"No, no, for God's sakes, what are you doing. Do you want to die." Hermann glared down his nose at Newt, who looked back at him guiltily from where he was sitting, cross-legged on the floor, kaiju guts in his hands.

"You're home early," Newt said with a sheepish grin.

"Very astute," Hermann muttered to himself and poked what looked intestines with the end of his cane. "This is disgusting. You're disgusting."

With that, Hermann hobbled to their couch, on which he flung himself unceremoniously.

"It's been sterilized," Newt offered, sounding as if he dealt with Hermann in the same manner one would a live bomb.

"If you don't mind," Hermann said, eyes closed, "I am quietly pretending you don't exist. This would be an excellent time for you to clean up."

Newt audibly stifled a giggle. "Right. Yes. Cleaning. Shall I…?"

But he didn't wait for an answer, and Hermann allowed himself a small smile as he listened to the sound of Newt shuffling his horrible kaiju flesh into the garage, where it belonged. It had been a long day for Hermann—his newly bulked up science team was inept at best, and although working on a Saturday had never really bothered him before, usually Newt had been with him then, too. But now that the war was over, their schedules didn't always align, and it bothered Hermann that no one seemed to care that he'd rather spend time with his husband than with twenty-something idiots.

"You've got your glower face on," Newt remarked above him, and Hermann opened his eyes just to scowl at Newt's concerned face.

"I am a thread away from murdering my own science team, so, yes, I suppose a glower here and there would not go amiss."

Newt snorted and sat on the other end of the couch, pulling Hermann's feet onto his lap so he could untie his shoes.

"Your double knots are vicious, dude," he remarked, not for the first time. "Why do you want to kill your team? I thought you'd like all those young scientists at your beck and call."

"Saturdays are not for correcting stupid math," Hermann replied grumpily.

Newt laughed. "Dude, like you spent a day in your life not correcting my stupid math."

Hermann glared at Newt, who looked at him with a challenging smirk. Hermann let his head fall back onto the arm of the couch, defeated.

"Yes, well, I married you. I suppose I signed up for sickness, health, bad math…"

"…kaiju guts…" Newt prompted hopefully.

"Not that," Hermann griped.

"Look," Newt said, gesturing with Hermann's left shoe. "You handpicked these guys. They aren't incompetent, you know that. So why are you obsessed with hating them?"

Hermann sighed, flinging one arm over his eyes. "I suppose I'm not used to working in a clean lab."

Newt paused in his efforts to untie the right shoe. "Fuck, Herm, if this is about the lab switch, I can totally keep lobbying for a conjoined room and things."

"There's no need," Hermann said, voice muffled by the crook of his elbow. "We both have our own teams to be dealt with. You realize we don't even do the same kind of science, correct?"

"Yeah, I know," Newt muttered. He tugged Hermann's other shoe off his bony foot and chucked it after the first one. "I miss you, though, sometimes, when I'm in the lab. I just look up, and you're not there. It's weird and I don't like it."

'It's weird and I don't like it' summed up Hermann's feelings fairly accurately as well.

"Can we petition to keep Saturdays free, at the very least?" Hermann asked, sighing in contentment when Newt started to rub his feet.

"That sound fucking excellent," Newt said. Then, after a moment: "You are the boniest motherfucker, you know that?"

"Genetics," Hermann sing-songed, and smiled when Newt squeezed his hand, just once.