Forever, colorful memories, aging, and last words

Chapter 10: Forever, colorful memories, aging, and last words
==Text==
When Newt blinks to consciousness the next morning, it crosses his mind that he could stay like this forever. In fact, he actually, kinda, maybe does want to stay warm under Hermann’s wing forever. He doesn’t mean that metaphorically. He’s perfectly capable of rocking the world without backup. Literally under the guy’s wing, though, feels, well, more like home than he’s felt in for-freaking-ever. 
He mentally doubles his resolve to make sure he and Hermann find new jobs together. It needs to be something completely awesome or the stuffy bastard will wind up in boring old Oxford, where nothing’s changed in forever. 
I wonder how long forever will be with Hermann, he asks himself. Hermann, who doesn’t have purely human genes. Or a purely human shape. What if he’s got an owl’s lifespan? That’s nuts, though. He’d already be long gone if that was the case. Maybe I can run a test against his DNA for some sort of longevity markers.
Newt takes a deep breath and feels Hermann’s short hair tickle his nose. The man snuffles sleepily against his chest and his wing shifts, feathers making a sound like a whisper.
Yeah, forever would be kinda nice.
He lets Hermann sleep while he runs over the next phase of Operation Keep-Hermann-and-Newt-Together in his mind. The planning process skids to a stop as Hermann’s wings and arms start to twitch and he emits a tiny, terrified noise Newt has never heard from him before.
"Hermann. Hey. You’re having a nightmare, buddy. C’mon, open your eyes."
Hermann’s eyelids flutter open and his eyes go wide as he focuses as best he can on the kaiju tattooed across Newt’s chest. He jerks away from Newt violently, throwing himself against the wall. His head smacks the concrete and his broken wing winds up pinned between his back and the wall. Newt grabs his pillow and clutches it to his chest, covering his ink.
Hermann blinks again and rubs the back of his head. "Oh. It’s only you," he says with relief. Newt lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
"Is that good? It’s probably good you’re not having nightmares about me. That would really put a crimp in my current happy lifestyle. So would you having a head injury that could kill you. Let me get a look at it." Newt checks that Hermann’s pupils are even before sinking his fingers in Hermann’s hair, then his feathers, feeling for fractures or sore spots. Finding none, he says, "It doesn’t look like you hurt your wing and your head seems okay, so it’s probably safe to let you out of bed."
"Thank you for your permission, Doctor," Hermann responds sarcastically.
"Anytime, Patient," Newt says brightly. More seriously, he asks "You wanna tell me what you were nightmaring about?"
Hermann rubs his eyes with one hand. "They—some military organization—were creating an army of winged soldiers. Each was a clone of me. Each took a sample from me to create. They were slowly pulling me apart." Hermann shivers and wraps both his arms and his one free wing around himself. "The clones were built in the manner the kaiju were created."
"Jesus. It’s two nightmares for the price of one."
"Yes. Quite." Hermann shivers again. "This is also the first time I’ve dreamt in color. It was disconcerting." Newt bites his tongue and decides against informing Hermann that he’s absently tracing the outline of Yamarashi on his forearm with a fingertip. It tickles.
"Why’s that weird? I’ve heard of plenty of people who usually but not always dream in black and white," he says with rising curiosity. "Wait a minute. Your memories were all grayscale, too."
"I suffer achromatopsia. Before Drifting, I’d never seen anything other than black, white, or gray. I’ve only experienced colors through your memories and those of the Kaiju."
"I’ve known you forever and I had no idea about this." Newt pauses, gathering his courage. "Speaking of forever, Hermann, I’ve been thinking … ."
"This best not involve a plan which could kill you." Hermann actually crosses his arms as he glowers.
"Well, not directly at least. It’s about you." Hermann stiffens, defenses rising, so Newt quickly forges ahead. "Will your, uh, unique genetics affect your lifespan? I mean, I looked it up and Little Owls only live three years. I know you’re still young, even if you don’t act it, but are you going to, like, start aging rapidly at some point? Or drop dead at forty?"
"I have no idea," Hermann says as he fiddles with the hem of the pillowcase, wing shifting nervously. "So far, I’ve aged as a normal person would, but I have no idea how matters will progress. If my mother knew, the information is gone with her research notes. I only know what Dieterich has managed to document and infer. There’s no precedent. None of my mother’s other attempts at this genetic manipulation lived more than a few hours."
"She tried more than once?" Newt squeaks.
Hermann snorts. "Of course. You, of all people, should know cloning is not an exact science," he scoffs. "I don’t know how many ‘siblings’ I had, only that several were born from surrogates." He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. "My father was fond of reminding my mother of their deaths when they fought."
Newt lets his jaw drop. "That’s plain evil. Jesus christ, they’re both awful, but that is the lowest thing I’ve ever heard," Newt says incredulously.
"It was, however, very effective at ensuring he got his way." He pauses to let a bitter smile creep across his features." The only thing that man enjoys more than being right is having things his way."
"Yeah, I’d kind of noticed that. What a dick. You’re better off without having to deal with him," Newt says with conviction. "How ‘bout we get this day going?" They both head for the bathroom which leads to a gentle scuffle over who gets to brush his teeth first.
After binding and breakfast, they proceed to the lab for a day’s work. Ignoring Newt’s glares, Hermann climbs his ladder and continues his work on the final Breach model. Newt glances at his remaining specimens but, for the first time since the kaiju arrived, they fail to hold any interest for him.
The only thing really interesting right now, Newt thinks as he risks a look across the lab, is Hermann. I guess I could do research on his family and play it off like I’m looking at something kaiju-related as long as he doesn’t sneak up behind me. I don’t need him thinking I’m some sort of creepy stalker.
Newt’s surfing soon zeroes in on Hermann’s mother. 
She was brilliant and unconventional in grad school, but no genius, and nothing he can find indicates what she was apparently capable of. There are some nice citations of her early papers, some grant funding, postdoc work with a top-notch guy, but it really looked like she would be one of those scientists in the background of a big announcement. Never a star, but definitely in the band. Where the hell was the woman who built Hermann in this?
He opens another webpage and whistles. There she is, hiding in a short research update in an obscure German journal. Newt pops a hole in the paywall mumbling something about information wanting to be free and reads it carefully, occasionally consulting a German-English dictionary where his language is rusty. The paper details her method for swapping genes in and out of bird DNA. This is her big idea. If it worked like she said it did, it was a big step toward Hermann. On paper, though, it looks unreliable compared to more traditional methods, but it might generate a stable and appropriate fusion. And there’s another clue in this article, in French now, "Limited term activation of inserted genes in embryonic development". She claimed to have turn on bird genes inside a mouse embryo. It’s a big jump from that to a human, but … maybe, she could’ve pulled it off.
But there’s no way exactly what she describes would work. I tried something similar as an undergrad and it didn’t hold together nearly well enough. She must have tweaked it. She tried something new and that’s what worked. Those notes are the ones that are gone. Newt makes a wordless, frustrated noise.
Those are the last two papers she published. She marries Lars Gottlieb and drops off the face of the planet. All that comes after that are co-authorships on a couple of her husband’s papers and a few pictures of her at one academic function or another, always a polite half-step behind Lars. Birth announcements for Dietrich and Karla show up in the local newspaper.
Where was she working? Where did she get the tools? She couldn’t have done this in the basement … . Oh god. Did she have help?
It’s a long period of nothing until Hermann’s birth announcement and then Bastien’s.
Obituary.
"Found dead in her home," it says. At, what, 45? This looks like code for ‘suicide’. She killed herself. Her husband cut her off from her work for sure and maybe from the rest of the world and she killed herself.
"The only thing that man enjoys more than being right is having things his way," Hermann said.
He blamed Hermann for it, didn’t he? Newt hears Lars’ voice echoing in the back of his head, a fragment from Hermann’s memories: "It’s your fault your mother’s gone. Having to care for you drove her to this."
I’m going to kill him, Newt thinks as he grinds his teeth. Next time I see him, I swear I’m going to kill him.
You don’t say that to anyone, especially not a kid. He was eight!
I said that to him.
Oh. Oh no. Where is it? What happened to the stupid recorder? Did he hear that? Newt frantically ransacks his side of the lab.
Hermann hears the sounds of destruction from Newt’s side of the lab and clacks his way toward the source of the racket. "Newton, what on earth are you doing?" he calls.
"Oh. Uh." Newt temporarily halts, elbow deep in a box of assorted files. "Looking for my digital recorder."
"Unless you’re even less organized that I believe you are, it is still in the top drawer of your desk," Hermann replies with more than a little exasperation. Newt rushes over and yanks open the drawer. The device sits exactly where Hermann said it would. He breathes a sigh of relief.
"Thanks, dude." 
Hermann rolls his eyes in response. "I believe this is the first time I’ve heard you express gratitude for my cleaning up after you." 
"I take care of my own messes. You haven’t had to deal with a major spill in the lab for years," Newt pouts. "You … uh … haven’t listened to it, have you?" Newt’s voice cracks with concern.
"No."
"Not even after the first Drift?" he wheedles.
"No, Newton. I had more important matters on my mind than listening to whatever you were rambling about before you nearly succeeded in killing yourself. I had it off you, put it back in your desk, and returned to work."
"Thank god." Newt whizzes across the space and slows just in time to avoid the most ill-advised tacklehug of his life.
"What are you doing?" Hermann demands as he half-heartedly tries to shove Newt away. Newt only tightens his grip.
"Hugging you," he says.
"That much is obvious."
"Just … just deal with it, okay? It’s a hug. Hugs are good."
"Ah, yes. I do believe it has gone on long enough, though," Hermann says nervously.
"Oh. Okay. Yeah." Newt lets out a shaky breath and releases his hold, but lets his hand rest on Hermann’s wrist. "You feel up to a little walk and some food in the city? My treat?"
Hermann looks at the hand on his in a way which suggests he has no idea what it is and how it came to be in that position. "There won’t be many more opportunities so I had best take advantage of this one," he finally says.
"Excellent logic, dude. Let’s go!"
Full of noodles from the best shop within walking distance, they change together for the evening’s relaxation. As Newt reaches for his flannel sleep pants, it dawns on him that a small collection of his clothing, all neatly folded and sorted, occupies a portion of Hermann’s closet. And his meds and toothbrush are in the bathroom. The realization gives him a warm, melty feeling just left of center in his chest.
Maybe this is mutual, he thinks. Maybe I won’t even have to say anything. It’ll just happen.
He lies down with his tablet for a last check of his email, but soon finds himself observing Hermann out of the corner of his eye. Newt hasn’t adjusted to this new Hermann yet. The glasses on their old maid librarian chain are pretty much the only thing reminding Newt this is the same man he’s known for over a decade. He definitely prefers this more relaxed, more … cuddly version.
God, who would’ve thought I’d ever use the word ‘cuddly’ to describe Hermann Gottlieb. Maybe the world ended after all. Newt laughs a little at his own joke.
The giggle returns Hermann’s attention from his reading to his roommate. He glances at Newt and sighs as he puts down his tablet. Newt watches him shuffle across the room and allows himself to be gently manhandled out of Hermann’s path to the man’s side of the bed. Newt smiles and flips off the light.
Sleep finds them easily and Newt drifts off, safe and warm under Hermann’s feathers, happy at having dodged the recorder’s bullet.
==Meta==
People born colorblind (like this Hermann) always dream in black and white, just as all of his memories would be grayscale. The idea that the only colors Hermann has ever seen came through his Drifting with Newt and the kaiju was too awesome to not steal from the comments.
I decided not to name Hermann’s mom. I just don’t like hanging my own names on characters that may eventually be labeled in canon. I really like changing a minimum of variables when I write.
For the record, I’m working with these ages for the Gottlieb kids (mom’s age when they were born): Dieterich, 42 (30); Karla, 40 (32); Hermann, 35 (37); Bastien, 29 (41)
I’m always up for answering questions about this Hermann and his world (or any of my writing), so if you have one, comment or message me at my Tumblr. At least five questions I’ve been asked find (at least partial) answers in this chapter.
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