t want to remember."
"Are you sure about this, Newt?" Hermann asks softly.
"Yeah. High school and college were not fun times for me," Newt says with a nervous laugh.
"I always assumed you were quite popular."
"No way, dude! I was the weird kid no one wanted to be seen with. I was years younger than anyone in my classes and still the smartest one." He pauses and shakes his head. "I don’t know if things are different in Germany, but American kids are seriously anti-intellectual. I was lucky they just ignored me."
Newt pushes his glasses up onto his forehead and rubs his eyes. "That’s why I latched onto you so hard when you started writing me, you know," he says. "You were the first person outside my gene pool who took me seriously. Like an equal rather than some kind of freak."
Hermann’s answering smile is crooked. "Birds of a feather and all that, I suppose … ," he says.
"Dude … ," Newt lets his glasses drop back into place and they land a bit askew. "Did you just … just make a joke? About birds?" Hermann shrugs in answer. "We should probably alert … somebody … ." He stares at Hermann for a moment. "Or maybe I should give you a reward. Condition you to use humor more."
"I am not a dog to be trained, Newton," Hermann snarls.
"It was ‘Newt’ five minutes ago," the biologist teases. "And I know. It was a joke. Anyway, get rid of those books. Just thinking about them is depressing me. They don’t even deserve the dignity of joining the bonfire with your old clothes. Throw ‘em in the trash. Now."
Hermann nods solemnly and sets the books in the bottom of the waste bin. "Goodbye, bad memories," he murmurs.
"Too bad it’s not that simple, huh?" Newt asks, then freezes midway through pulling down another poster and his face takes on a thoughtful expression. "I wonder if we could modify a neural bridge to locate and delete selected memories … ."
"That is a terrible idea," Hermann scoffs.
"Yeah, it probably is, but I bet someone will try, though."
"Of course someone will. As long as there’s a chance to profit by selling the ‘service’ to the desperate in the name of ‘helping’."
Newt snorts in agreement. "Yeah … let’s talk about how awful those people are over lunch."
After lunch, Newt takes one step into his quarters and declares it time to switch to packing in Hermann’s room. Hermann sighs and retraces his steps along the corridor to his own door, walking side-by-side with Newt. Only a fraction of an hour passes before a very polite knock sounds at the door.
"Hey, Hermann," Tendo says as he pokes his head into the room, "I have some bad news." Hermann stops sorting the books Newt pulled down from the upper shelves and glances at the tech chief. "It just came down that the UN will fund only four monitoring stations around the Pacific to keep eyes on the former Breach. I figure you're the guy to ask about where we should put them."
Hermann's mouth moves wordlessly for a moment before he finds his voice. "Four? Four?" he screeches. "How do they expect to cover the entire Pacific with four stations? We had twenty-six and there were still blind spots!"
Tendo raises his hands, palms out, in mollification. "I know, I know, brother," he says. "These are the same guys who backed the Wall after all. Making stupid decisions is what they do. But if anyone can find a way to make this marginally less stupid, it's you." Hermann grumbles, waves at Newt, and follows Tendo toward the lab to begin calculating the best locations for the monitors with the holo-projector.
Newt watches Hermann go with a twinge. He sighs. Might as well keep working. All these books won’t pack themselves.
A dog-eared photo falls out of Through the Looking Glass as Newt lifts it from its place on the shelf and flutters to the floor. Newt climbs down and studies it. Hermann doesn’t have many photographs, not even in those supposedly locked folders on his tablet, so this merits investigation. It shows a quartet of young people, sitting in winter sunshine, all smiling. He sees a familiar face. "I know her!" he chirps. "She was great!"
Newt flips the picture over to read the words penciled on the back: "Hermann, Edan, Rhys, Vigsai. 7 December 2005".
Hermann? Wait … . He turns back to the image.
He picks out a young Hermann at the edge, a full and beautiful smile on his face. No wonder I didn’t recognize him … .
Hermann’s eyes focus not on the camera but on the boy next to him. He looks to be a little taller than Hermann and nearly as thin, with mussed ginger hair, bright green eyes, and a few freckles across his nose.
Hermann’s arm brushes against the ginger’s.
Hermann never touches anyone by accident.
Dietrich said something about a boy Hermann met at school.
Newt decides to play it cool and be subtle asking about it when Hermann gets back. The man finally returns long after the dinner hour, looking tired and frustrated and still mumbling about politicians’ stupidity.
"Can I tell you a ‘small world’ story?" Newt asks as he helps Hermann out of his binder for the evening.
"Is there anything I could do to convince you otherwise?"
"No," Newt answers. "My second year at MIT the department gives me my first doctoral student to advise. She’s this tiny thing with this weird accent I can barely understand, but she’s sweet and smart and wants to develop fully functional human retinal tissue. I’m all ‘that’s pretty specific’ and ask her why. She tells me this story about how she had an achromatopsic classmate and how that got her interested in eye tissue. She’d been hooked ever since."
"Vigsai Singh," Hermann says. "It’s a small world, indeed. What brings this bit of ancient history up today?"
"A picture of her fell out of one of your books when I moved it."
"Oh." Hermann looks away and focuses on removing his socks and finding his slippers.
"I thought it was neat we were sort of connected even before we heard of each other and that, you know, you inspire people without even trying," Newt continues. "Umm … there are a couple of other kids in the picture with you two. So … uh … who’s Edan?" he finally stammers.
A long pause ends in a tight reply. "Another classmate."
"You still in touch?"
"He’s dead," Hermann’s voice goes flat and he fixates on a bit of lint on the quilt. "He was at Stanford on K-Day. Why do you ask?" Newt’s heart sinks to the floor at the mention of the university. Trespasser had utterly decimated the campus before crashing to its demise in Oakland.
Even so, curiosity (and if he’s honest with himself, some jealousy) forces him to steel himself and go on. "Because in the picture you’re smiling at him and touching his arm. You don’t do that."
Hermann still refuses to meet Newt’s eyes as he answers quietly, "I was a different person then, Newt."
"Yeah, but Iggy mentioned that one of the reasons for her fascination was the achromatopsic—you—could never see the color of his boyfriend’s eyes and she thought that was awful," Newt says. Hermann fiddles more intensely with the quilt. Newt finally gives up the pretense of subtlety. "I’m not competing with a dead guy, am I?" he blurts.
"Of course not," Hermann scoffs, finally looking up. "Why would you even think that?"
"Because you’ve carried this guy’s picture for twenty years, maybe?"
Hermann sighs one of his long-suffering sighs. "Newton, hand me that book," he commands. He slides his fingertips under the endpapers at the back and tugs out a slightly frayed and yellowed sheet of paper. He hands it to Newt with a neutral expression.
Newt unfolds it to find the very first letter he sent to Hermann, obviously well-read and carefully preserved. "Oh," he whispers and sits down next to the other man.
"It’s not a competition," Hermann says. "I’ve carried both of you with me." He plucks the letter from Newt’s hands and returns it to its place under the endpapers. He gazes at the photograph for another moment before doing the same with it, carefully closing the book when he finishes.
"You kept that letter even after we decided we hated each other?" Newt asks after he recovers his voice.
"All of them are around here somewhere," Hermann responds.
"What about his letters? You kept them, too, right?"
"There weren’t any: only the photograph."
"How do you date a guy for seven years and only have one picture?" Newt shrills in amazement.
Hermann’s expression instantly darkens and his face closes and Newt realizes he has epically stepped in it. "Hermann, what happened?" he asks gently.
"My father," Hermann begins and Newt can taste the bitterness in his voice, "transferred me to another university soon after I met Edan. I never saw him again. My father was … uncomfortable with my involvement in a romantic relationship."
Newt requires a full five-count to pull his jaw from the floor and unclench his fingers. "Next time—if there’s a next time—I see your dad, I’m not going to hold back. Security will need a taser to pry me off of him," he growls. "Did that asshole ever do right by you?"
Hermann shrugs. "He kept me alive and safe, made sure I was properly educated, and lobbied the Jaeger program to hire me, at the very least."
"Well, I guess that’s something," Newt replies. He thinks for a beat. "I’m still going to beat his ass if I see him again, though. Fair warning."
"If you can’t control yourself, I will not pay your bail," Hermann says, deadly serious.
"S’okay. I have other friends and, if that doesn’t work out, I’ve spent a night or two in jail for worse reasons." When Hermann raises an eyebrow, Newt goes on, "No use looking, dude. Juvenile records are sealed in the States."
Hermann smirks. "Computer security in the United States is also overrated."
"Did you just imply you can hack into court records?"
"I implied no such thing. I merely repeated information I have on good authority," Hermann sniffs.
"Your little black book must be a fascinating read."
Hermann ignores the remark and settles the book, with its hidden contents, into the final slot in the box he was packing. "That is probably enough work for one day," he says as he stretches his arms, back, and wings before reaching for his pajamas.
"Good idea. We’re almost done in here, anyway. Need to save our strength."
"We’ll need it to deal with your side of the lab," Hermann snarks.
"Dude, don’t remind me," Newt moans.
"Then come to bed and forget about it for a few hours," Hermann says. "Dream of something pleasant."
"You, too, Hermann," Newt says as he burrows into the blankets and under Hermann’s outstretched feathers.
He dreams of a world exactly like his own, except the Hermann he meets brings a red-headed husband in tow.
==Meta==
Read phttp://archiveofourown.org/users/puff22_2001/pseuds/puff22_2001 puff22_2001]’s "The Golden Eagle and the Owl" for background on the relationships between the Kaidanovskys and Newt and Hermann, including the story of the ring and the parka. Puff and I were talking after that story went up and realized it was very likely the Russians would've noticed something ... odd about their friend fairly quickly, but, being the Kaidanovskys, would've shrugged and passed the vodka. They wouldn’t have lasted very long as prison guards if they weren’t able to detect something unusual hidden under clothing with a quick touch.
Immediately after this chapter went live, puff posted "The White Eagle and the Owl", which explores the relationship between the German and the Russians even more.
I take Sasha’s call of "Water is reaching the reactor" to mean seawater got through Cherno’s compromised hull to the reactor containment vessel. Under such circumstances, the water would be broken down into hydrogen and oxygen by the extreme heat. Which would make the flash we see and boom we hear a hydrogen explosion rather than a nuclear explosion. The orange color of the fireball also suggests a hydrogen burn. A hydrogen explosion is (obviously) fatal to someone near the source of the blast, but it’s important that we’re accurate about the nature of what happened, especially since a catastrophic reactor failure would have vaporized at least Leatherback, if not most of Victoria Harbour, instead of leaving enough of Cherno intact for Leatherback to keep pounding on until it stops to take on Striker Eureka. I’m going to pretend the Russians built Cherno with reactor safeguards that shut it down safely before a meltdown could occur, leaving nuclear fuel and waste in a secure containment vessel on the bottom of the harbor, rather than a ticking nuclear bomb.
curiumKingyo suggested that Through the Looking Glass might be Hermann’s ‘desert island’ book. I found it very hard to decide between it and firefinchofqing’s recommendation of R.U.R..
To learn more about Edan, Vigsai, and Rhys, read my stories "Ginger" and "Heartbreaker" and puff's "Please Don't Fly Where I Can't Follow."
That last sentence is totally sherriaisling’s fault. She planted the suggestion of an AU of the AU 'where Hermann shows up at the Shatterdome with an adorkable Scottish husband in tow'.
ETA: 5/23/14: The name of Hermann's female friend changed to Vigsai. Her original name was too similar to 'Karla,' so I changed it to make things clearer.
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