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By the time they approached the front desk, at least one of the party was ready to collapse. They had both been awake since before sunrise, and had traveled long enough and far enough that time had lost all meaning. Hermann’s head ached. The overhead lights were an assault on his eyes. His back twinged from the awkward half-turn he’d had to hold for so much of the day in order to pull along his suitcase while still making use of his cane. And he simmered with resentment at Newton’s boundless energy as the little toad got them both checked in.
“We’re the PPDC representatives,” Newton said, showing his ID. “Two rooms, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” The receptionist tapped at her keyboard for a few moments, then gave him a practiced smile. “Room fourteen for you, and eleven for Mr. Gottlieb.”
“Doctor,” Hermann sighed halfheartedly. If it meant a bed was in his immediate future, she could call him whatever she liked.
And his own bed, in a single room. For once, the PPDC had foregone its usual budget consciousness to put them up in comfort.
“Cool-cool,” Newton said brightly, peering at the nearby rack of pamphlets advertising various tourist attractions. “So what’s the music scene like around here? Any local bands I should know about playing tonight?”
“We’re not here on holiday! We have meetings in the morning,” Hermann grumbled.
“But we’re in Miami. The land of vice! Stop being so boring!”
“Stop being a twit.” That wasn’t his best comeback, but honestly, he was awfully tired.
“There are a few good bars right down the street,” the receptionist said.
“Ha!” Newton cheered, pointing at Hermann in some obscure personal triumph.
“Just give me my key,” Hermann said flatly.
Newton tossed it to him. While Hermann was occupied catching it, Newton grabbed both their bags and took off down the hall.
“Newton! Newton, get back here!” Hermann followed after him, hissing in irritation as his attempt to hurry proved less than feasible after a long day in a cramped airplane seat. Newton slowed, after a moment, to match his pace while keeping himself just out of reach.
“Give me back my bag,” Hermann complained.
“Oh, I won’t hurt it, you old grump. Come on, hurry up and change. I refuse to be seen with you in that sweater.” As if his Sex Pistols t-shirt and ratty jeans were by any measure presentable.
“That will not be a problem.” Hermann made a grab for his suitcase. Newton pulled it ahead.
“No kidding? You’re actually going to change into something marginally cool? I thought you’d take a lot more convincing.”
“I am not changing into anything. I’m not going out. Give me that.” He finally got a grip on his suitcase handle. Newton happily let it go, having made whatever point he was trying to make. They had reached Hermann’s room. But Newton chose to lean against the door, preventing Hermann from going inside.
“You’re in a foreign country, you European, you. Don’t you want to soak up some culture? See the sights?”
“I’ve seen enough.” The airport, primarily. He’d seen more than he ever wanted to of that. And the only thing he wanted to see now was the inside of his eyelids.
“Okay, fine. Go to bed, old man. Try not to let the excitement kill you while I’m out seeing what this city has to offer.” Newton turned and walked backward down the hall, smiling as if he expected Hermann to change his mind.
Hermann stepped into his room and shut the door.
“Loser!” Newton yelled from outside.
Hermann shook his head. People were trying to sleep.
And he would soon be one of them. Thank goodness, alone at last.
He spared hardly a glance for the details of the room, except to confirm that there really was a lone queen-sized bed waiting for him. He didn’t even bother to unpack, just stepped out of his shoes, dropped his cane, and tumbled forward onto the bed. He could take the time to turn off the light, but that would require more movement and coordination than he was prepared to…to…
There was a buzz from his trouser pocket. Newton was texting, but Hermann didn’t care. He was asleep before he finished his thought.
A pounding at the door quite rudely dragged him from his sleep. Hermann struggled his way up from the pillows, grumbling under his breath. Couldn’t anyone ever leave him alone?
The pounding continued, too frantic to be the work of anyone but Newton. A glance at the clock said he’d been out for hours; he was probably drunk and wanting to share his excitement over whatever terrible rock band he’d just discovered.
Hermann was tempted to go back to sleep, but he knew from experience that resistance would only make Newton more determined.
The knocking didn’t stop. Hermann got up and stumbled over to the wall, then to the door, choosing not to stop and look for his cane, in the vain hope that he would soon be back in bed.
“Pipe down! I’m coming,” he announced.
Abruptly, there was silence. Hermann took the time to look through the peephole, and, sure enough, there was Newton, fist still raised to knock as if Hermann’s voice had frozen him solid.
But he didn’t look as he had when Hermann last saw him. He was filthy, his shirt marred with wet patches, his glasses missing, a bloody cut across his cheek, and he looked as if he might have been crying. Hermann’s irritation at being woken up faded away as he flung open the door.
“What’s the matter, what happened?” He took Newton by the elbow without waiting for an answer, and drew him into the room.
The man was trembling. There were dark smudges around his forearm, in the space not yet filled in with tattoos; hard to say at a glance if they were bruises or dirt. Worse, he wasn’t talking. Nothing in the world could frighten Newton Geiszler into speechlessness.
And he was, quite plainly, terrified. The moment he crossed the threshold, Newton grabbed the door, slammed it shut, braced his back against it, and shot the bolt.
“Is someone after you?” Hermann asked. He guessed the answer was yes, but the real questions were, who, how angry were they, and how far away?
Newton said nothing, only stared, wide-eyed and hyperventilating, until Hermann inevitably lost his temper.
“Did someone hurt you?” he snapped.
Newton flinched. Hermann cursed inwardly. He never had been the comforting sort, but surely he could do better than to further terrorize a man who was already at his breaking point.
“What are we doing?” Hermann asked, scrubbing a hand across his eyes in an attempt to bring himself fully awake. “Do you need me to call the hospital?”
Newton shook his head.
“Police?”
He shook his head again, more violently. Hermann frowned.
“I know your feelings about law enforcement, but if someone’s done this to you…” He reached out to indicate the blood on Newton’s face.
At that proximity, Newton crumpled, turning away and holding a hand over his face in a fruitless attempt to hide his distress.
“Er…They, er…shouldn’t be allowed…” Hermann’s hand still hovered uselessly in midair. He let it drop. “To, er…to get away with it…”
Newton did not appear at all comforted by that lackluster statement.
“Well, let’s have a look,” Hermann sighed. “If you won’t see a doctor, you’re going to have to let me clean you up.”
Newton hunched down, turning even further away from him.
“Newton, for heaven’s sake, it’s the middle of the night. I don’t have time for this.”
“S-s-sorry,” Newton gasped.
“Don’t apologize, just come with me.” He took Newton by the arm and led him in to sit on the toilet. Newton went along, if reluctantly, casting an anxious glance at the door as he moved. He was still shaking.
Hermann made sure to check the lock, in hopes that Newton would be reassured, then turned on the bathroom lights. Newton flinched, again, but lowered his hand to allow Hermann to see his face.
“What happened?” Hermann asked again. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I—I’m not, I’m f-f-fine…”
“You’re bleeding,” Hermann pointed out.
Newton touched his fingers to his cheek, then looked down in embarrassment.
“H-he w-w-was—was wearing a—a ring.”
“I see.” Hermann took a hand towel to the sink to wet it with cold water. “So a man, who was wearing a ring, hit you in the face and then chased after you, is that correct?” He wrung out the water with an unnecessarily violent twist. He’d like to get his hands on whoever it was who had decided to make Newton the target of their anger. See how they fared against a man who wasn’t a devout pacifist.
“Th-they…” Newton whispered. Hermann gave him a sharp look.
“More than one?”
Newton nodded.
“So they had you outnumbered.” He dabbed as gently as he could at the blood on Newton’s face. No wonder the man was scared to death. “I haven’t got anything to disinfect this with. Please tell me you haven’t been rolling around in something foul,” he said, gesturing at Newton’s wet clothes.
“Puddle,” Newton muttered.
“A puddle?” Hermann grimaced. “A puddle of what?”
Newton snuffled and pulled away from Hermann’s touch. Hermann followed him, doggedly continuing to wipe away the blood.
“Don’t get huffy with me, Newton. If you wanted to let your wounds go septic, you shouldn’t have come to me for help.”
“Mrm,” Newton grunted. He twisted away from Hermann’s touch. Hermann grabbed Newton by the back of the neck and yanked him back into position.
“You might as well hold still. I’m going to get it all even if it takes all night—but I hope it doesn’t, because I’m very tired.” He wiped again, still holding Newton in place. “Did they get you anywhere besides the face?”
Newton shook his head, but he didn’t look Hermann in the eye as he did it.
“What did they do to you?” Hermann asked with threadbare patience.
Newton looked up at him, and quickly lowered his eyes again.
“H-he—had—” He took a deep, shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “He had—a knife—a-and I just, I couldn’t get away, they wouldn’t let me go, and he said—he said—”
“He threatened to stab you?” Good lord, and Newton didn’t want to go to the police about this?
“Not—not stab—exactly?” Newton pulled at his sleeves, trying unsuccessfully to cover up the swirls of color on his arms.
“Oh,” Hermann said. “They took exception to your tattoos?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Newton protested.
“Of course not. These people threatened you with a knife, and I presume from your current state that they meant to go through with it. Even if you antagonized them, they wouldn’t have been justified doing more than telling you off. They had no right to hurt you.” His hand stilled, turning Newton’s face up to look at him. “It’s not your fault if they did.”
Newton stared at him, flatly disbelieving. Well, he couldn’t be blamed for his surprise. Hermann rarely missed an opportunity to blame that nincompoop for his own misfortunes, because he usually was to blame. But to have his life threatened? To be so badly frightened he had to run to Hermann for help? That was too much. It was not right.
“So I ask again,” Hermann said, finding his patience was holding up better than expected, “what did they do to you?”
“They, um…” Newton’s teeth worried at his lower lip. “You’ll laugh. It’s stupid.”
“I’m inclined to take this seriously,” Hermann reminded him. He was becoming increasingly aware that he was holding Newton’s face and neck in a manner entirely unsuited to the mortal enemies they sometimes pretended to be, but he did not let go.
“I—they—it’s so stupid,” Newton said, with a forced kind of energy Hermann didn’t like at all. He tugged at his sleeves again, but the t-shirt wouldn’t stretch enough to cover everything. “He was going on and on about kaiju, and he was all like, ‘How about I cut them off you,’ like he stepped right out of a bad movie, and—”
“Good God,” Hermann said. Newton shook his head.
“No, but he didn’t! He came at me, and—and I kicked him in the face, and I went like—” He snapped his head backwards to demonstrate what he ‘went like.’ “And the other guy let go, and—and—so I ran, but. I don’t know how far they chased me. I don’t know if they’re h-here, or…”
“Of course,” Hermann said. The scoundrels probably gave up when their prey put up more of a fight than they’d expected, but if not, they could very well be prowling around the hotel hoping to finish the job. “Here, give me your room key. I’ll go tell the person at the front desk to keep an eye out. If those people come after you here, we will be involving the authorities.”
“Why do you need my key for that?” Newton asked.
“So I don’t have to make a second trip to collect your things.”
“Collect…as in bring back? Here?” Newton squeaked.
“Yes, naturally I wouldn’t expect you to go get them yourself at a time like this.”
Newton’s eyes took on an alarming shine.
“What? Did you think I’d throw you out on your ear? Obviously you’re not staying alone tonight,” Hermann muttered.
At that, Newton’s tears spilled over, and he lurched forward to press his face—his dirty, bloody, increasingly wet and snotty face—into Hermann’s abdomen. His arms wrapped around Hermann’s waist, which was less objectionable, despite the fact that it pulled him off balance and forced him to put more weight on his bad leg than he could tolerate in the long term.
“I thought—I thought you’d tell me to man up or something,” Newton blubbered. “I thought you’d say I brought this on myself! Why are you being nice to me?”
“Because you do not deserve cruelty,” Hermann told him firmly. He moved his hand from Newton’s cheek to the back of his head, letting the damp cloth fall to the floor, and simply held him there while Newton collected himself.
Stupid man. He was irritating, yes. Careless, and with few social graces. Difficult to be around and impossible to get along with. But he was not bad, for all that, and he did not deserve to be treated badly. Simple as that.
“‘Man up,’ indeed,” Hermann added, going so far as to stroke Newton’s hair while they were already in this compromising position. “They tried to take your skin. You’re entitled to any emotional reaction you want.”
“Fuck. Okay.” Newton hiccuped and wiped his nose across Hermann’s front before he pulled away. “Freaking out sounds so reasonable when you say it like that. I, um…” He frowned at the mess he’d left behind. “I’ll buy you a new sweater. I mean, if I can find one. In Florida. In July.”
“Don’t worry about that. Are you all right now?”
“Uh-huh. M’fine.” Newton sniffled again, clearly not fine at all, but he’d finally stopped shaking. That was something, anyway.
Hermann gave his companion’s hair one last pat before he said, “Get off me, you great bloody oaf. This position is killing me.”
Newton released him immediately, which was, of course, all for the best. Hermann had things to do. And he chose not to admit that he hadn’t really minded letting Newton cling to him, just for a little while, when he needed it.
Hermann absolutely insisted on Newton showering off all the muck he’d been dragged through before he went anywhere near the bed. That gave Hermann plenty of time to warn the hotel staff of the violent criminals threatening to cut off people’s skin, and then to make two trips to Newton’s room—one for his personal belongings, and another to filch the pillows and bedding. By the time Newton emerged, wrapped in an oversized hotel bathrobe, Hermann, now comfortable in his pajamas, had turned the bed into a nest cozy enough to accommodate them both. He had also appropriated the coffee maker to make a cup of hot chocolate, which he handed over without comment. He’d brought that mix for himself, but he was willing to sacrifice it to a good cause.
“Holy shit, thanks,” Newton said. He looked at the bed, and back to Hermann.
“Get in,” Hermann told him.
“You don’t…want me to sleep on the floor or something?”
Would he have accepted that? A night spent in discomfort, so long as it wasn’t spent alone? It didn’t matter. Hermann was not going to do that to him, and the bed was big enough for two.
“Just go to bed so I can get some rest,” Hermann grumbled. He claimed his own preferred side of the bed, and paid no attention to Newton climbing in beside him.
Newton gasped softly when Hermann turned off the light, but made no complaint. Without a word, Hermann turned on the television and handed over the remote.
“I thought you were tired,” Newton said.
“Just keep the volume low.” He could sleep through worse than this.
“I…I lost my glasses. I can’t see for shit,” Newton said.
Hermann took the remote back and navigated to a channel playing old sitcom reruns.
“There. You don’t need eyes for Vitameatavegamin. Now, goodnight, Newton.” He closed his eyes.
“Hey, Herms?”
“Can’t hear you. I’m unconscious.”
Newton was quiet for a long moment before he softly whispered, “Thanks.”
Newton was asleep in a matter of minutes, the chocolate only half drunk. Hermann let the television play on mute in case he woke up, disoriented, in the night.
And when uneasy dreams sent Newton rolling over to rest his head on Hermann’s chest, Hermann did not push him away. Just this once, he kept him close. And soon they both slept, unbothered by the world outside their room.
Not that he cared all that much, but Hermann might have slept a bit better himself, knowing Newton was safe.