Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Paul stood in the doorway of Michael’s assigned room on the ship. Randall had informed them all that they’d be there for a while. Jo was off talking to her father about...well, none of them had the foggiest. But Randall also informed them that they’d be taking the long way back. Short jumps like the ship was designed to make. Apparently getting them to Jo’s planet counted as doing something for himself and didn’t disrupt the balance, and getting her back to him was pretty much the same deal, but sending them back to Earth definitely counted as interference, and Jo was planning on saving herself and her powers as much as she could. The Empress and the Lady would know she was moving around, regardless, and possibly even that she’d made children, but that she was heading for Earth... Paul was of the opinion that they’d be stupid not to assume it, but Gryth disagreed, based on millennia of her disinterest.

He’d been standing in the doorway for a while now, watching Michael’s back, the long, eerie wings draped carelessly, but somehow gracefully over his curled form where he lay facing the wall. He’d been waiting for Michael to start snoring, but it wasn’t coming. Either he’d been cured of his snoring, or he was still sitting there, awake and pouting...or brooding...or crying... Tribunal alone knew which.  He sighed quietly and moved into the room. “So...I realize this sounds a little condescending, but...I’ll get you red jello if you get out of bed.”

A thin arm stretched itself out of the nest of wings and blankets and, without turning around, Michael gave him the finger.

“That’s a no?”

“That’s a ‘fuck right off.’”

“Fair enough. If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re having a weird year.”

Michael actually lifted his head out of the middle of his nest and glared at him a little. “Four.”

“What?”

“I’m having a weird FOUR years. I just spent the last 3 in space. Which reminds me. You owe me 3 birthday’s worth of presents. And cake. Lots of cake.”

Paul just locked eyes with him. “Jello. You just might get jello. And like, maybe *A* present. But first I wanna know, and I really gotta know this, how the HELL are you curled up in there that your head is way the hell down where your pinions ought to be.”

Michael pulled his head back into the tangled mess of blankets, and uncurled, pulling at blankets and wings with grumpy abandon until he was sitting more or less upright, leaned against the back wall of the bunk. “Don’t you usually send Brent when I’m sulking?”

“He’s taking care of Randall. Someone needed to show him how to get in and out of the shower without murdering himself, and his boyfriend wasn’t available.”

Michael flinched.  Paul didn’t break eye contact. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, you know? None of us do.”

“But pouting is out of bounds?”

“Not as such.  Can I come in?”

Michael actually took a second to consider. “What if I said no?”

“Then I’d walk away. I’d go get some dinner, and I’d make sure there was some red jello for you when you got off your ass and came to talk.”

Michael patted the bed beside him, and Paul wandered in and sat about a foot closer than Michael’s hand had been, nudging Michael with his thigh, budging him until he pulled a wing back out of the way. “Hey. Michael.”

“What?”

“Need a hug?”

“...no.”

“Liar.”

Paul almost didn’t brace himself in time. Michael hugged him so tight he could barely breathe. His wings wrapped around them both crazliy, and only Paul’s firm grip on the edge of the mattress kept them on the bed.

“Oh, birdboy. It’s gonna be ok.”

“It’s not. You’re afraid of me.”

“If I was afraid of you, would I have come in here and poked at you until you hugged me?”

“Yes.”  Michael didn’t hesitate.  Paul nearly laughed.

“Ok. That’s probably fair. I do actually care about you enough to walk in here even if I was scared. But I’m not.”

“I saw your face.”

“Michael.” Paul’s tone was reproving.

“What? You were!”

“I wasn’t afraid of YOU Michael. I’ve never been afraid of you. I’ve watched you do things no one in their right mind or body can do since the day we met. You’ve done things that have made a millennia old Grandmaster flinch, and I have never once been afraid of you. For you? Yes. Repeatedly. You scare the shit out of me. I have nightmares that you’re not gonna be there one day because you did one last stupendous, heroic, unbelievably fantastic thing. I can’t sleep sometimes with the shit you do. You make me crazy. No one should have friends like you. But I do. And I’m so glad...Michael look at me.”  Michael pulled his head back off Paul’s shoulder so he could see his face.

“I’m so glad I’m your friend. I wouldn’t trade you for all the safe nights of board games by the pool in the entire world. I wouldn’t trade you for a lifetime of mimosas or a safe job, or a career as a porn star opposite Brent. None of it. Not if you get wings made of pure volcanic magma, or feet made of the rings of neptune, or you start getting zits that turn into comets or some shit. None of it. If Jo decides you have to live on one of the moons of Jupiter, or back on that stupid green planet, Brent and I will harass every last person we can find until we dig up that other ship, and we’ll be coming over for brunch. And when, Tribunal help us all, you and Randall have kids, I’m gonna be there to change their cosmic diapers when you’re too tired. And they are, by the lady, going to call us Uncle Paul and Uncle Brent and we are going to spoil them rotten.”

Paul was talking a little loudly now, and gripping Michael’s shoulders with a fair amount more force than was probably warranted. Michael’s eyes were a little wild and he was sputtering... “zits that turn into comets?”

Paul shrugged, and hauled Michael back into his hug. “Dumbass. I don’t care if you get nebula farts. I mean, I’ll hit you if you do it inside, but you’re my friend.”

Michael giggled against his shoulder. “Nebula farts.”

“Bad ones. They tell me nebulas smell like onions.” Paul didn’t even crack a smile.

“You’re stupid.”

“Learned it from you.”

“At least you learned SOMETHING.”

“Learned to be a weenie.”

“I thought Brent taught you about weenies.”

Paul gave up and laughed.  “Get off me. How’m I I s’posed to breathe with all these stars and shit?” He shoved affectionately at Michael’s wings, and was secretly relieved when his hand met resistance.

Michael furled his wings and settled back beside him, shoulders touching. “I’m still a freak.”

“Birdboy, I hate to break it to you, but you have ALWAYS been a freak.”

Michael pretended to be offended. “Have not! Just since I grew wings!”

Paul gave him a look.  “Spontaneously. In the middle of casting a 3rd year form, in your first year of study to a master that would make me wet my pants. A form which, I’m told, you did perfectly. Just like you do all the rest of it.  Total. Freak.”

Michael actually perked up a little. “He said it was perfect?”

Paul nodded.  “Wanna know what he said about your casting tonight?”

Michael looked hesitant. Paul continued anyway. “He said it was the most perfect casting he’d ever seen.”

“He did NOT.”

“Totally. Did.”

They sat there quietly for a while. “It was bigger than I planned.”

“Oh.  So you weren’t going for a construct that could enclose a small town?”

Michael shook his head.

“Probably going to have to work on that precision then. Try scaling it back more. Maybe see if you can work on changing the differential between the constructs...”

He watched Michael, waiting to see the wheels start turning as Michael tried to plot it out in his mind.

“Of course, before that, you’ve got waaaaay more important things to do.”

Michael looked startled. “I do?”

Paul nodded gravely and held up his hand. He began ticking off items.

“First, you need to eat at least a gallon of red jello. You’re too skinny again.

Second, you need a bath. Badly.

Third, you need to go talk to Gryth and let him know you’re ok. He’s worried.

Fourth, you need to figure out if you can still navigate this thing safely.

But, and I really mean this, Michael, there’s one more thing, and if you don’t do it, I’m going to kick. Your. Cosmic. Feathery. Ass.”

“Um?’

“Go. Get. My. Boyfriend’s. hands. off. your. naked. boyfriend. NOW.”

Michael took one look at Paul’s face, which showed no trace of humor, and bolted out the door at speed.

One rather messy, but fun, shower later, they all sat at one of the long tables in the mess hall. Brent was telling an improbable story about a prank involving some micro-portals, a dish of peas, and a trained ferret. Ra’Cha was laughing hysterically, and even Gryth was chuckling under his breath. Periodically, Paul would look pointedly at the massive bowl of jello in front of MIchael, and if he was ignored, elbow him viciously in the ribs until he picked up his spoon and stuffed some more in his face. He’d been a little resentful at first, but honestly, he was starving. He was just bored with eating. They’d been sitting at the table for hours and every time Michael finished a dish, someone put a new one in front of him. “Guys. I can’t eat anymore. Seriously. I’m gonna be sick.”

Paul looked at him skeptically and even went so far as to cast a small spell over him. He reluctantly nodded. “Fine. You can stop eating. We’ll get you some snacks in an hour or so.”

Michael groaned dramatically. “Why are we treating me like I’ve never eaten, ever?”

They all looked at each other. “WHAT?”

“You ...don’t have bird bones anymore.”

“WHAT???”

“When I hugged you earlier, your hug was really heavy. So I did a scan while you were distracted with Randall. Your bones are more like a humans again. And all your ribs are showing. And it was worse than it was while you were getting dressed. It’s still happening. I think your body is eating some of your mass to make up for the difference. So we’re trying to provide it with better material for bones, which is why the jello.”

“...Will I still be able to fly? I thought normal humans were too heavy.” Michael’s voice was a little panicky.

“It seems that your new wings provide a fair amount more lift. Or whatever the Tribunal taught you about flying is, or...hell if I know Michael. But have you noticed any strain? If anything, your flying looks like it’s easier, at least from here.”

Michael thought about it for a minute. “I...I think it is.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye on it. In the meantime, get used to feeling full. I can see all of your ribs.”

Michael grumbled good-naturedly, but as Brent started to tell a story about  pair of twins, a ribbon, and a shrinking spell, Michael had absentmindedly picked up his spoon and was absentmindedly eating again. Gryth looked down the table at his pack and growled softly into Ra’Cha’s ear. Maybe, just maybe, his cubs would be ok.