In which Newt is a great singer and nobody knows it

(there's a gap of a few months between each segement in case I haven't made that clear x)

Hermann yawned, rubbing his eyes and cursing as he made his way towards the lab. There was nothing more annoying than being halfway to sleep when an algorithm decided to make sense all at once. Well, maybe one more annoying thing, but Hermann was far too tired to even think about his lab partner right now.

He was about to push through the door when the silence was interrupted by the sound of bare feet running across into the lab and tiny, hiccoughing sobs. Hermann looked through the round window in the door, and saw ten-year-old Mako wrapping her arms around Newt's waist. The biologist set his scalpel down hurriedly; of course he's still working, the man has no concept of time management, Hermann thought, and if there was any concern there at all, it was definitely, completely due to his sleep-deprived brain. Definitely.

"Hey, cutie, what's up?" Newt asked, ruffling Mako's hair and leading her- somewhat awkwardly- to the couch in the corner of the lab. "You have that nightmare again?" Hermann hovered outside the door, still intent on writing down his formula but not wanting to barge in uninvited.

Mako nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm sorry, b-but nobody else is awake, and you s-said this wouldn't bother you." She glanced at the Kaiju specimen on the other side of the room, looking ashamed. "I can go if I'm interrupting something-"

"Aw, hey, c'mere . It's okay, I'm just mooching." He pulled her into a hug, smoothing down her hair. "You wanna talk about your dream?" He looked more… together, like this, Hermann thought as continued to wait awkwardly outside the room. Less manic genius, more of a friend.

"I- no, I'm sorry, I can't. I just want to go to sleep. My mother used to sing to me if I had a bad dream, but now-" Mako looked down, embarrassed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

Newt, on the other hand, brightened. "Singing? Hey, I can do that. If, uh, if that's okay," he added. Hermann winced, half from Newt's tactless enthusiasm and half from the fact that really? The self-proclaimed worst singer in the Shatterdome was offering to sing a lullaby for a frightened child? He braced himself, turning to leave- he'd almost rather he forgot the equation than have to endure Newton's singing- when he stopped still.

It was common knowledge in the Shatterdome that Newt Geiszler was a Bad Singer. Almost everyone had come into the lab at one time or another to hear him massacre the high notes of any given Muse song, and Hermann had had to deal with it every day for years. So there was absolutely no way that the voice singing The Maccabees in a gentle tenor could belong to Newton. No way at all.

He turned back to the window, staring as Newt crouched beside the sofa, still singing to a now half-asleep Mako. Hermann blinked, rubbed his eyes, but Newt was definitely the one making those notes. Those on-key, actually pleasant notes. Hermann watched him with wonder, unable to look away as he reached the chorus, and couldn't stop a smile drifting onto his face as Newt's voice rang out, wavering slightly, but clear. There was something peaceful about it all- in the way he hit the notes that were barely within his range, the way Mako was falling into a sleep which would almost certainly be undisturbed. Hermann had seen Newt in so many different states of mind, seen him manic and depressed and excited and determined, but he was certain that before this moment, he'd never seen Newt so happy.

He smiled to himself, deciding the equation could wait until the morning, and turning his back as Newt's song drew to a close. He deserved this little moment of happiness. And if Hermann was a little more patient with him in the lab the next morning, it was purely coincidental, of course.

/

"Cradle me, I'll cradle you,

I'll win your heart with a woop-a-woo,

Pullin' shapes just for your eyes…"

The standard-issue lamp cast lines of artificial light across the room, slanted and hazy and almost like sunrays, as Hermann faded into consciousness to the sound of music and running water. Waking up without an alarm and an entire tank of coffee wasn't a common phenomenon in wartime, so Hermann planned to put the one day of leave they had a year to good use; namely, by staying in bed as much as he possibly could, preferably next to Newt, if he could keep still for longer than five minutes.

He rolled onto his back, scowling at the empty space on the bed beside him. Apparently, part two of that plan had gone wrong already. That explained the sound of the shower- Hermann wondered absently if there would be any hot water left after Newt, but decided not to get his hopes up. After a moment, he realised that it explained the music, too, and he smiled. Newt was singing again.

"So with toothpaste kisses and lines,

I'll be yours and you'll be…"

Hermann stared at the dust sparkling in the artificial lamp light, thinking that there were certainly far worse ways to wake up than this. He still didn't understand why Newt couldn't sing like this everyday; it'd certainly subtract at least a fifth of their daily arguments, but then again, they were at an excellent level of arguing, which increased both productivity and healthy rivalry, thank you very much Tendo please keep your nose out of our business. It was a shame, though, that nobody else but Mako and himself knew he could sing like this. Maybe in the future, a little persuasion could be used, but for today… for today, Hermann was content to lie watching the dust, and keep Newt's voice within the confines of the shower's steam.

"Lay with me, I'll lay with you
we'll do the things that lovers do
put the stars in our eyes…"

For today, Hermann was content to allow himself this moment to fall idiotically and completely in love with Newton Geiszler.

/

Hermann heard Newt before he saw him, and silently admitted to himself that listening to Newt singing- properly singing- wasn't a terrible way to start a day of work. As soon as he pushed through the door, though, Newt glanced up a little guiltily, deliberately mangling his notes and singing in the fake, screeching voice that Hermann had originally thought was natural.

"Why do you insist upon doing that?" Hermann sighed, crossing over to his desk and powering up the computer.

"What, be awesome? Sing amazingly and seem both punk rock and suave at the same time?" Newt held up his hands, almost sending a piece of Kaiju liver onto Hermann's side of the line. "For a super-pedantic scientist, Hermann, you sure can be vague sometimes."

Hermann narrowed his eyes, snatching up a piece of chalk. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Newton."

"Nope, dude, not a clue." Newt looked innocent- a little too innocent. "If it's about the volume, dude, you know where I stand on that. File a complaint, that'll get your spirits up."

"I see what this is," Hermann said, smirking, as he turned to his chalkboard. "You're embarrassed."

"Hermann, you're seriously gonna have to use your mouth-words, man, I got nothing."

The gentle scritch of chalk filled the air as they both fell silent. "Honestly, Newton, there's no reason to be ashamed. I think you're a wonderful singer, for the record."

Newt snorted, grimacing as he inhaled a breath of Kaiju stench. "Oh, my god, who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend? I'm the worst singer in the world, dude, something you've never held back from telling me. You need a lie down? An aspirin? Here, let me grab my thermometer-" Newt laughed, but even to himself it must have sounded forced.

Hermann looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. "We both know that that isn't the case. But I'm sure Miss Mori could vouch for me, if I required it."

"So, what, you're spying on me now?" Newt's voice had an edge to it now, hard and cold. The edge that signified he'd stepped into dangerous territory. "Nice, babe, that's real nice."

"It was an accident," Hermann reassured him. "I can sincerely say I never meant to intrude. But… loathe as I am to say it, you voice is a gift, Newton."

"You don't know anything, Hermann," Newt stabbed down into the liver with a little too much force. "It's not a fucking gift, and you don't know anything at all, so close your dumb nerd mouth and go play with your abacus, or whatever." He sounded bitter, caught somewhere between hurt and anger, and Hermann regretted broaching the subject.

Not enough to leave it alone, though, clearly.

"Of course it's a gift, Newton," he started, cautiously, hesitating to see Newt's reaction. "You're good enough to sing anywhere you pleased; I can't understand why you wouldn't-"

"You can't understand," Newt barked out a humourless laugh. "Yeah, it's totally hard to understand that I'm sick of being compared to people in another way. Oh, look, the little freaky kid can do science, and he can do music, too! He's practically a whole fucking show by himself! Oh, look, the freaky kid just wants to be the best at everything, what a nerd, no wonder he doesn't have any friends." His voice turned cruel, mimicking, rough. "It's so hard to understand that in my family, such as it is, we already have a singer, and that since she fucked up so royally I may want to get the hell away from that? That you haven't been spying on me singing, you've been spying on Monica Schwartz's kid singing. So, yeah, Hermann, you're right." He threw another piece of liver onto Hermann's side of the lab, landing with a splat on the floor. "You can't understand. But it's not a fucking gift, alright?" He breathed out heavily, pointing the scalpel at Hermann like an accusatory finger. "It's just not."

Hermann set down his chalk, taking small steps towards Newt, careful of the alien body parts in his path. "I'm sorry," he said, a rare occurrence in itself. That more than anything made the tension drain out of Newt, who set down the scalpel and took off his gloves, running his hands through his hair. "I didn't know this was about your mother. If I had known-"

"You wouldn't have gone there. Yeah, I know." A corner of Newt's mouth lifted. "And I appreciate that. But- like yeah, I sing good, but if I do, it's only going to be about her. And I don't wanna be like her, Hermann, I don't want anything to do with her. If other people knew about this, it'd just be another way to drag her back into who I am."

Hermann paused for a second. "But- you aren't like her in the slightest. I've watched you both, and I can hardly imagine two singers more unalike."

"Thanks, babe," Newt scoffed, "but you really don't have to say that. Also, how have you even seen my mom, like, were you going to the opera when you were in preschool?"

"There's a wonderful invention called the internet, Newton, I suggest you investigate it sometime," Hermann quipped, rolling his eyes. "Besides, it's hardly surprising I was subjected to it- I daresay you can guess the only music which filled my house as a child was less than contemporary. But as I say, you are entirely different from her. When she sings, she does it with power, with command."

Newt wrinkled his nose. "This is a great way to make me feel better, wow, did you major in compliments, or is it all natural talent you got there?"

"I wasn't finished." Hermann held up a finger. "She sings with power, but that is all. Her voice holds no emotion, only technical skill; she sings because it is her job, because she is required to be there. When you sing, you do it for the love of it. If you could see your face as your voice goes soft with the melody, could see how happy you are, how at peace… well, you would certainly know that you could never become Monica Schwartz in a thousand years. You are entirely your own man, in your own image." He cleared his throat, voice gruff. "And, ah, of course, there are many interchanging variables in the sonic tone pattern, and-"

"Hermann," Newt said quietly, his eyes wet, stopping the other man in his tracks. "Dude. That was totally the most romantic thing you've ever said. You're a total softie under all those layers, oh my god."

"Actually, you should know that the human body is around sixty percent muscle and bone-"

"That's not what I meant. But really." Newt leaned forward, pressing his lips to Hermann's. "Thank you. For once in your life, you've managed to not be a complete dick." Hermann smiled, knowing that he'd said the right thing. Knowing they were okay. "I'm still not gonna sing properly in public, though," Newt added, turning up the radio and putting his gloves back on.

"Of course," Hermann agreed as he returned to his desk, still smiling from the kiss. "Although, I believe that as nobody else is in our company, I believe this situation would definitely qualify as private."

"Say what you like about Hermann Gottlieb, but he's determined." Newt rolled his eyes, but started to sway in time to the music. "You're a dork, Herms, a goddamn certified dork."

"And yet you are still here."

Newt shot a grin over at him. "Yeah, I am." Instead of answering, Hermann let him catch the last few lines of the song, hearing his voice melt into the melody with the guitar, harmonize with the singer on the crackling radio. And if Hermann had thought Newt was happy when he sang before, it was nothing compared to the way he glowed now.

"And with heart shaped bruises,
and late night kisses
divine."

Thank you for reading xxx This isn't even a particular headcanon for me it was just lots of fun. I included the Maccabees (the lyrics in italics are from their song "Toothpaste Kisses") because it's very cute and also my mum strongly believes in indie nerd Hermann so mum this is dedicated to you I guess ^_^

I'm gonna sneakily slide in my tumblr (juniperpunk) you should come bother me about your headcanons maybe. Also I have twitter I'm otxchi follow for existential surrealist tweets and pictures of cake

Do I even like this ? Tune in next week to see if I'm wailing at it and being convinced not to delete it!

I'm still a newbie writer so anycomments you leave are really appreciated! xxx