Bruised

APRIL
Bruised
6 April 2019
Sydney, Australia
"Doctor Gottlieb?" the voice on the other end of the phone asks. "Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but there's a guest at the gate for you."
Hermann all but growls in response. "Who is it?" he demands.
"He says he's your brother, sir."
"My brother?" Hermann snaps fully awake and nearly falls in his haste to get out of bed. "I'll be there immediately to sign him in," he replies. If Bastien—and it must be Bastien—is at the door at this time of night something must be very, very wrong. Hermann fights his confusion. What could Bastien possibly be doing in Sydney? He's supposed to be in Tokyo.
It takes much too long for Hermann to locate his clothes and dress and two attempts to buckle his binding with sleepy fingers. He hobbles as quickly as he can to the gate.
Bastien waits for him inside the gatehouse sporting a black eye, a gash high on his forehead, a pale t-shirt spattered with dark droplets which are probably blood, and jeans torn through at the right knee. Even so, he flashes a weak smile and waves as Hermann limps into the small space.
"Hi, brother," he says. "It's been forever."
Hermann gapes for a split second at his brother's condition before recovering and turning to the soldier on duty. "Corporal," he says, "this is indeed my brother and I will assume full responsibility for him while he is on the grounds."
"Yes, sir. Please sign here, Doctor, and I'll release him to you." Hermann applies his jagged signature to the paper the soldier thrusts at him and notes the man is clearly relieved someone is taking his bloodied charge off his hands.
"Come along, Bastien. Let's get you seen to," Hermann says, hiding his concern under a gruff voice, gesturing toward the door.
"May I borrow your arm? I don't trust my legs at the moment," Bastien replies, switching to German, a sure sign to Hermann he is in even worse shape than it appears. Bastien only uses his native language when extremely upset, English having become a linguistic 'fuck you' to his father.
Hermann blinks at his brother and helps him to his feet. They make their way to Hermann's quarters, Bastien leaning on Hermann who leans in turn on his cane.
"What happened?" Hermann asks matching his brother's German, finally letting his worry show in his face as he steers his wobbly sibling to the mattress in his cramped room. "You should be in hospital, not my bedroom," he calls over his shoulder as he continues into his bathroom for the well-stocked first aid kit he keeps there.
"That's not an option, Manny. I'm not supposed to be here," Bastien says, gingerly feeling the back of his head and pulling back bloodied fingers which he studies as Hermann returns. "Technically, I'm not allowed in the country."
"Bastien ... ."
"Nonono ... I'm not banned," Bastien responds and waves his hands in denial. "I don't have a visa. You know what governments have been like about people without travel documents the last few years."
"I trust there is a good explanation for this," Hermann says, "which you'll give me later. For now be quiet and hold still so I can see what they did to you." Hermann scrubs at his brother's face with a washcloth then reaches for his bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"I'm flattered you think it required more than one person to take me. Hey! Ouch!" Bastien yelps as Hermann applies the antiseptic to the abrasion on his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Hermann says contritely. "I should have warned you this may sting."
"You are a terrible doctor. Next time I get beaten up, I'm calling Dietrich," Bastien jokes weakly.
Hermann finishes applying bandages to the scrapes and cuts on his brother's face hands, and knee. "Thankfully, everything seems superficial so our brother's skills aren't needed. You've been
repaired as best I can manage. Hopefully you're not also concussed."
"Thank you, Manny," Bastien replies as he gently probes the sore spot beneath his hair.
Hermann pulls his brother's hand away from his injury and prompts, "What hit you there?"
"A wall," Bastien answers. "I tried to roll with a punch and banged my head. It kept me from falling, though. They probably would've kicked me to death if I wound up on the ground." He begins to shiver and chafes at his bare arms, a gesture unrelated to the temperature of the room. The adrenalin's leaving his system, Hermann thinks with increasing concern.
"Get out of those ruined clothes. I think I have a few things that will fit you," Hermann commands as he rummages in his closet and pulls out a t-shirt, sweater, flannel pajama bottoms, and a spare quilt. He offers the clothing to his brother and Bastien's hands shake as he changes. When he finishes, Hermann carefully cocoons him in the quilt and Bastien's tremors subside somewhat. Hermann nods in approval.
"I'll brew a pot of tea and then you can tell me what happened," he says gently.
"Tea? How very British of you."
Hermann shrugs as he finishes setting the water to boil on the hot plate and retrieves a bottle of pills from one of his desk drawers. He shakes two into his hand and offers them to Bastien with a cup of water. "Here. Take these. They should help with the aches."
"Is this the strong stuff D prescribes for you?" Bastien asks, studying the capsules.
"Of course not," Hermann sniffs. "Those are regular aspirin which just happen to look like my prescription analgesics." Bastien puffs a small laugh and swallows the pills.
The brothers sit in silence for the minutes it takes for the water to heat and then the tea to steep. Bastien rests with his eyes closed, still trembling occasionally, but his face relaxes a bit as the medication takes hold.
"Tell me what happened," Hermann says as he hands a cup of
chamomile to his brother and sits on the bed next to him.
Bastien stares into his mug, takes a deep breath, and begins in English, "You know my job, right? Locating people 'misplaced' in all of the evacuations?" Hermann nods, so Bastien continues. "I'm looking for a group of girls who went missing off a plane from New Zealand six months ago. Five of them got on in Wellington and their flight landed in Sydney, but they never made it to their families in Kiwitown. I traced them to a hostel, but was getting nowhere over the phone and email from Tokyo, so I came."
"Without a visa."
Bastien sips his tea. "It was paperwork versus five missing girls and a trail that was getting very cold," he continues. "I wagered I could find them before someone caught me and shipped me back to Japan."
"Or Germany, considering your citizenship," Hermann points out.
"I'd rather hijack the plane rather than go back there," Bastien says with conviction.
Hermann snorts in understanding. "How did you get into Australia without papers?"
"I have ... friends with connections," Bastien says. "Give them a couple of days, at most, and they can get into and out of anything. Countries, buildings, computer networks. They're good." He takes another drink. "I arrived three days ago and started following the leads I had. I made good progress right up until yesterday night. Then everything went pear-shaped on me. I thought I was going to interview someone who saw the girls after they left the hostel, but I'm sure I was actually face-to-face with a human trafficker. And his bodyguard." Bastien reaches for the back of his head again. Hermann interrupts the motion and guides his hand back to his mug.
"He seemed to think I was a potential client, buyer, partner, something," Bastien continues. "I tried to play along to get as much information as I could, but he started talking about using girls he 'found' as prostitutes." His German reasserts itself when he begins again and his hands trembling around his tea. "I think he figured out I wasn't who he thought I was when I turned green after he started speaking very explicitly about what one could do with 'his' girls." Bastien shudders. "It got worse when I absolutely froze after he asked sort of 'services' I was interested in. Then it all fell apart when I started thinking
about what it would be like for those girls if any of them are like me." He shudders again.
Hermann pulls his brother close and rubs circles against his back, the touch he knows Bastien finds most soothing. There's simply nothing he can say so he holds his brother as he eventually resumes speaking.
"The bodyguard threw the first punch inside the bar. I ran for it, but got lost and they cornered me. They hit and kicked me until I managed to shake them off and run again. They gave up when I started begging the kid at the gate to get you. I'm lucky we were on your doorstep."
"I'm very glad you were." Hermann tightens his embrace. After a silent pause, Hermann speaks again. "Are you sure you want to continue with this job, Hasi?" he asks quietly.
Bastien pushes away and locks eyes with his sibling. "Of course I want to keep going! What a stupid question!"
"You're putting yourself in danger and under a lot of stress. I know you want to do meaningful work, but you're young and ... ," Hermann begins.
"At my age, you were writing software for giant robots in Alaska, Manny," Bastien interrupts. "If I remember correctly, that first American Jaeger almost stepped on you. Don't you tell me I'm too young to be doing something important or risky. And I can't stop now that I know what probably happened to those girls. I can't. I have names to work with we can start investigating for real. If the girls are still alive, the grapevine will find them and build a case against the assholes responsible. If they're not, we'll nail the bastards to a wall. That makes all this worthwhile," he declares.
"Of course, Hasi," Hermann responds gently. "I understand. I feel the same way about the Jaeger program and everything I have to do to maintain it." Bastien matches his crooked smile. "You need rest. You may have the bed. Let me gather up some blankets to make myself a place on the floor," Hermann says as he stands and shuffles back toward his closet.
"Oh no you won't!" Bastien protests. "We'll both fit in this bed. It'll be like when we were kids."
"We're grown men," Hermann points out, "not the undersized boys we were in Berlin."
"We're grown men who are both exhausted and hurt tonight," Bastien corrects. Hermann hesitates as he fumbles for his extra blankets. "Don't try to tough it out. I know you're hurting because of how you're placing your feet. You only step this carefully when you're really sore. So unless you have a spare mattress hidden in a drawer, we'll be sharing the bed. Look, I'll even take the outside so I'm the one to fall off," he says earnestly.
"I'm too tired to fight with you tonight," Hermann sighs. He strips off his layers and groans as he straightens his bad knee to change into his own pajamas.
"Thank goodness for that little miracle," Bastien says. "Let me help with your binding. You had enough trouble with your buttons." Hermann mumbles unintelligibly but doesn't resist as Bastien sets to work on the clasps of his binding. He sits back and watches Hermann stretch his wings.
Bastien runs his hand lightly across his brother's feathers. "You know," he says quietly, "there are still days I wish I had your wings."
"You should know better than to wish for that by now, especially after your night," Hermann chides. "With bones like mine, you would be crippled or dead right now." Bastien's eyes widen as the truth of Hermann's words register.
The brothers position themselves for sleep with a bit of gentle pushing and shoving. Even though Bastien winds up pressed against Hermann's side only inches separate him from a tumble onto the hard, cold floor.
"Thank you for everything tonight, Manny," Bastien whispers. "I've missed you."
"Go to sleep, Hasi," Hermann replies with only the smallest hitch in his voice.
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Category:Bruised, Battered, but never Broken