Work Text:
Kodiak Island, Alaska: January 19, 2015
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Newt saw quickly that Hermann Gottlieb had also lied in his OKCupid profile. A lot, if the way the man was acting now was any indication.
Of course, the first thing that Newt noticed was the cane conspicuously gripped by long, slender fingers. That was definitely not in Hermann’s profile or anywhere online as far as Newt knew--and he had killer Google-fu. Maybe it was new? Then the way the other man looked around suspiciously before coming fully into the coffee shop was not at all how a guy “amicable and open” would act. Newt understood his hesitation, no fucking lie, so he recognized the way Hermann shuffled to keep as much room between himself and everyone else as possible.
‘Dude’s got issues.’ Bounced through Newt’s head as he stood up to wave excitedly at the arrival.
Hermann, for his part, smiled slightly as he saw Newt wave and then frowned just as slightly when the “cool, reserved” Newt continued to draw unneeded attention to himself. Hermann hadn’t expected Newt to be as much of a “quiet soul” as Newt’s profile promised—everyone always lied on those things—but he was unnerved by how Newt bounced on his heels as he waited for Hermann to join him, and then stuck out his hand like a battering ram when Hermann finally sat down and shifted into a comfortable position, his cane hooked to the underside of the table.
“Hey, hey, hey! Hermann! I was kinda worried you wouldn’t show. Wow, you really are hot! You weren’t kidding with that ‘tall, dark, handsome’ thing. Your pictures don't do you justice at all.” Newt rambled as he pumped Hermann’s hand, both nervous and on the verge of a panic attack. Thank God he’d taken his meds on schedule for once, but his heart raced. Here they were, meeting just the first time in person (though of course the man had read everything that he could about the genius child prodigy Hermann online), and Newt was falling fast.
Hermann Gottlieb was very, very hot. Newt’s fellow German was of average height and slim—skinny, if Newt were being honest—and carried himself with a confidence born of fire. Brown eyes sparked with brilliance, and Newt would have called them amber if his damn sister hadn’t ruined that word when they were kids with obsessing over some bullshit sparkly vampire. Newt could have done without the bowl-cut hairdo, but the severe style suited Hermann and framed His eyes, and wasn’t that the point? The man opposite Newt was all angles: sharp cheeks, sharp mouth, sharp limbs jutting out from the oversized parka out of which he was now slipping. Oh yes, Hermann Gottlieb was an attractive man.
While Newt obviously ogled, Hermann settled himself, ordered his favorite tea from the server who came by, settled himself again, and then looked anywhere other than at Newt. The short scientist had not only rattled Hermann with his babble, but he’d flattered Hermann—something the taller man was not used to. Even in his few past relationships, “hot” was not an adjective ascribed to him. Stately and statuesque and still; those were words for artwork and Hermann Gottlieb. Words that meant “Do Not Touch.”
But hot? Hermann stole a look at Newt who was ordering another mug of a sickly-sweet concoction that Hermann wouldn’t drink to save his life. Newt was animated in his descriptions of just a tablespoon of honey, only one peppermint, two shots of hazelnut, and don’t forget the swizzle stick that looks like a fairy wand, please. Hermann smiled in spite of himself. Newt had posted all about his “enthusiasm for life” on his profile, but he hadn’t mentioned that he was as excitable as a teenager.
Even Newt’s physique was younger, in a way. Though the five-day stubble and the undeniable genius in the biologist’s eyes gave him away as an adult, his 5’7” frame belied that fact. Had Newt looked so short in the many pictures online of him recieving awards and degrees? Newt’s eyes were the truest green that Hermann had even seen and they were magnified in those ridiculous hipster glasses so well that Hermann swore to himself that he could see a thread of gold. Newt’s dark hair stood up and got even wilder when he twitched a hand through it as Hermann studied the shorter man, his own embarrassment forgotten in his admiration.
Newt’s nerves, however, had returned once he forced himself to look away from Hermann’s face. The way Hermann gazed at him was an ego-boost for sure, but then pride never sat well on Newt’s agitated shoulders. Instead, he did what he did best: started talking.
“Sooo, you didn’t mention the leg thing on your profile.” As soon as he said it, Newt wanted to kick his own head in. Yeah, bring up a probably painful memory on a first date; great idea, idiot!
Hermann flinched, and his eyes trailed slowly from Newt’s arms to his face with a cold precision that made Newt squirm.
“I did not. I try not to use my cane if I can help it. As well, I’ve often found that a person’s truest reaction to my . . . condition is the one least prepared.” Newt grinned at that and Hermann sat back in puzzlement. Although a trace of contriteness remained, Newt’s eyes lit up with recognition.
“Dude, yeah! Nobody can lie to you if they don’t know there’s anything to lie about. You must have amazing tech skills, though, since it doesn't come up in any of the articles about you.” Hermann was still on edge, but found that Newt’s quick, gentle kick to his (healthy) leg was a pretty good apology, as any he’d ever had before.
“You didn’t mention your tattoos. I wondered why your pictures were from the torso up. All of your article pictures have you in long sleeves.” Hermann said as the server came back with their drinks and Newt immediately took a huge swig of his murky “coffee.” The smaller man gulped and smiled sheepishly.
“Same thing, man. Most people look at them; think I’m some kind of freak show. Like I’m 'into them' or something. But that’s not it, you know?” Newt cupped his drink with his hands and stilled in a way that disturbed Hermann. Newton Geiszler was not meant to be unmoving, he could already tell. “They’re so powerful and unyielding. They don’t ask: they take. And yeah, they’re trying to destroy the fucking world and that sucks, but are they any different from us? Really? Think of what we can learn from them! Think of how we can study them and learn how not to be the conquering assholes for once. I mean, I wouldn't even be here at the Academy if I was some sort of pervert worshipper.”
“I see.” It was just two words, but Newt looked up and saw . . . acceptance. Not understanding, exactly, but a clear recognition of what he’d said. Hermann didn’t see the kaiju as Newt did, but he could see why Newt would get them plastered all over himself. Hermann’s silent approval was new and beautiful and terrifying. Newt began to tink his nails on his mug, nervous excitement getting the better of him again.
“Anyway, people shut me down if they see ‘em, so I don’t mention ‘em. If they see them on the first date and run, I know what they think. Giving them a chance to pretend just gets people hurt.” Hermann’s willowy fingers caught Newt’s of their own accord as they thrummed on his mug. Although moving Newt was normal Newt, Hermann wanted—needed—Newt to see that he wasn’t like those people. He wouldn’t run from a broken man with a different view. Hermann wasn’t childhood bullies, his father, Newt’s failed partners. He was just as broken, and “judge not.”
“They’re lovely.” And they were. They were hideous as all things kaiju were and the way they marred Newt’s skin annoyed Hermann, but they meant something deep and primal to the biologist, and that made them beautiful to Hermann. His numbers, Newt’s kaiju—they all made up the world.
Newt smiled his first real, free smile and Hermann chose to ignore the misting that seemed to glisten in the corners of Newt’s eyes. Newt tipped his hand to grab Hermann’s own and squeezed before chugging the rest of his drink in the other and standing, still holding Hermann’s hand.
“Come on, man. This place is dead as fucking Tresspasser. I know of a good club that’s open this early with lots of seats.”
“Club?” Hermann squeaked even as he allowed Newt to haul him to his feet (grabbing his parka with his free hand and mourning his full cup of tea) and hand him his cane after hooking it up with steel-toed boots in an impressive fashion. Newt laughed, and Hermann smiled.
“Yeah, man! I did the whole recon thing before I got up here. It’s this retro place that plays all these old Nineties hits from when we were kids!” Newt continued to gush about the club as he guided Hermann along effortlessly to the counter to pay, as if he’d been doing it for years. Hermann found that he didn’t even need his cane as he leaned on Newt, listening in quiet awe to the babbling. In a minute or two he’d probably say something to stop the flow. Probably.
So they’d both lied in their profiles. A lot, as they’d learned. But then they’d just have to work on the truth together. It beat trawling at the bars.
Newt beamed, and Hermann beamed back, as he led them both back out into early winter sunshine.