[It's become routine, visiting Marco whenever Ax comes to earth for some diplomatic reason or another. A ritual, almost. As reluctant as Ax is to admit it, it's a touchstone of familiarity that he can't get even on the Andalite homeworld. Years ago, he'd have been incredulous at the idea that he could feel like a stranger in the culture he was born into, in favor of Earth. Just look at him now.
Being an Animorph has its advantages: their usual strategy is not for Ax to use the front door--his human morph is too recognizable, and Marco's house is always surrounded by paparazzi--but for Ax to morph some species of bird, arrive quietly, and then alert Marco to his presence in private thought-speak. Not northern harrier--like his human morph, it's too recognizable for stealth anymore. Today it's a common sparrow he acquired several months ago, and the relative anonymity of it doesn't do much to calm his paranoia on the way.
He alights on a second-story window, shuffles for an amount of time to seem plausibly like a natural bird, and then finally calls out.]
[It's one of those things that Marco doesn't really consciously acknowledge - the slowly building sense of anticipation, the way he casually tunes in on the news, listening for the timing of the next diplomatic visit from the Andalite homeworld, the way he hits those keystrokes that are as familiar as his own heartbeat to listen in on the space chatter surrounding Earth, to piece it together with internet news articles and TV spots to work out the details. Ax's location, the exact time he's breaking through the atmosphere, when his meetings are, downloading his schedule, finding the blank spot somewhere toward the end.
It's always there, anywhere from a few hours to a day or two, depending on the type of diplomatic visit, blocked out blank. Those hours or days, he knows, belong to him.
Every time he finds them, Marco refuses to consciously acknowledge the little twist of warmth in him, the excitement. But it's there - something that isn't in keeping with the rest of his somewhat hollow existence, something special, some part of Ax's schedule, his consciousness, that is just for Marco, a little while to have a real connection with someone who can understand him and where he comes from, who has had the nightmares, who knows his mind and won't coddle or ignore all the screwed up things inside him. It feels special and Marco isn't sure he deserves special, isn't sure he should be so invested in it.
But he so is.
And when Ax flutters in through the window, Marco is already lounging on his bed, a half-empty bottle of wine by his side - which he shouldn't even have, because he's three years too young, but it's amazing what being a celebrity will make people give you when you ask nicely (or just flirtily) - and he's pretty tipsy. Half a bottle of wine down, and still short and slight, he's actually probably closer to drunk than anything.]
Heeeeey, Ax-man. Knew you'd be showing up soon. C'mon.
[Patting the bed beside himself, he grins at Ax a little hazily.]
[The benefit of being able to use thought-speak naturally is Ax doesn't have to wait until he's fully demorphed to chastise Marco. Which he does, as soon as he sees the wine bottle for what it is.]
<You've been drinking alcohol.>
[It's not a question. This isn't the first time Ax has arrived late to Marco's one-person house party. And every time he's radiated the same disapproval.
He knows that whatever effects alcohol has on humans will go away once Marco morphs. And if he's honest, his own sense of self-preservation has been diminished for the same reason, though in manifests in different ways. But there's still something disquieting about it. Ax doesn't know how to deal with this new status quo of everybody seeming about to crumble without the war to support them, of nobody knowing how to look each other in the eye anymore.
Except for him and Marco.
He finishes demorphing and keeps his distance, rather than accepting Marco's clear invitation. Then he waits, silently.]
[Marco can't help it - he rolls his eyes hard when Ax radiates disapproval at him and comments on his drinking. Lifting the bottle in his hand, Marco laughs, and shakes his head.]
What, this? This barely counts, dude.
[And of course, Ax isn't coming over to settle in beside him and accept his offer, so Marco flops onto his back, keeping the wine bottle upright, and sighs deeply. Dark eyes half-open, he stares up at the ceiling, wearing a small half-smile.]
Yeah. I mean. Why does that bug you so much, Ax-man?
[Despite his own misgivings, as soon as he's demorphed he immediately begins transforming to human. If Marco is doing to be like this, Ax may as well join in.
This doesn't stop him from frowning at Marco as soon as he has a mouth.]
Of the times I have visited one of your residences, you have already been drinking 46.3% of the time.
[As soon as he has developed a recognizably human body type, he sits down on the bed next to Marco, and takes the bottle for himself. Such is their ritual.]
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no subject
Being an Animorph has its advantages: their usual strategy is not for Ax to use the front door--his human morph is too recognizable, and Marco's house is always surrounded by paparazzi--but for Ax to morph some species of bird, arrive quietly, and then alert Marco to his presence in private thought-speak. Not northern harrier--like his human morph, it's too recognizable for stealth anymore. Today it's a common sparrow he acquired several months ago, and the relative anonymity of it doesn't do much to calm his paranoia on the way.
He alights on a second-story window, shuffles for an amount of time to seem plausibly like a natural bird, and then finally calls out.]
<Marco, it's me.>
no subject
It's always there, anywhere from a few hours to a day or two, depending on the type of diplomatic visit, blocked out blank. Those hours or days, he knows, belong to him.
Every time he finds them, Marco refuses to consciously acknowledge the little twist of warmth in him, the excitement. But it's there - something that isn't in keeping with the rest of his somewhat hollow existence, something special, some part of Ax's schedule, his consciousness, that is just for Marco, a little while to have a real connection with someone who can understand him and where he comes from, who has had the nightmares, who knows his mind and won't coddle or ignore all the screwed up things inside him. It feels special and Marco isn't sure he deserves special, isn't sure he should be so invested in it.
But he so is.
And when Ax flutters in through the window, Marco is already lounging on his bed, a half-empty bottle of wine by his side - which he shouldn't even have, because he's three years too young, but it's amazing what being a celebrity will make people give you when you ask nicely (or just flirtily) - and he's pretty tipsy. Half a bottle of wine down, and still short and slight, he's actually probably closer to drunk than anything.]
Heeeeey, Ax-man. Knew you'd be showing up soon. C'mon.
[Patting the bed beside himself, he grins at Ax a little hazily.]
no subject
<You've been drinking alcohol.>
[It's not a question. This isn't the first time Ax has arrived late to Marco's one-person house party. And every time he's radiated the same disapproval.
He knows that whatever effects alcohol has on humans will go away once Marco morphs. And if he's honest, his own sense of self-preservation has been diminished for the same reason, though in manifests in different ways. But there's still something disquieting about it. Ax doesn't know how to deal with this new status quo of everybody seeming about to crumble without the war to support them, of nobody knowing how to look each other in the eye anymore.
Except for him and Marco.
He finishes demorphing and keeps his distance, rather than accepting Marco's clear invitation. Then he waits, silently.]
no subject
What, this? This barely counts, dude.
[And of course, Ax isn't coming over to settle in beside him and accept his offer, so Marco flops onto his back, keeping the wine bottle upright, and sighs deeply. Dark eyes half-open, he stares up at the ceiling, wearing a small half-smile.]
Yeah. I mean. Why does that bug you so much, Ax-man?
no subject
This doesn't stop him from frowning at Marco as soon as he has a mouth.]
Of the times I have visited one of your residences, you have already been drinking 46.3% of the time.
[As soon as he has developed a recognizably human body type, he sits down on the bed next to Marco, and takes the bottle for himself. Such is their ritual.]
This isn't considered healthy behavior, is it?