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It starts with a mosquito.
Hermann hears buzzing, intermittent and soft, and finally turns to Newton, irritated. “What is that infernal racket?”
Newton, who is covered up to his elbows in neutralized kaiju blue, looks up confusedly. “What?”
“That - that buzzing sound,” he says, suddenly feeling ridiculous for rounding on Newton about it. He should have known it had been too quiet to be Newton’s fault.
“Oh!” Newton brightens, as if he knows the answer to a riddle, “Yeah, there’s a mosquito in the lab.”
Hermann feels his top lip curl into a sneer. He turns back to his work. “Do take care of it before it becomes an infestation.”
Newton scoffs. “Hermann it’s just the one. I know you’re not a biologist but you’ve gotta know the rules of reproduction.”
“Would you just kill the blasted thing,” Hermann snaps, wheeling on him again.
“No,” Newton says defiantly, just to be a nuisance, Hermann guesses. “I named it Hermann, it’s taken your place as my new best friend.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Hermann hears it sail past him and turns to see it land on one of his textbooks. He neatly rips a clean sheet of paper from his nearest notebook and lies it flat over the mosquito, crushing it with his thumb.
“Jeez, I didn’t know you were so jealous,” Newton says with a smirk, “You didn’t have to take it out on poor mosquito Hermann.”
Hermann rolls his eyes and wipes his book down with a wet cloth.
Two weeks later, Hermann comes down to the lab to see a jar full of sticks on his desk. “What’s that for,” Hermann asks curiously, peering at it hard enough to notice a large ladybug perched on one of the twigs.
“I caught it on my window this morning,” Newton answers perkily, “I named it Hermann.”
“This is going to be a thing with you now, is it?” Hermann says with a sigh, walking back to his side.
“I named it after you because ladybugs remind me of my Oma.”
Hermann rolls his eyes. “Flattering, thank you.”
“You dress like Opa so you remind me of her, too.”
Hermann bristles.
“Also, you’re crabby like she was.”
“If you don’t mind,” Hermann says snappily, “I am going to attempt to get work done now.”
By lunchtime, Newton releases the bug out one of the lab windows, waving dramatically and shouting after it, “Bye, Hermann!”
Making sure he doesn’t sound too particularly interested in the response, Hermann wonders aloud why Newton let it go if he’d become so attached to it, and Newton shrugs. “It’s bad luck to keep ladybugs confined, dude, everyone knows that.”
Another month passes before Hermann comes downstairs to find Newton working animatedly with a little lizard dozing on his shoulder.
“Newton,” Hermann hisses. “There’s - there’s a reptile on you.”
“It’s a gecko,” Newton answers automatically. “And his name is Hermann. I bought him off a street merchant.”
Hermann rolls his eyes. “Again?” he asks with a groan. “Why this time?”
Newton looks at it for a moment. “He kinda looks like you,” he says, “Wouldn’t you think?”
Hermann balks. “Did you just compare my physical appearance to that of a lizard?”
Newton squints at it and shrugs. “I guess you’re right,” he says, frowning, “He’s a lot more smiley than you.”
Hermann lets out an indignant huff. “I’m not going to have these creatures running rampant about the lab, Newton. At the very least, put it in a jar.”
“Aw, man,” Newton groans, and Hermann could swear he’s speaking to a teenager. “C’mon, he’s being good. He’s not even moving, he’s just chilling on my shoulder.”
As if on cue, the gecko scurries up Newton’s face to nest in his hair. Newton smiles. “That’s cute, you gotta admit.”
“I will admit no such thing,” Hermann says grumpily, “And I want that thing gone by the end of the day.”
Newton sneers at him, but by the evening, Newton returns to the lab, gecko-less and stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. He looks almost upset about it, and seems a little quieter than normal. Feeling guilty, Hermann leaves the lab and makes his way to the cafeteria, returning with a pair of coffees.
When he hands one to Newton, Newton grins at him.
It’s three months before another animal makes an appearance in their lab. It’s a turtle, sunning quietly in a dish of water and Hermann sighs, not even stopping to look at it as he walks to his side of the lab. “And why is this named after me,” he asks flatly.
“He looks like he likes math,” Newton says breezily, not looking up from his computer. Hermann scoffs, but doesn’t say anything else.
Hermann allows the turtle to stay, and Newton starts bringing it along to the cafeteria to feed it lettuce or letting it sit on the window sill that spreads over to Hermann’s side. Hermann fusses when it crosses his line, but overall keeps his opinion of the thing to himself. It makes Newton happy, and after the gecko fiasco, he’s decided a happy Newton is easier to share a lab with.
It’s been nearly four months when the turtle escapes unknowingly from Newton’s barracks. Newton comes down to the lab looking harried and upset, and Hermann, despite his better judgment, agrees to help him look for it.
Unfortunately, the Hansens’ dog, Max, finds the little thing first. Hermann has never seen the younger Hansen boy look as guilty as he does when he tells Newton.
Newton buries the turtle under a tree near the Shatterdome building and doesn’t smile when Hermann brings him coffee.
He does, however, finally manage a bit of a half-smirk two days later when Hermann brings him a green-frosted cookie shaped like a turtle.
When Newton asks where he got it, Hermann answers vaguely, “the cafeteria.” He’s embarrassed to mention that he asked the young lady baking the cookies to make one specifically, or how awkwardly he explained the situation when she gave him a knowing look. Newton grins at him, wide and bright.
The corner of Hermann’s mouth tugs up on one side in response. He says nothing else on the matter.
Hermann is surprised when, two weeks later, Newton already has another pet. It’s a mouse about the size of size of his thumb, sitting in a little plastic box.
“What’s that?” Hermann asks, pointing with his cane. He wasn’t expecting to have to deal with another creature in the lab for months, at least. Newton pouts over at the cage and shrugs.
“A Hermann.”
“Newton, honestly -”
“He’s grumpy and he bites me,” he says, as if Hermann had asked why. “I found him in the basement, but I’m about to let him go. He’s a rebound Hermann, I just miss turtle Hermann.”
Hermann rolls his eyes, as he is wont to do when Newton is involved, and decides to ignore most of what he’s saying in favour of the more important things. “You found a mouse in the basement? And let it bite you?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Newton grumbles, “I put some stuff on the bites. That’s why he’s in the little cage.”
“What were you even doing in the basement?”
“Checking in on the mouse problem,” he says flatly, like he’s done so for years. “But this one was so tiny, I didn’t wanna kill it. Look, it has little spots on his back that look kind of like your dumb sweatervest.”
Hermann feels the back of his neck break out in a sweat. He ignores the mockery and repeats pointedly, “This one? What constitutes a ‘mouse problem’? How many are there?”
Newton shrugs. “The traps were empty, man, calm down, we get like four a year.”
Hermann takes a deep breath and lets it out angrily through his nose. He yanks the box off Newton’s desk and storms out of the lab. “Hey!” Newton calls out, following after him, but he doesn’t take the box from him even after easily catching up with his stride. “What’re you doing?”
“Releasing the vermin.”
Newton giggles, and when Hermann looks at him, Newton says, “Hermann the vermin. It rhymes.”
Hermann scowls. “That’s another thing, Newton,” he says as he marches past the corner to one of the back doors of the dome, “I don’t understand why you see to it to name all your strange little pets after me, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped.”
Newton frowns, snatching the box from Hermann, then. He looks pitifully at the box and opens his mouth as if to argue, but hesitates, snapping his jaw shut instead. When he looks back up, his expression is clouded over. With a frustrated huff, he tells Hermann, “I’ll take care of it, go back to the lab,” and stalks out the door.
Newton is grumpy for several days, but it seems moreso at Hermann than in general.
Months pass, and things go more or less back to normal, the way they were prior to this whole game of Newton’s. Hermann stops flinching expectantly as he opens the door to the lab, stops expecting some new small beast to be milling about in Newton’s space.
But then, shy of six months since the mouse, Hermann comes into the lab to see Newton working quietly, absently petting his pocket. He’s afraid to ask, at first, doesn’t even want to draw attention to the fact that he’s aware of a third heartbeat in the room, but then the animal pokes its tiny black and white head out from Newton’s pocket, and he can’t help but be curious.
“What in God’s name do I have in common with a sugar glider?”
Newton looks offended. “You told me to stop naming my pets after you,” he points out.
Hermann raises his eyebrows. “Yes, I did. But did you?”
Newton grins. “No.”
Hermann lets out the loudest and most exasperated sigh he can manage. “Right. Well, what’s your reasoning behind this thing, then?”
Newton looks at it for a long time, then reaches out and pets its fuzzy head with the tip of his finger. “‘Cause it’s cute.”
Hermann isn’t expecting that. He feels his face heating up, but doesn’t move or speak. Newton looks up at him and smiles. “I can’t believe how dumb you are for a genius.”
“I’m - pardon?”
“I’ve been naming cute little animals after you for over a year, Hermann, it was getting frustrating.”
Hermann’s face turns bright red at the second mention of the word ‘cute’. “Are you trying to tell me this was some deranged method of courting?”
Newton scoffs. “It’s not deranged,” he starts, but Hermann waves his arms wildly, cutting him off before he can get started.
“You named a mosquito after me!”
“Well, at first it was just to annoy you,” Newton says, smiling. “But then with the gecko…”
“You said I looked like a lizard,” Hermann recalls shrilly, and Newton laughs.
“Yeah, well, you do. But like, in a sexy way?” Hermann squints at him, and Newton chuckles, shrugging. “I dunno if you noticed, but I really like lizards.”
The sugar glider crawls up to Newton’s shoulder and nuzzles into his neck. Hermann watches as Newton plucks it from his shoulder to hold it tightly in his hands. “I thought you’d at least notice with turtle Hermann. I loved that little guy.”
Hermann flusters at the phrasing. “Y - yes, well, I -”
“For a second, when you got me the cookie I thought you were courting back.”
“That’s preposterous,” Hermann says, but his face must be betraying him, because Newton is grinning.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, “That’s why you asked Allie to make me a turtle cookie.”
“I did not,” Hermann lies without understanding why, “I don’t know who told you such things, but -”
“Allie,” Newton answers, “Told me at dinner later that night.”
Hermann looks at his shoes.
Newton steps closer and places the little sugar glider on Hermann’s chest. Hermann watches it scuttle up his vest until it disappears from his line of sight and he feels it dart under his collar. Hermann yelps and goes rigid, and Newton grabs for him, his fingers lingering on Hermann’s neck as they wrap gently around his tiny pet.
“If you don’t...if the feelings aren’t reciprocated or,” Newton says, and Hermann can’t help but notice his knuckles are still brushing against his neck. Newton clears his throat and pulls his hand down. The two of them watch the little thing’s tail squirm around in his fist. “I’ll change his name if you really want me to. I don’t want you to think you can’t - work with me, or anything.”
Hermann’s throat is dry. He looks back down at the animal in Newton’s hands, watches it as it blinks up at him.
“I’m sorry I made you get rid of the gecko,” Hermann says finally. “I didn’t realize you were trying to win my affections by bestowing my namesake to reptiles and bugs.”
“And a couple rodents,” Newton reminds him, lifting the sugar glider to Hermann’s face. “But they’re really cute reptiles, bugs and rodents. I meant them as compliments.”
“Next time, just take me out to dinner, Newton.”
Newton beams at him. “I - I can do that,” he says quietly, “If - yeah, if you want.”
Hermann nods, and Newton grabs his keys.
Three days later, Mako answers the door to Newton holding out a teacup. “Mako!” he says cheerfully, “Your birthday’s next week, isn’t it?”
Mako smiles. “It is,” she says, tucking hair behind her ear, “Thank you for - for remembering.” Her eyebrows knit together as she notices something moving in the teacup.
“I was gonna wait until your actual birthday,” Newton says, and Mako squeaks as the tiny sugar glider pops his head up to see her. “But Hermann says I’m only allowed one in my room at a time.”
“You have more of them?” She says excitedly, taking the cup from Newton and petting its head. Newton laughs and shakes his head.
“No uh, not gliders,” he says, smirking, “Hermanns.”
Mako looks up at him, confused at first, but smiling as it dawns on her.
“You can rename him, if you want,” Newton assures her. “I mean - if you think it’s gonna be confusing. Or weird, having a pet named after the grumpy old physicist from K-Science. I don’t blame you.”
“And yet, you didn’t find it weird to do it yourself on five separate occasions,” Hermann’s voice cuts in before he rounds the corner, he looks at Mako with a smile and a nod. “Happy birthday, by the way, Miss Mori.” Newton turns around to smile at him.
“Yeah, well, that’s different. I was trying to get you to notice me.” Hermann reaches up to run a hand through Newton’s hair, starting to lead him down the hall with a light push at the back of his neck. He gives Mako another polite nod, and Mako returns it. Newton smiles at her distractedly as she shuts the door and lets himself be led away. “She can name it whatever she wants, she doesn’t need any help in getting anyone to notice her.”
Hermann laughs and leans in close to kiss Newton’s throat. “Nor do you, my darling.”