if i had one wish tonight, i'd wish for the sun to never rise
At a ridiculous but awesome 6216 words, here is the Animorphs fic written for fickle_goddess as part of the help_haiti fundraiser. Ax/Tobias. ♥ I hope you like it!
Author's note: Mindspeak is in square brackets because the normal brackets were breaking my formatting.
---
Out here alone at night, Tobias could almost believe that this is where he has belonged for all his life.
When he was young enough for whimsical ideas to hold intrigue, he had sometimes gazed out of classroom windows at the wide-open sky and thought about being truly free, about soaring above this world, held aloft by warm winds and soft feathers. Powerful. Unafraid. Lonely, too, but the sort of loneliness you choose. (After all, he is no stranger to being lonely.)
The idea had matured as he had and he wonders, now, if this is the place to which he’d been headed all his life. The hawk mind is fierce as it shifts in and out of consciousness within his own, terrifying in its strength and beautiful in its simplicity. He is swooping down on a prey and his hawk mind is screaming yes yes yes and for the moment he is free in all senses of the word.
Lonely, too. But he doesn’t think so much about that, these days.
---
Ax hadn’t meant to find himself back on Earth so soon. In fact, there are a lot of things that Ax doesn’t mean to do but seems to end up doing nevertheless: he did not exactly intend to fight on Earth those three years he was stranded, did not intend to become as close to the humans as he had, did not intend to be captured by The One or saved by the Ellimist (operating on one of his many, many loopholes.) Were he to begin judging his life by what he had intended, he suspects he shall still be with his parents in the home world, much safer but much less content.
Thankfully, his new assignment keeps him on Earth - a relatively dull mission compared to his last, and yet in many ways a welcome relief. Ax wonders how he would choose, if asked to commit: duty as he has known it all his life, or duty as he has learned to define the word in his time with humans? Duty to one’s friends, to one’s shorm... to oneself? Surely he dares not go that far, and yet -
Beneath that forbidding title of prince lingers the aristh who had doubted himself so keenly every step of the way, who had constantly (and in retrospect, perhaps pointlessly) questioned himself over who he was. It had seemed simpler back amongst his people, with every day and step he took away from his time on Earth. He was an Andalite, responsible to his people, to the People as a whole.
And yet... here he casts his gaze skyward, all four eyes focused as he scans the skies for that familiar silhouette soaring against a blue, blue sky. To him, too. To the dark-feathered bird whose companionship is more comfortable than any other he has known.
---
It had been back in the meadow, during a war that seems further and further with each day. They had been watching The Young and The Restless and Ax had commented, for the umpteenth time, Humans have very strange ways of showing their affection and Tobias had said don't knock it until you’ve tried it, in the sort of thought-speak tone that meant he was smiling his quietly amused smile, and Ax had asked human humour again? and Tobias had not replied.
---
He still morphs to human occasionally. Just to walk. Just to form fists and say words and - well, if Cassie were here he supposes she’d say he is holding on to that which tethers him to humanity, now that...
Tobias tosses the thought from his head. Today he is all hawk, all feathers and beak and a juicy squirrel inviting him to make it his lunch. He will become what is necessary to survive - a bear to chase away rivals, a wolf to scare off tourists - no more and no less. It is pointless to morph away from the feathers that are his shield.
And, of course, it is a convenient reason to never again take the Andalite form.
A bittersweet morph, so hard to detach from Taylor. From the nightmares that still linger hauntingly in the shadows of his dreams, from the best friend he had, for a long time, resigned himself to perhaps never seeing again. So hard to separate, too, from the overwhelming sense of belonging he had felt standing next to Ax that night, performing the evening ritual, watching the life he was never able to have.
He cannot forget how impossible it had been to ignore the instinctive optimism that had felt like a fire lit within his very bones. Perhaps this is his true reason for refusing the Andalite form: optimism implies hope and he is not sure there is anything left in the world to hope for.
---
When the sun is well below the horizon and Ax finds himself leaving the ship in a manner so surreptitious it can only really be classified as sneaking away, he justifies that the situation is far from strategic, there is nothing to learn, and thus no need to explain himself to his soldiers.
Or to the red-tailed hawk who greets him with his customary fierce glare, asking no questions, demanding nothing. They walk as side-by-side as is possible in their respective natural forms, stopping at Tobias’s word near a seemingly random cluster of trees.
And then they chill. It has been a long time since Ax has chilled and he suspects the same is true for Tobias. For a brief moment he wishes he could simply stay like this, having fun through the simple act of enjoying each other's company, unburdened by the need to speak or act.
Unfortunately, he is not the sort of Andalite - not that, he amends, there could really be such an Andalite - who is capable of forgetting his duty. Every element, even the less obvious, and the unpleasant. He fixes his main eyes on Tobias, meeting the raptor’s gaze calmly and squarely. [I do not think Rachel is the sort of person who would want a life like this for you, Tobias. Moving forward is not a betrayal.]
It is nothing he has not heard before, Ax knows - and yet, he cannot allow his friend to continue in a life he is not convinced is best for him. To lose a comrade in battle is one thing; to lose oneself over it is another. Perhaps, he hopes, it would be easier to hear words like these from a non-human perspective. Perhaps not. Perhaps the words would make no impact at all.
[If she hadn’t been brutally murdered, maybe I could ask her.] Tobias laughs. It’s not a nice sort of laugh. Not a hostile one, either, when it comes to it - Tobias had always been quietly sarcastic when the situation called for it - it's just that he has tumbled over that particular edge, driving his quiet sarcasm to a detached dryness that does not quite suit him.
Ax does not rise to the barb, familiar with the need for an outlet of emotion, even if it is not something in which he personally participates. [You risked yourself to save me when I was captured by the Blade ship. I cannot forget it.]
Tobias does not ask what relevance this has to their conversation, because he of all people knows how heavily Ax’s sense of duty weighs on him. The intent glare of a hawk turns to contemplate him for a moment before responding. [I know, Ax-man.]
The tone is familiar. This, Ax decides, is as good a start as he is likely to achieve.
---
And so Ax becomes, in a way, the only sort of companion Tobias can allow himself.
Though Ax could never be lowered to an act like nagging, he never quite drops the issue that is nestled between them like a splinter - which, Tobias finds to his own surprise, does not bother him. Perhaps he’d known when he’d chosen to reveal his location to Ax that he was choosing everything that came with Ax, all the friendship and memories and all his sense of duty. It helps that with Ax it is so straightforward - not a reaction of guilt like Jake, not the light-hearted narcissism that is Marco’s trademark, not the emotional outpour that is Cassie’s favourite weapon. With Ax, it is simply that this is the only way he can think to live.
Today, it comes up in conversation for the umpteenth time and Tobias is not quite able to hide his anger at Jake - the sort of anger that has moved past a stage of being forgivable, and is simply a part of the new terms on which their relationship exists. Ax turns sharply at this, eyes betraying his own bias.
[It was a war. I cannot argue for or against the morality of his actions, but in a situation of war, he was correct for acting without the influence of human emotions.]
Tobias laughs, mirthlessly, its sound carried through thought-speak in a haunting echo. He cannot despise the words because this, too, is Ax: that steadfast devotion to his one-time leader, the refusal to judge human actions. It has never annoyed Tobias and on days like these, it almost incurs nostalgia. [Big-shot Andalite prince lecturing me on the necessities of war?]
Contrary to his tone, he does not fly away. It is a relief - he suspects to both of them - that this has not changed: for all his solitude, there are still those from whose honesty Tobias will not shy. Ax reaches out a tentative hand, blue-and-tan fingers on dark feathers, an unlikely image of companionship. [I am not criticising your choice, Tobias.] A pause. [My shorm.]
Even when he does not like what Ax is saying - which, admittedly, he cannot bring himself to do right now, anyway - he has always been fond of his frankness. Not the same sort of fearless, near-foolhardy bluntness Rachel had wielded like a weapon, just a quiet sort of honesty, like there is nothing to be ashamed of in any element of truth.
He rests his head against Ax’s outstretched hand and says nothing. Sometimes, that is the only answer worth giving.
---
For a while the change had been abrupt: his morning ritual had always been how he felt connected for the only time in a day to his people and - though he’d told himself that the thought was sentimental to the extent of ridiculous - to perform the morning and evening rituals with fellow Andalites had been one of the things he anticipated most about being home. And yet, when he had observed the ritual, he could not help but feel that without Tobias in the sky above him or watching him through solemn hawk eyes, he feels uncomfortably far from humans. His other people, no less important to him.
This evening is much the same. The evening ritual is a short one and as thought-speak voices fill the space around him, he feels the same sense of longing that had been in his heart those lonely years on Earth. He remembers Tobias’s curious Andalite eyes, identical in DNA to his own and yet so different in emotion, as they solemnly observed the evening ritual together. He is missing his humans, missing cinnamon buns and sun-filled afternoons at the barn and the team that had been so perfect even for all its flaws. As the sun lazily embraces the horizon, he decides - with a sense of finality rather than any self-pity - that perhaps thoughts like these will be a new ritual of his own.
A familiar shadow overhead. He does not need to turn his stalk-eyes to look (though he does, nevertheless) to know that it is Tobias, flying out of his usual path. A seemingly random choice, and yet Ax could almost swear he sees the bird focusing his gaze on him. An impossibility, of course; Andalite eyes do not see nearly as far as a hawk’s eyes do. It is more likely that Tobias is simply scanning the fields for food.
Even reassured to the likelihood of this, Ax cannot keep a sense of warmth from filling his hearts. Perhaps he will spend the rest of his days missing one people or another at every significant time. But perhaps, he adds with a glance upwards, it is remembering these people that reminds him how to be strong.
---
“That’s just not right,” Marco had said, popping a chip into his mouth. “I love you with all my hearts? Tell me nobody actually says that.”
Ax had stiffened, just a little. It was a gesture he’d discovered worked most efficiently in human form. He did not begrudge Marco the sanctuary that was sharing his scoop, but there were times when he missed the quiet harmony he and Tobias had shared. (According to Rachel, this was a common emotion experienced by those with whom Marco came into contact.) “Andalites rarely feel the need to express ourselves in such terms. Term-zzz.”
Tobias’s laughter had been as light as the air beneath his wings. “What are you, an alien?” he’d asked with a wry, quiet smile that still looked abrupt and unnatural on his features.
“Yes, Tobias; I am an alien by Earth standards,” Ax had replied in all seriousness, pausing to savour the syllable once again. “Stan-daarz. Zzz. There should be more words formed with this pleasantly tickling mouth-sound.”
Later, when Marco was asleep, he had continued the conversation with Tobias in private thought-speak. [It is vital to say only what is necessary. To overly elaborate would be...] He’d paused, searching for the right word.
[Insulting,] Tobias had supplied, almost casually, and Ax had known that - of course - he was understood perfectly. [Assuming they can’t figure it out for themselves.]
In the dark, Ax had had to focus all four eyes on Tobias to distinguish his dark feathers from the depths of the night. [Yes. Exactly like that.]
---
A hawk is what Tobias had been when they’d met and sometimes Ax still thinks that is his most natural form: cutting through the air like it is his natural element, shot upward with every thermal to drift back down at his own leisure. It is a sort of freedom Ax had experienced first-hand himself, something he knows is more liberating even than galloping across green fields on steady Andalite hooves, and he is grateful that Earth has produced an animal to suit Tobias so.
Besides, compared to humans, hawks have far more sensible ways of balancing themselves.
Still, there is something good about seeing Tobias in his natural form. In a way it is the boy Ax was never able to know as well as he wished: the lonely boy who was not popular at school, the quietly artistic boy who had found other ways to channel his passion. The boy who loved Rachel.
And there is something very surreal about walking beside said boy right now, the two of them perhaps equally unfamiliar on two legs, entering a mall lit with promises of artificial skin and delicious food.
It had been, of all things, Tobias’s idea: Ax had mentioned off-hand that he wished he could share the joys of taste with his crew members, and Tobias had replied without missing a beat perhaps we should and had already hopped from his branch to the ground by the time Ax realised what he was suggesting.
[Are you proposing we venture into the city?] He was already beginning his own bird morph as he spoke, thought-speak abilities uninterrupted by his rapidly-shifting features.
Though Tobias had been faced away from him (not that hawk expressions are all that telling, in any case,) Ax swears he could sense a sliver of a daring smile in his thought-speak voice. Reminiscent of Rachel, almost. [If you’re up for the challenge.]
The closest city had been an hour’s flight away. Ax had contemplated the situation, more grateful than ever that the relative safety of his mission meant it was possible to leave the ship without fear. [It seems to be a long way to go just for cinnamon buns.>]
The long way to which he had referred was not only geographical distance; Tobias knew, of course, and in response had ruffled his feathers impatiently before leading the way towards the vast open skies.
Perhaps it means nothing. Ax tells himself this repeatedly - perhaps Tobias is simply exercising his human ability to make irrational choices, and this sudden movement forward means nothing. They are in the food court and both a little too preoccupied to speak, and again Ax marvels at the simplicity of it: the two of them, eating together, such a normal sight to any human and yet precious beyond words to him. It feels almost daring; every pair of people eating here, he thinks, is a myriad emotions and a secret hiding in plain sight.
“Much as I enjoy mouth-sounds, sometimes I have to wonder why any human wastes his time talking when mouths can be put to far more useful actions.”
Tobias chokes on his bun over an eruption of laughter - something else, Ax notices, that is only possible when one is human in both shape and mindset. Strangely undignified though the sound is, he cannot help but enjoy those unrestrained moments of honest emotion. “I’m sure you mean eating,” Tobias says, attempting and failing to keep his expression serious. “Though I am happy to experiment with the other useful actions.”
It takes Tobias a moment to realise what exactly it is he just said, and it takes Ax another moment to comprehend. For those moments they are back to before - those days that had been both more and less complicated, when they had felt no less alien in these borrowed human forms, devouring Cinnabon and enjoying each other’s company. Like it is natural. Like it is the only reasonable thing to do.
And the moment slides past like a wisp of smoke, leaving no trace. “Mouths are truly the most logical thing about the human body,” Ax declares in response, meaning every word, not entirely oblivious to the implications of what Tobias had said. Cinnamon bun in hand, Tobias’s eyes staring across the table at him, he wonders how he could possibly ever think to leave Earth again.
Not just for the cinnamon bun, either.
---
It is not the first time he has been human in Ax’s company, but today it feels irrefutably different, more like a conscious choice than a matter of coincidence. To be a hawk is undoubtedly safer - his eyes harder to read, his voice less a traitor to his emotions, his thoughts more difficult to gauge.
Perhaps today, he doesn’t want to be difficult. Some days, he simply wants his thoughts known.
Ax is in his human form too, a form Tobias knows was chosen to keep him company. Their conversation is so light and fluent that for a moment, he can almost believe in the illusion of being back, before the war had escalated into a thing that devoured their lives, before the walls he had put up around himself, before Rachel’s death.
It is not a lasting illusion. It is not even a pleasant illusion and he can see no point in forcing it, so he doesn’t. In fact, what they are now - the two of them sitting together, in a part of the woods that is theirs alone, is something precious enough that no illusion is needed to make the moment complete.
And by the moonlight... Tobias turns to Ax - to this perhaps-strange mixture of himself, Cassie, the girl he had loved, and the leader who had sent her to her death - and he sees none of those individual parts. Nothing but Ax, no past, not even a future - just Ax in all his forms and himself in all his forms and everything they are.
“You seem to be distracted, Tobias.” It is a rare change from the norm, to have the kind of conversation where Tobias can feel the sounds of Ax’s words vibrate through the air around him. The words are stronger somehow and Tobias admits that one cannot blame Ax for finding mouth-sounds quite so fascinating.
“When I made that joke at the food court...” The flipside of talking with sounds is that he must consciously form every word, making the question even more difficult to ask. “You understood.” He narrows his eyes, jokingly, suspiciously. “That can’t be all from The Young and The Restless, can it?”
Ax’s human face shows no embarrassment, merely honesty. “I have experimented with human expressions of affection before. Kissing.” Not so much an admission as a carefully-light comment, watching Tobias for the reaction he won’t show unless he absolutely wants to.
Tobias does not look surprised, nor particularly feels it. “Estrid.” A wry twist to his mouth, not entirely a smile. He wonders what Ax is thinking as he remembers the young, brilliant scientist.
“You were right,” Ax concedes softly. “I should not have been dismissive toward it until I had attempted it. It was pleasant.”
Perhaps it is because Tobias is so familiar with his own often-unreadable human face. Ax is wearing an expression of careful honesty, but beneath it is something that mirrors Tobias’s own eyes, something he can only read because he feels it himself. The only parts of him he cannot hide - though perhaps it is safer to say that he can rarely hide anything from Ax at all.
His words are breathed rather than spoken. “Just pleasant?”
“Perhaps under certain circumstances, it can be even better.”
For Ax it is a poorly-formed sentence and that, more than anything else, tells Tobias how distracted he is. How distracted they both are.
His heart is beating unusually fast.
When their lips meet it is entirely understated but by no means underwhelming. Any lack of dramatic music and fireworks is made up for by the sparks that dance before Tobias's own eyes and he simply holds the moment, feeling with every inch of his own lips those lips that feel nothing like Rachel’s, acutely aware of every inch of their skin that has come into contact.
It feels like a long time before either mouth is available to be used for talking. “I must reassess my previous statement,” Ax says, unusually calm given the givens, his face still very, very close.
Tobias can feel the breath of every syllable on the sensitive skin of his chin and neck. Funny - it has been so long since he has missed the soft sensitivity of human skin. Ax does not seem startled and, urged by his calm response, Tobias feels himself settle into the truth of what has happened like it is the only natural thing to have happened. “Which one?”
Ax smiles. “Perhaps eating is not the only worthwhile mouth-activity.”
Tobias is so close that when he laughs, the vibrations can be felt through both their bodies. His eyes promise that there is only one way to judge how worthwhile this other activity can be.
---
[If shorm means soul mate,] he had questioned once, with a laugh, [what do you call your girlfriends?]
Ax had looked so intensely startled for a moment that Tobias had been tempted to laugh. [Souls do not have genders, Tobias. The Gedd are not distinguished by gender, but they are certainly not without souls.] He had turned all four eyes to Tobias then, almost uncomfortable in his intensity. [And you are my shorm, no matter what gender you are, or what species. It is irrelevant of all that.]
And Tobias had stared with the raptor-stare that is his wont, saying nothing at all, hoping that Ax could hear him nevertheless.
---
Tobias does not need to announce his mood; his gloominess is written on every feather and talon, stretched across his form like a grey fog as he perches on his usual branch. For a moment, he does not speak.
[You are thinking about Rachel.] It’s not a question.
Tobias’s response is, similarly, not an answer. [Knowing that you can never talk to her again, not ever -] He cuts himself off, raptor’s head turning angrily, bitterly, away. It is hardly a sentence that needs finishing, anyway.
[I am not unfamiliar with the feeling.]
The words are a jolt of reality and Ax watches realisation run through Tobias like a physical thing, watches him remember that Ax, too, has lost someone dear - did not choose to lose him the way Jake had, but rather had him torn from him with no choice whatsoever. Ax does not push his friend to confide, knowing that he needs only to be here for when Tobias chooses to speak.
[I thought once that at least there is closure when someone is dead.] Tobias makes an expression that suits a human face far more than a hawk’s, sharp and almost awkward on the predator’s features. [How can I have closure when I know she’d be happier living?]
If he were being honest, Ax would tell Tobias that it is the only way it could have happened - and that it is harder to see when you are closest to the situation, harder to see when you are constantly asking yourself if one different choice could have made it happen differently. But Ax has learned to not always be honest - another human trait for this very human situation. [Sometimes we cannot make the choice that is happiest,] he replies instead, offering this other less-harsh sort of truth.
Tobias considers the comment for a long, long moment. [I need -] He needs time to think, space to deal, a solution. He needs Rachel back and he needs Ax. He needs to at least finish the sentence, which he does not quite bring himself to do, but it is all right; Ax has already understood everything he needs to know.
---
It is impossible to fly without Rachel on his mind. (It is impossible to live without Rachel on his mind, both the wings that lift him towards the skies and the harbour that anchors him to Earth.) With every beat of his wings he can remember the way they had taken to the skies together, soaring high above the tired world. He remembers how all his forms had felt natural next to her - birds of prey gliding on thermals from heat-beaten concrete, ferocious beasts charging into battle, boy and girl eating fries in the shade of a large oak tree.
He cannot blame her. He cannot even blame Jake, though he does nevertheless, because it feels better than having nobody to blame at all. The truth is that she had always been where she belonged, and it’s not as if he could have loved her any other way - he can’t imagine having fallen in love with a Rachel who didn’t live and die the only way she could allow herself to, who didn’t blaze into every battle with a fiery war-cry and emerge with perfect hair and the smile she reserves only for him.
He wonders how he can possibly drag Ax into a mess like this when he still feels Rachel’s phantom fingers slipping through his. When he can remember the way her golden hair had slid so gracefully across the beak with which he’d preened it, eliciting that full-bodied laughter that had been filled with so much sunlight.
The truth, as he suspects Ax already knows, is that it is hard to picture a Rachel who is betrayed and outraged. Far easier to hear her laughter in his head, a well-meaning teasing comment or two, a genuine wish that he would be happy. Far easier to accept that moving on does not mean forgetting her - not, as Marco would say with a barked laugh, that Rachel is the type to make it even possible to forget about her.
And yet. And yet.
---
Ax gives him all the space he needs, only to find that Tobias is as comfortably close as ever.
When Tobias asks if he is annoyed, already knowing the answer, Ax shakes his head - a peculiar movement that reminds whichever Andalites he is near that his history is by no means conventional - and chooses his response carefully. [I thought once that humans were... foolish. Undisciplined. With too many emotions that make them weak.]
Tobias does not question the relevance, for which Ax is thankful - the point he wishes to make is not something that can be rushed. Instead Tobias laughs, a little dryly. [Thanks for the vote of confidence.]
Ax shoots him a look - I understand that this is humour, but suspect I will never come to understand why - and continues. [You are always acting only on your own conscience.] He begins to say for a human but stops himself just in time, catching the last of his Andalite arrogance and remembering exactly who it is he is speaking to. [It is admirable,] he concludes simply.
Tobias’s thought-speak voice is dry once more, though not entirely devoid of feeling. [Hey, I spend a lot of time out here alone. You don’t think I’ve had time to hone my own sense of what’s right?]
Ax smiles his subtle Andalite smile, a rush of affinity warming his hearts at hearing those words. [I will not try to influence you, Tobias. You must make the choice for yourself.]
He means it: it is not in his nature to persuade beyond simply stating what he knows is true. But he can still hope, and - well. He does.
---
As soon as Tobias lands, Ax knows his decision.
They do not rush it; there is no pressure to speak too quickly, to state so bluntly what they both already know is true. They simply sit, in human form, watching the stars blink slowly into wakefulness. Their hands resting on each other’s feels comfortable - not right by any strict military definitions, but perhaps a whole different type of right with which Ax can envision himself becoming very comfortable.
When Ax finally speaks it breaks a long and comfortable silence. “There is nothing wrong with this?”
Just that. Just those words, as open-ended a question as Tobias will ever get to say his feelings (if not in words, then in gestures and with his heart.) Tobias looks Ax in the eyes - does not force himself to take on an expression, because what needs to be understood already is - and laughs, unsentimental. “A hawk and a blue deer holding hands in a forest? Nup, not at all.”
But he does not release his grip on Ax’s hand. Another piece of irrational human behaviour; one supposes it’s too much to expect that he has already discovered all of them.
Well, then. Looking into Tobias’s very human eyes, Ax decides that he simply must look forward to finding out more.
- fin -
Author's note: Mindspeak is in square brackets because the normal brackets were breaking my formatting.
---
Out here alone at night, Tobias could almost believe that this is where he has belonged for all his life.
When he was young enough for whimsical ideas to hold intrigue, he had sometimes gazed out of classroom windows at the wide-open sky and thought about being truly free, about soaring above this world, held aloft by warm winds and soft feathers. Powerful. Unafraid. Lonely, too, but the sort of loneliness you choose. (After all, he is no stranger to being lonely.)
The idea had matured as he had and he wonders, now, if this is the place to which he’d been headed all his life. The hawk mind is fierce as it shifts in and out of consciousness within his own, terrifying in its strength and beautiful in its simplicity. He is swooping down on a prey and his hawk mind is screaming yes yes yes and for the moment he is free in all senses of the word.
Lonely, too. But he doesn’t think so much about that, these days.
---
Ax hadn’t meant to find himself back on Earth so soon. In fact, there are a lot of things that Ax doesn’t mean to do but seems to end up doing nevertheless: he did not exactly intend to fight on Earth those three years he was stranded, did not intend to become as close to the humans as he had, did not intend to be captured by The One or saved by the Ellimist (operating on one of his many, many loopholes.) Were he to begin judging his life by what he had intended, he suspects he shall still be with his parents in the home world, much safer but much less content.
Thankfully, his new assignment keeps him on Earth - a relatively dull mission compared to his last, and yet in many ways a welcome relief. Ax wonders how he would choose, if asked to commit: duty as he has known it all his life, or duty as he has learned to define the word in his time with humans? Duty to one’s friends, to one’s shorm... to oneself? Surely he dares not go that far, and yet -
Beneath that forbidding title of prince lingers the aristh who had doubted himself so keenly every step of the way, who had constantly (and in retrospect, perhaps pointlessly) questioned himself over who he was. It had seemed simpler back amongst his people, with every day and step he took away from his time on Earth. He was an Andalite, responsible to his people, to the People as a whole.
And yet... here he casts his gaze skyward, all four eyes focused as he scans the skies for that familiar silhouette soaring against a blue, blue sky. To him, too. To the dark-feathered bird whose companionship is more comfortable than any other he has known.
---
It had been back in the meadow, during a war that seems further and further with each day. They had been watching The Young and The Restless and Ax had commented, for the umpteenth time, Humans have very strange ways of showing their affection and Tobias had said don't knock it until you’ve tried it, in the sort of thought-speak tone that meant he was smiling his quietly amused smile, and Ax had asked human humour again? and Tobias had not replied.
---
He still morphs to human occasionally. Just to walk. Just to form fists and say words and - well, if Cassie were here he supposes she’d say he is holding on to that which tethers him to humanity, now that...
Tobias tosses the thought from his head. Today he is all hawk, all feathers and beak and a juicy squirrel inviting him to make it his lunch. He will become what is necessary to survive - a bear to chase away rivals, a wolf to scare off tourists - no more and no less. It is pointless to morph away from the feathers that are his shield.
And, of course, it is a convenient reason to never again take the Andalite form.
A bittersweet morph, so hard to detach from Taylor. From the nightmares that still linger hauntingly in the shadows of his dreams, from the best friend he had, for a long time, resigned himself to perhaps never seeing again. So hard to separate, too, from the overwhelming sense of belonging he had felt standing next to Ax that night, performing the evening ritual, watching the life he was never able to have.
He cannot forget how impossible it had been to ignore the instinctive optimism that had felt like a fire lit within his very bones. Perhaps this is his true reason for refusing the Andalite form: optimism implies hope and he is not sure there is anything left in the world to hope for.
---
When the sun is well below the horizon and Ax finds himself leaving the ship in a manner so surreptitious it can only really be classified as sneaking away, he justifies that the situation is far from strategic, there is nothing to learn, and thus no need to explain himself to his soldiers.
Or to the red-tailed hawk who greets him with his customary fierce glare, asking no questions, demanding nothing. They walk as side-by-side as is possible in their respective natural forms, stopping at Tobias’s word near a seemingly random cluster of trees.
And then they chill. It has been a long time since Ax has chilled and he suspects the same is true for Tobias. For a brief moment he wishes he could simply stay like this, having fun through the simple act of enjoying each other's company, unburdened by the need to speak or act.
Unfortunately, he is not the sort of Andalite - not that, he amends, there could really be such an Andalite - who is capable of forgetting his duty. Every element, even the less obvious, and the unpleasant. He fixes his main eyes on Tobias, meeting the raptor’s gaze calmly and squarely. [I do not think Rachel is the sort of person who would want a life like this for you, Tobias. Moving forward is not a betrayal.]
It is nothing he has not heard before, Ax knows - and yet, he cannot allow his friend to continue in a life he is not convinced is best for him. To lose a comrade in battle is one thing; to lose oneself over it is another. Perhaps, he hopes, it would be easier to hear words like these from a non-human perspective. Perhaps not. Perhaps the words would make no impact at all.
[If she hadn’t been brutally murdered, maybe I could ask her.] Tobias laughs. It’s not a nice sort of laugh. Not a hostile one, either, when it comes to it - Tobias had always been quietly sarcastic when the situation called for it - it's just that he has tumbled over that particular edge, driving his quiet sarcasm to a detached dryness that does not quite suit him.
Ax does not rise to the barb, familiar with the need for an outlet of emotion, even if it is not something in which he personally participates. [You risked yourself to save me when I was captured by the Blade ship. I cannot forget it.]
Tobias does not ask what relevance this has to their conversation, because he of all people knows how heavily Ax’s sense of duty weighs on him. The intent glare of a hawk turns to contemplate him for a moment before responding. [I know, Ax-man.]
The tone is familiar. This, Ax decides, is as good a start as he is likely to achieve.
---
And so Ax becomes, in a way, the only sort of companion Tobias can allow himself.
Though Ax could never be lowered to an act like nagging, he never quite drops the issue that is nestled between them like a splinter - which, Tobias finds to his own surprise, does not bother him. Perhaps he’d known when he’d chosen to reveal his location to Ax that he was choosing everything that came with Ax, all the friendship and memories and all his sense of duty. It helps that with Ax it is so straightforward - not a reaction of guilt like Jake, not the light-hearted narcissism that is Marco’s trademark, not the emotional outpour that is Cassie’s favourite weapon. With Ax, it is simply that this is the only way he can think to live.
Today, it comes up in conversation for the umpteenth time and Tobias is not quite able to hide his anger at Jake - the sort of anger that has moved past a stage of being forgivable, and is simply a part of the new terms on which their relationship exists. Ax turns sharply at this, eyes betraying his own bias.
[It was a war. I cannot argue for or against the morality of his actions, but in a situation of war, he was correct for acting without the influence of human emotions.]
Tobias laughs, mirthlessly, its sound carried through thought-speak in a haunting echo. He cannot despise the words because this, too, is Ax: that steadfast devotion to his one-time leader, the refusal to judge human actions. It has never annoyed Tobias and on days like these, it almost incurs nostalgia. [Big-shot Andalite prince lecturing me on the necessities of war?]
Contrary to his tone, he does not fly away. It is a relief - he suspects to both of them - that this has not changed: for all his solitude, there are still those from whose honesty Tobias will not shy. Ax reaches out a tentative hand, blue-and-tan fingers on dark feathers, an unlikely image of companionship. [I am not criticising your choice, Tobias.] A pause. [My shorm.]
Even when he does not like what Ax is saying - which, admittedly, he cannot bring himself to do right now, anyway - he has always been fond of his frankness. Not the same sort of fearless, near-foolhardy bluntness Rachel had wielded like a weapon, just a quiet sort of honesty, like there is nothing to be ashamed of in any element of truth.
He rests his head against Ax’s outstretched hand and says nothing. Sometimes, that is the only answer worth giving.
---
For a while the change had been abrupt: his morning ritual had always been how he felt connected for the only time in a day to his people and - though he’d told himself that the thought was sentimental to the extent of ridiculous - to perform the morning and evening rituals with fellow Andalites had been one of the things he anticipated most about being home. And yet, when he had observed the ritual, he could not help but feel that without Tobias in the sky above him or watching him through solemn hawk eyes, he feels uncomfortably far from humans. His other people, no less important to him.
This evening is much the same. The evening ritual is a short one and as thought-speak voices fill the space around him, he feels the same sense of longing that had been in his heart those lonely years on Earth. He remembers Tobias’s curious Andalite eyes, identical in DNA to his own and yet so different in emotion, as they solemnly observed the evening ritual together. He is missing his humans, missing cinnamon buns and sun-filled afternoons at the barn and the team that had been so perfect even for all its flaws. As the sun lazily embraces the horizon, he decides - with a sense of finality rather than any self-pity - that perhaps thoughts like these will be a new ritual of his own.
A familiar shadow overhead. He does not need to turn his stalk-eyes to look (though he does, nevertheless) to know that it is Tobias, flying out of his usual path. A seemingly random choice, and yet Ax could almost swear he sees the bird focusing his gaze on him. An impossibility, of course; Andalite eyes do not see nearly as far as a hawk’s eyes do. It is more likely that Tobias is simply scanning the fields for food.
Even reassured to the likelihood of this, Ax cannot keep a sense of warmth from filling his hearts. Perhaps he will spend the rest of his days missing one people or another at every significant time. But perhaps, he adds with a glance upwards, it is remembering these people that reminds him how to be strong.
---
“That’s just not right,” Marco had said, popping a chip into his mouth. “I love you with all my hearts? Tell me nobody actually says that.”
Ax had stiffened, just a little. It was a gesture he’d discovered worked most efficiently in human form. He did not begrudge Marco the sanctuary that was sharing his scoop, but there were times when he missed the quiet harmony he and Tobias had shared. (According to Rachel, this was a common emotion experienced by those with whom Marco came into contact.) “Andalites rarely feel the need to express ourselves in such terms. Term-zzz.”
Tobias’s laughter had been as light as the air beneath his wings. “What are you, an alien?” he’d asked with a wry, quiet smile that still looked abrupt and unnatural on his features.
“Yes, Tobias; I am an alien by Earth standards,” Ax had replied in all seriousness, pausing to savour the syllable once again. “Stan-daarz. Zzz. There should be more words formed with this pleasantly tickling mouth-sound.”
Later, when Marco was asleep, he had continued the conversation with Tobias in private thought-speak. [It is vital to say only what is necessary. To overly elaborate would be...] He’d paused, searching for the right word.
[Insulting,] Tobias had supplied, almost casually, and Ax had known that - of course - he was understood perfectly. [Assuming they can’t figure it out for themselves.]
In the dark, Ax had had to focus all four eyes on Tobias to distinguish his dark feathers from the depths of the night. [Yes. Exactly like that.]
---
A hawk is what Tobias had been when they’d met and sometimes Ax still thinks that is his most natural form: cutting through the air like it is his natural element, shot upward with every thermal to drift back down at his own leisure. It is a sort of freedom Ax had experienced first-hand himself, something he knows is more liberating even than galloping across green fields on steady Andalite hooves, and he is grateful that Earth has produced an animal to suit Tobias so.
Besides, compared to humans, hawks have far more sensible ways of balancing themselves.
Still, there is something good about seeing Tobias in his natural form. In a way it is the boy Ax was never able to know as well as he wished: the lonely boy who was not popular at school, the quietly artistic boy who had found other ways to channel his passion. The boy who loved Rachel.
And there is something very surreal about walking beside said boy right now, the two of them perhaps equally unfamiliar on two legs, entering a mall lit with promises of artificial skin and delicious food.
It had been, of all things, Tobias’s idea: Ax had mentioned off-hand that he wished he could share the joys of taste with his crew members, and Tobias had replied without missing a beat perhaps we should and had already hopped from his branch to the ground by the time Ax realised what he was suggesting.
[Are you proposing we venture into the city?] He was already beginning his own bird morph as he spoke, thought-speak abilities uninterrupted by his rapidly-shifting features.
Though Tobias had been faced away from him (not that hawk expressions are all that telling, in any case,) Ax swears he could sense a sliver of a daring smile in his thought-speak voice. Reminiscent of Rachel, almost. [If you’re up for the challenge.]
The closest city had been an hour’s flight away. Ax had contemplated the situation, more grateful than ever that the relative safety of his mission meant it was possible to leave the ship without fear. [It seems to be a long way to go just for cinnamon buns.>]
The long way to which he had referred was not only geographical distance; Tobias knew, of course, and in response had ruffled his feathers impatiently before leading the way towards the vast open skies.
Perhaps it means nothing. Ax tells himself this repeatedly - perhaps Tobias is simply exercising his human ability to make irrational choices, and this sudden movement forward means nothing. They are in the food court and both a little too preoccupied to speak, and again Ax marvels at the simplicity of it: the two of them, eating together, such a normal sight to any human and yet precious beyond words to him. It feels almost daring; every pair of people eating here, he thinks, is a myriad emotions and a secret hiding in plain sight.
“Much as I enjoy mouth-sounds, sometimes I have to wonder why any human wastes his time talking when mouths can be put to far more useful actions.”
Tobias chokes on his bun over an eruption of laughter - something else, Ax notices, that is only possible when one is human in both shape and mindset. Strangely undignified though the sound is, he cannot help but enjoy those unrestrained moments of honest emotion. “I’m sure you mean eating,” Tobias says, attempting and failing to keep his expression serious. “Though I am happy to experiment with the other useful actions.”
It takes Tobias a moment to realise what exactly it is he just said, and it takes Ax another moment to comprehend. For those moments they are back to before - those days that had been both more and less complicated, when they had felt no less alien in these borrowed human forms, devouring Cinnabon and enjoying each other’s company. Like it is natural. Like it is the only reasonable thing to do.
And the moment slides past like a wisp of smoke, leaving no trace. “Mouths are truly the most logical thing about the human body,” Ax declares in response, meaning every word, not entirely oblivious to the implications of what Tobias had said. Cinnamon bun in hand, Tobias’s eyes staring across the table at him, he wonders how he could possibly ever think to leave Earth again.
Not just for the cinnamon bun, either.
---
It is not the first time he has been human in Ax’s company, but today it feels irrefutably different, more like a conscious choice than a matter of coincidence. To be a hawk is undoubtedly safer - his eyes harder to read, his voice less a traitor to his emotions, his thoughts more difficult to gauge.
Perhaps today, he doesn’t want to be difficult. Some days, he simply wants his thoughts known.
Ax is in his human form too, a form Tobias knows was chosen to keep him company. Their conversation is so light and fluent that for a moment, he can almost believe in the illusion of being back, before the war had escalated into a thing that devoured their lives, before the walls he had put up around himself, before Rachel’s death.
It is not a lasting illusion. It is not even a pleasant illusion and he can see no point in forcing it, so he doesn’t. In fact, what they are now - the two of them sitting together, in a part of the woods that is theirs alone, is something precious enough that no illusion is needed to make the moment complete.
And by the moonlight... Tobias turns to Ax - to this perhaps-strange mixture of himself, Cassie, the girl he had loved, and the leader who had sent her to her death - and he sees none of those individual parts. Nothing but Ax, no past, not even a future - just Ax in all his forms and himself in all his forms and everything they are.
“You seem to be distracted, Tobias.” It is a rare change from the norm, to have the kind of conversation where Tobias can feel the sounds of Ax’s words vibrate through the air around him. The words are stronger somehow and Tobias admits that one cannot blame Ax for finding mouth-sounds quite so fascinating.
“When I made that joke at the food court...” The flipside of talking with sounds is that he must consciously form every word, making the question even more difficult to ask. “You understood.” He narrows his eyes, jokingly, suspiciously. “That can’t be all from The Young and The Restless, can it?”
Ax’s human face shows no embarrassment, merely honesty. “I have experimented with human expressions of affection before. Kissing.” Not so much an admission as a carefully-light comment, watching Tobias for the reaction he won’t show unless he absolutely wants to.
Tobias does not look surprised, nor particularly feels it. “Estrid.” A wry twist to his mouth, not entirely a smile. He wonders what Ax is thinking as he remembers the young, brilliant scientist.
“You were right,” Ax concedes softly. “I should not have been dismissive toward it until I had attempted it. It was pleasant.”
Perhaps it is because Tobias is so familiar with his own often-unreadable human face. Ax is wearing an expression of careful honesty, but beneath it is something that mirrors Tobias’s own eyes, something he can only read because he feels it himself. The only parts of him he cannot hide - though perhaps it is safer to say that he can rarely hide anything from Ax at all.
His words are breathed rather than spoken. “Just pleasant?”
“Perhaps under certain circumstances, it can be even better.”
For Ax it is a poorly-formed sentence and that, more than anything else, tells Tobias how distracted he is. How distracted they both are.
His heart is beating unusually fast.
When their lips meet it is entirely understated but by no means underwhelming. Any lack of dramatic music and fireworks is made up for by the sparks that dance before Tobias's own eyes and he simply holds the moment, feeling with every inch of his own lips those lips that feel nothing like Rachel’s, acutely aware of every inch of their skin that has come into contact.
It feels like a long time before either mouth is available to be used for talking. “I must reassess my previous statement,” Ax says, unusually calm given the givens, his face still very, very close.
Tobias can feel the breath of every syllable on the sensitive skin of his chin and neck. Funny - it has been so long since he has missed the soft sensitivity of human skin. Ax does not seem startled and, urged by his calm response, Tobias feels himself settle into the truth of what has happened like it is the only natural thing to have happened. “Which one?”
Ax smiles. “Perhaps eating is not the only worthwhile mouth-activity.”
Tobias is so close that when he laughs, the vibrations can be felt through both their bodies. His eyes promise that there is only one way to judge how worthwhile this other activity can be.
---
[If shorm means soul mate,] he had questioned once, with a laugh, [what do you call your girlfriends?]
Ax had looked so intensely startled for a moment that Tobias had been tempted to laugh. [Souls do not have genders, Tobias. The Gedd are not distinguished by gender, but they are certainly not without souls.] He had turned all four eyes to Tobias then, almost uncomfortable in his intensity. [And you are my shorm, no matter what gender you are, or what species. It is irrelevant of all that.]
And Tobias had stared with the raptor-stare that is his wont, saying nothing at all, hoping that Ax could hear him nevertheless.
---
Tobias does not need to announce his mood; his gloominess is written on every feather and talon, stretched across his form like a grey fog as he perches on his usual branch. For a moment, he does not speak.
[You are thinking about Rachel.] It’s not a question.
Tobias’s response is, similarly, not an answer. [Knowing that you can never talk to her again, not ever -] He cuts himself off, raptor’s head turning angrily, bitterly, away. It is hardly a sentence that needs finishing, anyway.
[I am not unfamiliar with the feeling.]
The words are a jolt of reality and Ax watches realisation run through Tobias like a physical thing, watches him remember that Ax, too, has lost someone dear - did not choose to lose him the way Jake had, but rather had him torn from him with no choice whatsoever. Ax does not push his friend to confide, knowing that he needs only to be here for when Tobias chooses to speak.
[I thought once that at least there is closure when someone is dead.] Tobias makes an expression that suits a human face far more than a hawk’s, sharp and almost awkward on the predator’s features. [How can I have closure when I know she’d be happier living?]
If he were being honest, Ax would tell Tobias that it is the only way it could have happened - and that it is harder to see when you are closest to the situation, harder to see when you are constantly asking yourself if one different choice could have made it happen differently. But Ax has learned to not always be honest - another human trait for this very human situation. [Sometimes we cannot make the choice that is happiest,] he replies instead, offering this other less-harsh sort of truth.
Tobias considers the comment for a long, long moment. [I need -] He needs time to think, space to deal, a solution. He needs Rachel back and he needs Ax. He needs to at least finish the sentence, which he does not quite bring himself to do, but it is all right; Ax has already understood everything he needs to know.
---
It is impossible to fly without Rachel on his mind. (It is impossible to live without Rachel on his mind, both the wings that lift him towards the skies and the harbour that anchors him to Earth.) With every beat of his wings he can remember the way they had taken to the skies together, soaring high above the tired world. He remembers how all his forms had felt natural next to her - birds of prey gliding on thermals from heat-beaten concrete, ferocious beasts charging into battle, boy and girl eating fries in the shade of a large oak tree.
He cannot blame her. He cannot even blame Jake, though he does nevertheless, because it feels better than having nobody to blame at all. The truth is that she had always been where she belonged, and it’s not as if he could have loved her any other way - he can’t imagine having fallen in love with a Rachel who didn’t live and die the only way she could allow herself to, who didn’t blaze into every battle with a fiery war-cry and emerge with perfect hair and the smile she reserves only for him.
He wonders how he can possibly drag Ax into a mess like this when he still feels Rachel’s phantom fingers slipping through his. When he can remember the way her golden hair had slid so gracefully across the beak with which he’d preened it, eliciting that full-bodied laughter that had been filled with so much sunlight.
The truth, as he suspects Ax already knows, is that it is hard to picture a Rachel who is betrayed and outraged. Far easier to hear her laughter in his head, a well-meaning teasing comment or two, a genuine wish that he would be happy. Far easier to accept that moving on does not mean forgetting her - not, as Marco would say with a barked laugh, that Rachel is the type to make it even possible to forget about her.
And yet. And yet.
---
Ax gives him all the space he needs, only to find that Tobias is as comfortably close as ever.
When Tobias asks if he is annoyed, already knowing the answer, Ax shakes his head - a peculiar movement that reminds whichever Andalites he is near that his history is by no means conventional - and chooses his response carefully. [I thought once that humans were... foolish. Undisciplined. With too many emotions that make them weak.]
Tobias does not question the relevance, for which Ax is thankful - the point he wishes to make is not something that can be rushed. Instead Tobias laughs, a little dryly. [Thanks for the vote of confidence.]
Ax shoots him a look - I understand that this is humour, but suspect I will never come to understand why - and continues. [You are always acting only on your own conscience.] He begins to say for a human but stops himself just in time, catching the last of his Andalite arrogance and remembering exactly who it is he is speaking to. [It is admirable,] he concludes simply.
Tobias’s thought-speak voice is dry once more, though not entirely devoid of feeling. [Hey, I spend a lot of time out here alone. You don’t think I’ve had time to hone my own sense of what’s right?]
Ax smiles his subtle Andalite smile, a rush of affinity warming his hearts at hearing those words. [I will not try to influence you, Tobias. You must make the choice for yourself.]
He means it: it is not in his nature to persuade beyond simply stating what he knows is true. But he can still hope, and - well. He does.
---
As soon as Tobias lands, Ax knows his decision.
They do not rush it; there is no pressure to speak too quickly, to state so bluntly what they both already know is true. They simply sit, in human form, watching the stars blink slowly into wakefulness. Their hands resting on each other’s feels comfortable - not right by any strict military definitions, but perhaps a whole different type of right with which Ax can envision himself becoming very comfortable.
When Ax finally speaks it breaks a long and comfortable silence. “There is nothing wrong with this?”
Just that. Just those words, as open-ended a question as Tobias will ever get to say his feelings (if not in words, then in gestures and with his heart.) Tobias looks Ax in the eyes - does not force himself to take on an expression, because what needs to be understood already is - and laughs, unsentimental. “A hawk and a blue deer holding hands in a forest? Nup, not at all.”
But he does not release his grip on Ax’s hand. Another piece of irrational human behaviour; one supposes it’s too much to expect that he has already discovered all of them.
Well, then. Looking into Tobias’s very human eyes, Ax decides that he simply must look forward to finding out more.
- fin -