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A hospital room seems an appropriate, almost prophetic location for Newton, Hermann thinks to himself as he watches his colorful partner prepare for surgery, but not for something so mundane as an abdominal hernia.
Newton is most concerned about how the incisions will impact his tattoos; it is Hermann who asks the important questions – how long it will take to recover, what he will need to do for aftercare, and the possibility of any complications during or after surgery.
"He has a history of seizures," he informs the anesthesiologist for the third time, because it is important, not because he has a bad case of nerves and is repeating himself.
"Yes, Mister Gottlieb, we are well aware of that," the doctor replies absently as she checks the IV needle in Newton's arm. Hermann bristles at the unintentional slight -- damn doctors and their medical degrees -- and Newton laughs.
"It'll be okay, man." Newton's eyelids are already heavy from the sedative. He reaches out with his free arm and Hermann shuffles closer to the wheeled bed so they can hold hands. "It's not like I'm trying to drift with my hernia or anything."
Hermann huffs out an exasperated laugh. He is not worried; everything will be fine. He gives Newton's hand a quick squeeze before stepping aside so the bed can be wheeled to the operating room.
He is not worried.
A nurse smiles at him reassuringly and walks him to the waiting room.
~*~
The surgery is supposed to take less than an hour. Hermann manages to not glance at his watch for at least twenty minutes, his attention mostly on the book in his hands. After that, he can’t help but check the time whenever his mind wanders, which is far more frequent than he would like.
The same nurse as before approaches his chair and Hermann snaps his book shut, reaching for his cane and standing hurriedly. "He's out of surgery and recovering just fine," the young man tells him, and Hermann relaxes his shoulders. "You can see him now, but it'll still be a little while yet before he's ready to go home."
Hermann follows the nurse to the recovery room. Newton is propped up slightly in bed, his dark hair poking out from under the elastic of his surgical cap. His eyes are barely open and there is a significant line of drool glistening from the corner of his mouth. Hermann's chest tightens with unexpected fondness at the sight and he sits down heavily in the chair next to the bed.
"He's still coming off the anesthesia. Give him some water and crackers when he's ready." The nurse wheels over a tray and places a cup of water, a straw, and a package of saltines atop it. "I'll come back to check on him in a half-hour."
"Is there anything else I should do?" Hermann asks earnestly, gaze rising up to meet the nurse's.
"Nah, you're golden," the nurse smiles. His bedside manner puts Hermann at ease. "He's just going to be loopy for a while. People say some strange things after surgery."
~*~
It is another minute or two before Newton stirs. He says something that sounds less like a word and more like a string of consonants squished together.
Hermann carefully wipes away the drool from Newton's face with his handkerchief. "What was that, love?" he asks quietly, the term of endearment slipping out before remembering that there is only a thin fabric curtain providing the illusion of privacy.
"Thirsty," Newton groans.
Hermann picks up the cup of water and places the straw in Newton's mouth, not trusting the other man to do it himself. "Drink," he instructs, and Newton drains about half the cup before losing interest. Hermann sets the cup aside and opens the small plastic package of crackers. "Here, eat," he says, handing Newton a cracker.
Newton brings the cracker to his mouth and eats it slowly as if trying to remember how to chew and swallow. "Hurts," he whines, spraying tiny crumbs onto his chest. "When do I get the good drugs?"
"The nurse will be back soon," Hermann answers, although he's not sure if more drugs will be involved. He's also not sure if Newton even hears him -- the smaller man is too busy squinting at his own hand, turning the half-eaten cracker this way and that.
"Can't see," he complains.
Hermann worries briefly that the anesthesia has affected Newton's vision, then remembers the black-framed glasses that are currently tucked in his shirt pocket for safe-keeping. He retrieves them and carefully slips them onto Newton's face.
Newton blinks at him owlishly from behind the lenses. "Did the doctor send you?" he asks before exhaling in wonder. "'Cause you are some major eye candy."
"Eat your cracker, Newton," Hermann mutters, forgetting to be concerned over Newton's apparent amnesia and instead feeling unreasonably flattered.
"Are you a model?"
"For heaven's sake, Newton. No. I am a mathematician."
Newton grins stupidly. "Hot," he declares. "You are totally hot. What's your name?"
"Hermann," Hermann replies, clamping down on a sudden urge to smile. "Your husband."
"You're my husband?" Newton stares at him, slack-jawed, and Hermann can't help it, he laughs. Newton looks up in the ceiling in astonishment. "Holy shit."
"Eat your cracker," Hermann says fondly, and Newton obliges by taking another bite, but instead of chewing he just furrows his brow.
"How long?" he asks, and Hermann sighs at the familiar mixture of affection and irritation that Newton always seems to elicit in him.
"Just eat your cracker," he says more sternly. "You're still waking up."
"Have we kissed?" Newton asks. His grin returns. "Have we done it?"
"Newton. Eat your cracker."
Newton chews and swallows. Hermann holds out to him the cup again and Newton sucks up the rest of the water. "Lemme see your face," he woozily demands, tugging on Hermann's sleeve. He peers at him critically with one eye, then the other. "Dude, your cheekbones are perfect."
Why an absurd compliment from his drugged-up husband should mean anything at all is a mystery, but Hermann finds himself blushing all the same.
"We're married," Newton says to himself, slumping against his pillow. "Man, I hit the motherfucking jackpot."
~*~
The strange amnesiac haze of the anesthesia wears off not long after that and Hermann gets them home without incident. Newton makes himself comfortable on the couch while Hermann straightens up a little and makes them both some tea.
"Thanks," Newton smiles tiredly after Hermann sits down next to him and hands over a mug. "Hey... did I say anything stupid after my surgery?"
"You mean more so than usual?"
Newton snorts. "Ha ha. No, seriously. I can't remember anything about it and I know people can say some weird things--"
Hermann leans close and kisses Newton's temple. "No, love. Nothing weird in the slightest."