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Chapter Text

• Imagine if Missa was forced to take the pills. Phil would burn everything down for him.

• Assuming Missa wouldn't take the pills himself if he was told it'd make him "better" It would make him worthy of Phil...He would be stronger, better, more for him. And Phil hates it so much. Where is his husband???

• How would it affect him though? Like yeah deliriously happy and not caring about things, but would it actually make him quicker? A better fighter? Sharpen his senses?

• It would give him manic amounts of confidence, making him be able to do the things he's always been able just never believed in himself enough. So he thinks it's making him better. But it's not, he just doesn't let himself try without the pills.

• The pills starting to wear off between doses causes overwhelming feelings of worthlessness, feeling weak, feeling useless. He has to keep taking them, he's becoming helpless again. He would be stronger. And when it wears off further, everything seems so overwhelmingly weak, so frightening. The confidence switches opposite to intense fear and worthlessness, washing out every other thought until he can't think of anything but his failures.

• When Phil sees him fight and reap and be so comfortable in himself from afar, having shaken off the dream of a birdhouse, he thinks Missa is very impressive at first. Missa even switched up his wardrobe a bit, it looks almost angelic, so pretty. Though...the pure white was concerningly familiar to...surely not. It seems like something during these months away have allowed him to come into his own, awaken some strength or skill he knew he had, but didn't mind a bit he didn't use.

  • (It gave him an excuse to protect him, after all)

• He approaches, already smitten. Then Missa turns around with a manic smile, eyes gleaming with a crazed confidence that seems almost unnatural, and Phil stops dead. That's not his Missa. Those are the same pills that took Forever before. He has to get the antidote.

• Forever's experience is denying that anything's wrong, he's a bit loopy even in his denial, but Missa is sharp, confident in a way that's crazed. Forever looked with cow eyes gazing through you, Missa looks at you like he sees you with an eagles eye, sharp and noting every detail.

• And he's so sharp, so confident, that he dodges and weaves every attempt to catch him, he's too slippery now that he doesn't second guess, doesn't waver.

• Phil can't even keep him down, the angel of death, even when Missa is always around, constantly trying to impress him. He thinks Phil fighting him is like he's proving his worth. He even manages to down Philza, taking him off guard.

  • Phil finds that...very hot. But also heartbreaking that he can't help him. Any attraction he might feel is overshadowed by the amount of pain he sees in the moments the meds wear off, he needs his Missa back...

• Several people are definitely needed to snag him, and not in direct combat. He sees through so many traps, and he's starting to get erratic and distrustful with how many traps he's been targeted in. It takes Phil luring as bait and a lot of planning.

• Phil convinces him to spar, empty inventory, he leans into Missa "proving himself" to him, even if that thought made him gag. Missa never needed to prove himself to him. No crutches of armor or items or tools, only one basic weapon. Just fight.

• And that's how they manage to catch him, mid fight, occupied by sweeping wings and a slashing sword. They manage to inventory scan the pills off him like they did Forever as Phil leads him through the fighting area, guiding him place to place, and then the cage is set. Phil shoves him onto the trigger place to raise the cage around him.

• Maybe Phil ends up in there with him.

• With him caught, they try to question him, wait him out. If Phil is in the cage with him, Phil has to deal with a very cornered Missa still proving himself, especially when he realizes that he is stripped of his medications. He's going to become weak. Worthless. He has to get out, get to the meds, be confident. Be worthy. And he is almost pressed up against Phil, and he still has his axe in hand...and Gods he's scared.

• The fight in the cage is brutal. Blades nicking both, Missa getting more and more desperate, and Phil trying to crowd him out with his wings. They’re both taking damage, and it takes Etoiles breaking one of the bars to lean in and give a slash to both of them with the disarming weapon (and have several others drag Etoiles back from trying to climb in too to join the delightful fight). They manage to get the weapons off him and everything, and Missa is stuck with Phil pinning him and continuing the interrogations.

  • Etoiles would probably climb in if it didn't mean the chance for Missa to climb out. He has to settle for smacking them through a hole in the side. He's so mad about it, he wants in so bad. fighting??? without him??? how DARE they.

• If Phil didn't end up getting caught in the trap, then they’re mostly dealing with interrogating and struggling similar to what happened in canon with Forever. There's not much Missa can do other than shout about betrayal, demand to know why they are doing this, shove his way around the cage and trying to survey every option.

• Regardless of if Phil is in the cage or not, as time goes on and they question, and question, and question, the claim about the eggs comes out as Missa's thoughts turn to loathing, swamping him. They ran away because something is bigger, something is worse. And he was not strong enough to protect them before the pills so they ran away. The last part was probably fed to him by the feds, or cooked up by his breaking mind.

• The detox is agony for both of them. If Phil isn't in the cage with him, Phil is not able to hold back from reaching through the bars to try to comfort him when the withdrawal really kicks in. Missa is swamped with loathing and hatred for his weakness, his unworthiness, then the agony sets in as his body breaks under the physical symptoms of withdrawal, the muscles spasms and tremors and horrible pain. The nausea and delirium, yet over-aware of everything.

  • If Phil is in the cage, he gathers him up, cradling him and trying to gently shush him though it, trying to comfort him with everything he has, letting Missa burrow into him in a futile effort to try to escape the pain.

• Either way, Phil never wants to hear these screams again.

• He demands the cure for Missa the moment he can, needing him out of pain, out of this state, and he helps Missa take it. The moment he goes down from the antidote, groaning and shifting weakly as it reverses the effects, Phil is at his side, petting the hair out of his face and crooning chirps to try to calm him, sooth him.

  • Missa isn't completely out like Forever, but he's pretty delirious and out of it. Barely knows what's going on.

• The cage was promptly taken down, and Phil refuses to let anyone else touch his husband as he scoops him up, Missa's head on his shoulder, cradled in his arms. He moves his thin, skeletal tail to drape over Missa's lap to keep it out of the way, and he presses a kiss to his hair when Missa whines in pain, putting aside the PDA worries in front of everyone in favor of Missa feeling safe. Feeling loved. He needs to make sure that Missa is comfortable, even when he's mostly out of it.

• They're both splashed with healing potions to tend to the wounds that opened during the fight, sooth pulled feathers and bruised hits. The potions sadly don't still the way Missa's muscles jitter, spasming slightly in Phil's hold, aftereffects of the withdrawal in his system. Though, the regen potion pressed to his lips does sooth the sickly tinge to his face and ease the fever heat.

• Phil carries him all the way to the Order medbay, careful to keep his tail from dragging on the ground, every shift and whimper greeted with a quiet reassurance or chirp, a nuzzle to his hair, a repositioning so that he's better tucked up against the junction of his neck and shoulder. He tries to engage as many of his senses in case Missa can detect through at least one. The scent of his cologne near his neck, the feeling of his touches and hold. He whispers nearly the whole way in case he understands, telling him that everything would be alright, he was safe, they were going to take care of him, he wasn't going to be alone, he's got him...he loves him......He loves him.

• The only time Phil even remotely set him down was to gently press his foot to the warp plate alongside his own, making sure he would teleport just fine even in his current state.

• When he's set on the bed, Phil goes with him, holding his hand and continuing to speak with him, this time with less personal confessions in the earshot of other company. Even when the others leave, he is there, watching Missa slip into actual sleep as he plays with his hair and strokes his cheek. It would be okay...he had him...he'd be there when he wakes, he wouldn't wake up scared and alone...he was safe.

• Once everyone had left them alone, he carefully rearranged Missa to be more comfortable, maneuvering his tail to his side instead of pinned under him, arranging blankets and pillows to support him. He gently took off Missa's mask, wanting him comfortable and so Phil would be able to see every change to his face if he became uncomfortable.

• He stayed at Missa's side the whole time he was out, sitting on the edge of the bed or curled up against him to rest.

• At one point of his waking vigil, he gently took Missa's hand and lifted it to press a kiss to it...hoping he was providing some peace to him as he recovered. He put it to his cheek, nuzzling it...reassuring both Missa and himself that everything was okay, he saved Missa, he was safe and he could hold his hand and know he was here...goddess...Missa had cupped his cheek like this while under the drugs...had flirted and been so...bold...even if it had felt so wrong with that unsettling smile and the way Missa had looked at him like he was some caught prey, those gestures would have been so sweet under any other circumstances...

• ...Missa had talked about finally being worthy of him when they fought. Missa had spoken of the chance to prove himself. He'd even taken Phil off guard and defeated him, claiming he was testing his worth to him. What had he really meant, proving himself? Why did he talk about being unworthy before? Missa? Incredible, kind Missa? It made no sense. The things that he said in the depths of withdrawal, of weakness and worthlessness...what had the federation fed him? Was this how he always felt? Did he not know how amazing he was?

• Phil really, really hoped Missa knew. He would have to tell him, make him know that he was loved, that he was enough.

• How much of that confidence, that flirting, was the medication and how much was what Missa could be? He wanted some of that person, wanted those gestures of confidence and adoration.

  • Did he want the pieces that were from the meds? Or was he yearning for the bits that Missa didn't let out? Goddess, he didn't know.

• He supposed he'd find out when Missa had awoken. So he nuzzled his hand, placed a kiss upon Missa's palm, and stood watch. When he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer in his vigil, he shifted to lay down at Missa's side, tossing a wing over him like they used to. Face pressed to his shoulder, arms draped across his chest, hand lightly gripping the infuriating white cloth of his new robes, protecting him even when Phil needed to catch a few hours of rest...

  • ...Even as Phil tried to sleep, the sounds of Missa screaming in agony and begging for release wouldn't leave his head...

• Missa slowly, slowly came to again after a night of rest, head pounding and something feeling off. It took a moment, but the beeping of the monitor finally registered and the unfamiliarity of everything around him kicked in, and he startled awake, looking around in a panic, finding himself in a medical bay of grey and white, somewhere he had no recognition of.

• Luckily, Phil was sitting on the edge of the bed and was able to intercept any more panic, having been watching him slowly rouse the moment he started to shift. He had held one of Missa's hands in both of his own, waiting. When Missa sprang awake, Phil was quick to let out a reassuring chirp, squeezing his hand and crooning a few reassurances that everything was alright. He's safe. No need to panic.

• And Missa looks up at Phil, blinking into wide eyed alertness, and he remembers everything.

• Missa is sharply reminded of everything through the pounding in his head. Every vapid thing he said to everyone, every cocky action he did without a care, every comment he made of Phil, every fight he took on like he could do anything, every manic idea that filled his mind, every bit of the thoughts that would pound in when the drugs ran low, every flirt and advance he made on Phil because he was finally good enough, every grab he made for Phil because he deserved him now and would have him...oh Gods...he was practically entitled of him, trying to claim him as if he had a right to Phil...no, no...

• He remembered the fights with everyone, of dodging traps and ambushes, proving himself to Phil, showing him that he was great now, he was good enough to take Phil as his. See? He was powerful. He was strong. He deserved his love now.

• He remembered the final trap, Phil challenging him to actually prove his mettle to him, prove he's worthy of him, and it was like everything he had dreamed then. He would finally convince Philza of what he was owed. He remembered fighting, parrying, dodging and striking, meeting Phil at every stride with ease and manic confidence at every turn. Then he was suddenly in a cage, shoved up against Phil, confused and hardly able to move in the space. What was this?

• He remembered the sheer terror that sliced through him when Cellbit called out that he had the briefcase he was using, holding it up like a prize, feeling the emptiness in his inventory. Trapped with no meds, no confidence, he needed to get out, he needed to get out! He would face the thoughts again! Be weak! Dormant and useless! Lose his strength! His new fighting prowess! Everything he had gained! He had to escape!

• With dawning, clawing horror, Missa realized that he had turned his axe truly, fully, on Phil in that tiny space, acting like a raging beast as he slashed and cut, yanking and pulling. He to beat at the bars as Phil slashed him with a sword and crowded him out with his wings, stifling, choking, trapping.

• Missa remembered with horror, deep, piercing horror, that he had tried to kill Philza in that cell. He laid his hands on him, laid his blade against him, driven mad by these drugs. He had hurt Phil. He had yanked at the very wings he swore never to even brush against without care, wings he was privileged to even touch, and he ripped and cut at the feathers like a monster.

• Then, a strike to his back, and his traitorous hands had suddenly lost the axe as Etoiles held his disarming sword, being held back by others to stop him from climbing in to surely annihilate him for his grave crimes of harming dear Phil. They had both slammed him to the wall, Phil's wings pinning him as he was held helpless as they got the opening to keep him still, keeping him cornered and trapped. He remembered questions, demands, things he knew the answer to and ones he didn't, some answers he now physically couldn't take, that his mind kept on the edges to protect him from breaking completely under the weight of his shame, as close to the precipice as he was.

• Then he remembered the withdrawal.

• Gods. He remembered withdrawing from those meds. The agony. The thoughts that would never end, the hatred, the loathing of his weakness, the realization he was losing his chance with Phil, losing his right to him, god he thought he had a right to him oh god oh god oh god, he remembered the eggs, that he was weak, he failed to protect him and now he failed to stay strong, and gods, gods, the agony in every part of his body...his body was on fire, helplessly addicted to the strength and confidence, now losing the medicine and withdrawing in agony (he deserved it he deserved it he deserved it he hurt Phil).

• Everything after that was blurry through the torment, he could hardly tell what was happening, but he remembered being guided to take something, administer a needle to make it all stop, end all the pain. Then everything hurting in a different way, no longer racing agony but a strong but a steady pain. Then some potion or other misted over him, and the pain lessened to a blur, then slowly into a haze that kept him under. A bottle to his lips and a few weak sips eased the heat under his skin as he slipped under the comfort of that haze.

• He was faintly aware of a warm body pressed against him, soothing chirps he knew came from Phil, sounding off every time the pain spiked or something ached, aware of shaky breathing and the ragged whimpers he was unsure were his own...

• He faintly felt the brush of lips to his head and whispers he couldn't make out, but were like a soothing balm coming from Phil (even if he had been a beast to him and deserved nothing). When he twitched or tried to figure out what was going on through the haze, sending shooting pains through him, Phil was there again on the edges of his perception, telling him something or other...a notion that Phil loved him...(not true I betrayed him I hurt him I'm a monster)

• Then the pressure and warm presence was gone, but his body was soft and supported and sleepy...and then Phil was there again, clutching his hand and saying something in that perfectly balming voice, claws in his hair and a gentle touch to his face. It was safe, he could slip under...Phil was there...

• But he was not safe now. He was here, awake, and he had harmed Phil.

• From Phil's perspective, Phil sees his beloved husband jolt awake, confused and frightened, and he is quick to let out a few gentle chirps, squeezing his hand with both of his own. When Missa's gaze turns to him at the sound, he offers a gentle smile that covers the worry underneath and croons out a gentle reassurance that everything was alright, he was just in the medbay, nothing to worry about. He was about to let go of his hand with one of his own to reach out and brush Missa's hair out of his face again, to help sooth both of their nerves with a touch...when he saw Missa go pale.

• He watched with growing worry as Missa turned ashen, staring at Phil as if seeing a ghost, mouth moving slightly as if trying to process the racing thoughts of his mind. Phil quickly tried to get his attention again with a few chirps and gentle words. When that didn't work he let go with a hand anyways to touch at his shoulder, only to pull back sharply when Missa flinched away. Shit. His wonderful husband was pale as a sheet, only looking at him with mounting horror, breath shaking. He had to calm Missa down fast, to sooth him before he got worse.

• "No, mate, hey, hey...you're alright. You're alright. It's over, okay? You're alright. We got everything out of your system." He rubs at the forearm of the hand he was holding, tender. See? It was alright. Just them. No drugs, just them.

• Missa only let out a weak noise... "......I.....I hurt you."

• Any of Phil's words after fell on deaf ears, his worried looks and the taking of his other hand not registering to Missa's racing mind after he managed to utter that weak, broken breath of a realization.

• Missa couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He stared up at Phil as he crooned and chirped at him as if he hadn't hurt him, hadn't been a monster to him, hadn't thought he was owed him. He...He...He couldn't be here. He had to–, he couldn't even look at Phil after everything he had done. He had to repent, he had to leave! He couldn't be near him, couldn't hurt him more, he didn't deserve to be anywhere near him after turning a weapon on him and believing Phil was practically his property!

• Phil then had to be very quick to steady Missa as he tried to sit up, tail lashing in a panic under the blankets, then nearly fell out of the bed when his headache threatened to split his head apart from the movement. Phil grabbed his shoulders, letting out a squawk as he pulled him from the tipping point to lean against him instead. Wings wrapped around them to keep him from struggling too much and falling again. "Hey! Hey, Hey! Easy, mate, you're alright, you're going to get hurt, just ease up. Hey..."

• And Missa felt the wings tight but soft around him, felt the rumble of Phil's words from against his chest, saw Phil's worried face wobbling though the blur in his aching, teary vision, and Phil's hands were starting to migrate to his hair to pet at it and sooth. Phil was being so sweet to him, and he just couldn't make himself pull away from him, to leave, to protect him from himself. Everything ached and his head swam, and Phil was leaning down to nuzzle his hair and trying to convince him to breathe and he was so worried and...he couldn't leave Phil's arms, he didn't have the strength, he was so weak...so, so weak...

• And Missa. Just. Breaks.

• Everything that happened while under those drugs, the thoughts, the endless fights and adrenaline of proving himself, the pain that had lanced through his every move as they left his system the night before, pain that still ached dully in his bones, the weak, useless man that it left behind, it all crashed down on him as he was bundled up in Phil's arms. He was so weak, the one thing that had made him strong had turned him to a monster, someone that harmed the person that had been so endlessly kind to him. Had taken care of him, had been the one that he'd even taken the drugs for, and he had only hurt him and done nothing to repay him for everything.

• So he wept. He wept against Phil's chest, too weak to pull away, to distance himself from the pain he caused. He wept, knowing that he could never make up for the horrors he had caused in this week, let alone what he already failed for the months of kindness Phil had provided him.

• And Phil tried his best to calm his reaper, to ease his pain. He crooned and chirped, keeping him close in his wings and petting his hair the way that usually made him melt. He would sit there with him for as long as Missa needed, hold him until he got all his feelings out. He would be here. He couldn't help Missa quickly enough, he'd failed to rescue him quickly from this torture, he was trapped in that dream of a birdhouse for too long, but he'd be here for the aftermath of these terrible drugs...

• It took a long, long time for Missa to calm down. He sobbed into Phil's chest, limp in his arms, only crying harder as Phil attempted to sooth him with gentle touches and calming words as if things were fine. As if he didn't deserve to never see Phil ever again after everything he had done. As if Phil wasn't probably missing patches of feathers, or covered in half-healing cuts, or bruised and battered from his fists.

• He tried with everything in himself to keep from raising his hands to hug Phil back like he desperately wanted to, not daring to even touch him further in case he hurt him again somehow, in case he made things worse. He had already ruined so much.

• But he was weak, and he couldn't keep himself from giving in to his inadequacy for long. Not when Phil was nuzzling his hair and rubbing his back, cradling him in his arms like he was precious instead of monstrous. He was so weak, so he shifted and clung onto him, clutching at his robes and scooting closer, foolishly, selfishly soaking up the care and weeping into his arms...

• But eventually, finally, Missa drained himself of tears, tapering off in his sobs to lay exhausted in Phil's arms, hands still buried in his robes. Once he was completely tired out, Phil shifted him gently so that he rested more comfortably against him, still gently chirping and cooing. A press of a featherlight kiss to his temple for just a moment, then the press of actual feathers to Missa's side, keeping him carefully surrounded in his hold. Phil wiped away a few of his own tears, trying to compose himself again for Missa. There wasn't need for his tears here, not with Missa needing him. "There we are, mate...all better now?"

• And Missa just whimpered and tucked into his chest a bit more, tail lashing for a moment under the blankets, and Phil held him for a while longer, waiting for him to be ready. He pet his hair, took a few breaths himself, and just held his husband...he wouldn't let him get hurt again.

• Eventually, Missa shifts a bit from his place tucked into his chest, and Phil gently helps him sit up properly, hands on his shoulders to steady him while he gets settled. He folds his wings behind himself again, letting Missa have a breath of open air. Phil hoped that they served as a comforting shield and not another cage...not another cage he trapped him in himself. "There we go..."

• As tenderly as he can manage around his claws, he took his hands from his shoulders and gently cupped Missa's face, clearing away the tear tracts and looking him over...Missa looked an utter mess, to be honest. His eyes were puffy with the many tears shed in this short time, he was bruised in the places where his mask had slammed against his face in the fight, and his hair was unkempt and wild despite his previous efforts to smooth it down.

• The amount of guilt and lingering pain swirling in his vision did not help with the sight, only making Phil's chest ache more.

• "...You're looking a bit rough there, mate...come on, let's get you cleaned up, alright? Then we can get this all figured out, alright?"

• Missa managed a nod, letting out a shaky breath, unable to stop himself from nestling into the warm hands and closing his eyes despite the thoughts screaming at him to leave. Phil paused from where he was about to shift, not wanting to pull away from his face when Missa was finally calming a bit under his touch. So he sat for a moment, just stroking his face and cleaning up his tears a bit more, trying to sooth the pain out of his gaze. "...Alright...I've got some regen and stuff, it'll help with the pain, alright? Just sit here."

• He waited until Missa nodded to finally pull away, standing up to rifle around in the drawers and grab the potions he needed, holding one out after a moment and setting the rest atop the table. "Here. Drink up."

• Missa took the healing potion, quietly sipping at it, relaxing a bit at the strong tangy sweetness of crisp gold and sweet melon. He felt the puffiness slowly recede from his face, and the aching in his bones dwindled down to nothing. His head finally soothed from a pounding headache to a small twinge that too was starting to fade. The sheer weakness that pervaded his every being seemed to recede a bit as well, strength coming back. He still felt so weak, but he at least wasn't shaking slightly in effort to sit...

• Phil sat down before him, watching the bruises and eyebags ease up with a relieved breath, letting Missa have a moment before he reached out to touch at his cheek again. "Okay...let's get this all figured out..."

• And Missa locked his gaze on him again, and his exposed, unmasked face showed his every thought to Phil as he looked for them, the guilt, the pain, the shame, and the tears welling up anew.

• "Hey, no no no, no more tears, its alright...is this all about the stuff that happened while you were under?"

• And Missa whimpered, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. His fingers subconsciously reached for his mask, feeling exposed with his face bare like this, but it was nowhere around, nowhere he could tuck away. He was being seen, Phil could see him, really see him, no shield to guard what little he could hide.

• But every time he tried to look down, to try to hide more, Phil's hand, Phil's gentle, soft hand, with claws that never pricked and tiny feathers that burned his cheek with their phantom touch, gently guided him back up to meet Phil's gaze.

• "Is it about what happened with me earlier? Do you remember?"

• Missa let out a shaky breath. "...I'm sorry...I'm...I'm so sorry."

• "No, there's no need for that. It wasn't you." Phil laid a hand over Missa's where he held the bottle, trying to sooth, honing in on the problem bit by bit.

• "But I...I..." He whimpered again, everything that he had done, the countless sins welling up again. Phil rubbed his cheek with a bit more intensity as his gaze fell, and he sprung back up with a whine. "...I...I thought terrible things..." Another shaky breath. "...I thought I was owed your love, thought...I..." A whine, tears welling up to be cleared by a tender clawed hand. "...I thought I deserved you, so I owned you..."

• Phil hummed, gently coaxing him to talk with squeezes to their conjoined hands and brushes to his cheek, clearing away tears as they came. There was the issue at hand... "And you don't think that now, do you? You got all that shit out of your system and those are all gone, right?"

• Missa blinked, as if not quite comprehending for a long moment. "But...I...I thought of you like that."

• "Yeah, and you were taking drugs prescribed by a clearly psychotic bear, which was stupid by the way, but I'm not gonna fault you for being a little off reality. Not like those thoughts were coming from anything sane. You know we're on equal ground, we're in this together. And I'm right here with you no matter what you think you deserve. You know that, right?" He brushed a thumb under his eye, clearing a tear.

• Missa barely held back a whimper, shying away a bit from the touch. "I...I don't understand, how can you not leave after all...that?"

• Phil looked at him...and he seemed to consider something for a long moment.

• And when he spoke, he didn't answer Missa's question at all. "Missa...look at me honestly. Do you feel like you don't deserve me? Deserve our partnership? And nothing avoiding it. Do you?"

• If Missa wasn't afraid and exposed before, now he was for sure. He was pinned, trapped out in the open, no mask, no shield, nothing to hide the way his face split with sheer panic and anxiety at the question. He was completely exposed to Phil's eyes, everything he desperately tried to hide, to hold on a little longer before Phil realized just how undeserving he was, he couldn't conceal. He didn't even have to get past a few aborted stutters before Phil's eyes softened with a quiet grief, ear feathers dipping low...

• His voice was soft, gentle. "Oh, for fucks sake, mate...why wouldn't you? Do...do you really not know?"

• And Missa is far, far out of his depth. He is adrift, not knowing what anything meant anymore, not when Phil looked at him like that, with grief and care like he was something deserving those looks, or when he way saying things like it wasn't obvious he was inferior to everything Phil was. Helpless, useless, powerless, a hindrance. What could he not know?

• And then Phil was taking his hands away and moving back, and Missa supposed he should have figured it would hit eventually, that Phil would realize and pull away and leave, but that didn't stop the aborted noise of pain that Phil was finally leaving, his time was up.

• But Phil's face instead went wide with surprise, and he was moving again, reaching out and catching his forearms, letting out an alarmed chirp as he scooted closer up onto the bed. "Wait, hold on, hold on, mate, I'm not– I'm here. I was just gonna readjust, get on the bed, come here."

• And Missa was instead met with Phil pressed against him, faces less than a foot apart, and both of his hands came up to hold his face. "...Just wanted to be closer to you. I..." Phil couldn't quite hold eye contact despite the proximity, letting out a breath. The wind of it brushed against Missa's jaw, making his own breath hitch.

• Phil took a moment. "Mate...you...there's nothing for you to prove...you're...god, I hate these talks, you're not unworthy of anything. You don't have to prove yourself to me, or do anything to be better, or do anything to deserve my fucking love. Or anything else that you're thinking and didn't say while you were like that in that state! You're not anything that...you don't have to be anything! This is perfect, you're fine! More than fine! And...god I don't need anything else. Just you and our kids."

• And he took a breath, turning to try to meet Missa's stunned, wide eyed gaze, then chickened out as he tried to speak again. "...I...I don't know if you heard me last night, you were pretty out of it...but...you deserve to know what I told you if you didn't remember it. If you really didn't already know. That...that I love you. And I should have said that to you for the first time when you could hear it. You'd probably want to remember that first 'I love you' or something. But...I love you."

• And Missa couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even remember if he ever knew how to do either of those, just stared, stared at Phil's averted eyes, his flushed, slightly embarrassed face, at his flicking ear feathers and steadying breaths. He didn't even process what he was hearing at first, sweeping over him as he tried to remember how his lungs worked, how to move his voice.

• "....you what?"

• Phil let out another breath, steeling himself to meet Missa's eyes, to not back out of this. To look at Missa's beautiful skull patterned face and not back down. He would not allow these discomforts make Missa feel like he was so unworthy anymore like it had apparently convinced him of. He had to make this right...

• "I. Love you. Just you. Not some steroid drugged you that's stronger or anything else, I don't care about any of that. You are the person I want here. No changes."

• And Missa shook, barely able to keep the eye contact himself, in fact breaking it after a moment to let out a shuddering breath, curling in on himself as he reached up to cling to Phil's wrists where he held his face. He...he didn't understand. He didn't get it, why? Why wouldn't he? After everything? After all the pain?

• "...How...how could you? How could you love me after all this? How could you trust this? I...after everything I did...I, I hurt you, I turned and tried to kill you, after everything you've done for me, everything that I am, I turned and hurt you."

• And Phil let out a breath, worriedly stroking his cheekbones with his thumb. "...Because I trust you more than anything. You weren't in your right mind. I'm not going to judge you for what happened, you don't have any debts...you were hurting..."

• "I hurt you, I tried to be enough to protect you and instead I came and attacked you, I attacked your wings! They're important...I promised I wouldn't ever even touch them if it wasn't careful, and I hurt them." He panted, memories of what he had done flooding back as he thought, starting to spiral into his head again.

• Phil looked him over, worry and pain etched over his face as he saw his Missa breaking...bumping their foreheads together after a moment to try to get his attention, trying to break the spiral he could see on the edge of Missa's mind. He had to catch it before Missa fell truly into these terrible thoughts again. He had to act quick.

• Missa was right in one regard, his wings were important, and no one that he didn't have the utmost trust in could dare lay a hand on them if he could help it.

• So he carefully spread a wing, sweeping it around his front, and brushed it against Missa's side. "Here."

• Missa flinched out of Phil's hold on his face, turning and regarding the wing with terror like it was a wild animal.

• "Touch it."

• And Missa looked over at Phil, shaky, not understanding.

• "Touch it. I trust you."

• Missa stared at Phil, eyes wide. He was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle with the wing brushing like a phantom burn against his side. He couldn't even breathe, not when his wing was right there.

• And Phil was looking at him with that soft look, full of worry and pain and care. He nudged his wing against him again, trying to give an encouraging look. "Go on. I trust you."

• And Missa let out a shuddering breath, slowly looking down at the wing with a look of dread and fear, staring at the messy feathers presented to him. The wing twitched again, near beckoning him as Phil let out a little encouraging chirp. He slowly, achingly slowly, raised his hand, shaky from fear of touching him again, of harming him again.

• A careful, cautious touch, barely brushing against the feathers...then slowly, slowly touching it again, fixing a few feathers carefully, trying to tidy. Phil hummed, pressing his wing into his hand without a care in the world, nudging Missa to gently bury his hand into it and pet the feathers, every touch feeling like a mortal sin and a godly blessing. He pet carefully at his wings, drawing out a peaceful trill from Phil, comfortably chirping and at ease, maybe even exaggeratedly so. Missa let out another shaky, half-sob of a breath, just sitting with his hand in Phil's undefended wing.

• Missa let out a tiny whimper as he stared at the touch, the only warning to the incoming flood, tears spilling over as he began to sob, feeling completely hollowed out by everything. He turned, falling into Phil's chest again as he sobbed in earnest, reaching up to instead clutch at his robes and weep. He was so tired, his chest hurt, it ached like hellfire. He just wanted to stay...he just wanted Phil...

• Phil wrapped around him tight the moment he fell into his arms, cradling him as he let him cry, nosing at his hairline. He pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and began to trill and croon in earnest, trying to help his sweet, wonderful Missa calm. He wouldn't leave him...he would stay...he'd stay until Missa could see everything he was to him...he would make him see, show him the love he always deserved.

• Phil comforted him the entire time, keeping him safe in his arms. After a bit of rearranging to get Missa out from under the last of the blankets, freeing his tail, not daring to break contact for even a second, Missa was settled completely in his lap, able to press properly against him for comfort.

• Phil did all he could to assure Missa he was safe and secure, no longer alone, warbling and tucking his wings around them both like a shelter. He pressed lingering kisses to his hairline after noticing it made Missa shudder, both to bring Missa comfort and to give himself something to do so he didn't also start crying from everything as well...they didn't need more tears.

• After all the crying Missa had been doing, it was safe to say he was exhausted again by the end of the latest bout of sobs. He had cried all his emotions out, leaving only a deep ache in his chest, a pounding headache, withdraw shaking hands, and a once again tear-red face. He laid limp against Phil for a time, simply hiccuping and trying to calm his breath, not wanting to look up at at Phil just yet. He was probably all puffy and unflattering again, erasing all the aid of the healing potion soothing his face. And he had no mask to help cover his tears like he usually did. Instead, he nestled into Phil's chest a bit more, trying to hide from the aching in his head and the bareness of his face...

• As if sensing his discomfort, Phil gently shifted Missa a bit in his lap so that he could reach over to the bedside table and grab another healing potion, gently pressing it against Missa's cheek. "Come on...let's get you fixed up again...this'll help get some water back in you."

• Missa reluctantly pulled his face away from his chest to take it from him, turning his head away to maintain some semblance of privacy, sipping it down. The melon flavor certainly helped with the bad taste in his mouth, and the pounding in his head faded away to a faint fog and his face softened out, no longer aching with tears. The tremors refused to fade and his muscles still ached, but he still felt better.

• With his face turned away from Phil, he didn't notice him slowly leaning in until he felt the brush of lips in his hair, gently pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

• Phil was very much taking advantage of the fact he could kiss him now, past the barrier of knowing if it was alright or if Missa allowed it. His dear husband seemed to need to hide a bit more right now, he wouldn't force him to look...but he was going to be taking advantage of the fact he could now nestle into his hair and lavish on him with all that feelings talk out of the way. He wasn't going to let him feel unloved, not for a moment...

• Missa was frozen by the gentle kiss in his hair, which Phil repeated several more times before nuzzling his hair with a chirp, lowering his arms to hold Missa's waist instead of awkwardly along his chest. Red as a tomato, Missa sat frozen in his arms, not wanting this to end.

• As if sensing how flustered he was, Phil laughed, nuzzling his hair. "You alright, mate?"

• Missa only whined a bit, covering his face with his hands even while turned away, which only made Phil laugh more.

• "...Really, how are you feeling? Any better? Need healing potions too? Food? Water? Little kissies~?" The last bit was said in a sing-song baby voice, teasing him. Seemed he couldn't give Missa a break, flustering him instead of saddening him.

• Missa reached behind him and whacked Phil's head, whining more and pouting, spirits lifted a bit despite himself with all the lovey dovey things Phil was giving him, all the affection...he...Phil really...loved him...

• ...Stop crying again!

• Phil let out a sympathetic laugh, pulling him tight against him and kissing behind his ear. "Ohhh, hey...nooo, I'm sorry mate."

• "...no...no, I'm happy..." Missa sniffled, trying to stem his tears, taking a few breaths. This was a good thing. Phil loved him. He cared about him and loved him despite everything even though he didn't understand and he was so sweet and he just bit his ear! "Hey!"

• Phil was unrepentant, laughing in earnest as Missa swung around with a blush down to his neck to glare at him, adorably lashing his tail behind him. "What!? You're not crying anymore! That fixed it!"

• Missa pouted, giving him big, dewy eyes of indignation, making Phil only laugh more, but Phil was right about it breaking him out of his tears. And Phil really was so beautiful laughing like that, head thrown back and ear feathers gleefully pricked, so he couldn't really complain about it. He sounded like an actual angel in the heavens above...he really was in deep for him, he loved Phil so much. And he could be with him? Phil wanted him? Wanted to be his? It almost seemed like he could, despite everything. Phil was already doting on him, protecting him, and also annoying him. He was still laughing!

• Phil eventually curbed his laughter, wiping the mirthful tears from the edges of his eyes, pulling a grumpy Missa close again with a smile as if in apology. "Alright, alright...really, for real this time. Do you need anything? More water or potions of healing, or food, or a stretch?"

• Missa shook his head, resting his head on Phil's chest, letting out a breath. All his indignation melted away near immediately. This was perfect. He was here in his arms, the pain was merely a distant ache with his husband to focus on, and Phil was always so warm, fighting the chill that Missa could never seem to beat.

• Phil hummed, rubbing his thumb in circles against his lower back, brushing against the base of his tail with his other fingers and making Missa hum with contentment. Phil let them stay in the moment, just holding his Missa, safe and happy, finally soothed down. They could stay like this for as long as he wanted. But eventually...

• "...Do you want to go home now?"

• Missa perked up from the half doze he had fallen into again against his chest, blinking up at him for a moment as he considered. He did want to get away from all these sterile medbay things...but he was so comfortable here against him. Conflicted, he pressed against Phil again with a grumbling whine under his breath, trying to figure out an answer to what he wanted or what he should want, not wanting to move away, only for Philza to somehow guess what he was thinking yet again. How was he doing that?!

• Phil chirruped amusedly, shifting a bit, before decisively maneuvering Missa around to scoop him up bridal style, standing up from the bed with him securely in his arms. "This better?" Missa was so easy to read, especially like this, he was so cute. Goddess, he was going to spoil him rotten now that he could. He wouldn't have a single moment of feeling unloved again if he could help it.

• Missa only stared up at him with a deeply flushed face, mouth slightly agape as he was effortlessly held bridal style in the arms of an angel, his only movement instinctively curling his tail off the bed.

• Phil smirked in amusement, bumping their noses together, reveling in the chance to fluster him more. "What~? Do you want me to put me down and walk you home? I thought you were still feeling a little weak."

• "No. no. I am fine. You can take me like this. I am...I should not be trusted on my legs, yes. I cannot walk." Pull yourself together. This is fine.

• Phil took pity on him, chuckling to himself as he pulled his face away and moved to carry him out of the room, grabbing his backpack on the way. Missa looked every which way when they had exited the Order medbay, taking in the strange building and its many rooms, the deepslate and dim corners and strange aura of the place.

• Before he could ask much about the place, Phil moved him close enough to reach out and touch a waystone, and he was more focused on channeling the magic through the stone to direct him to their home.

• As he appeared on the other side, he found himself falling for a moment with a yelp, Phil teleporting in just after him. A frantic scrabble in the air to catch him again, and Phil was on his knees with Missa once again safe in his arms. With a wide eyed look, Missa stared up at Phil, who mirrored his expression right back as they processed that scramble, before Phil snorted and burst into cackling laughter, tossing his head back with the force of it and pulling Missa close. "Shoulda seen that one coming, mate!"

• Missa just joined in, hiding his face in his chest as he giggled at the absurdity. Of course that would happen.

• "Probably should have had you walk for that one. Or counted to go at the same time since your legs don't work~."

• "Yeah...that was dumb." He giggled harder, ignoring the jab at his excuse to be carried.

• "Lemme see your laugh~" Phil whined, moving to stand up again. He pouted dramatically at him when Missa instead hid more with an embarrassed whine, making a mock sad noise.

• Missa only huffed and peeked his eyes up at him, making Phil melt at the mirthful look in his eyes...a much better look than the haunting that had pervaded his sight for this whole ordeal, or the manic sheen of drugs before that. Missa was happy and that was all he needed.

• Phil carried him the distance from their waystone to their front door, maneuvering around the trampoline, relaxing significantly when the protected door swung closed behind him, safe at home. The cozy home of spruce and many windows never looked so welcoming, the double bed he and Missa shared warm and inviting. He decisively moved over and gently set Missa in the bed, climbing right in after him. All he had to do was sprawl his wings across the mattress behind him, reach out to grab Missa in his arms, and pull the covers over both of them, and it was perfect.

• Missa found himself nestled into Phil's chest in their warm bed, cuddled close, something they rarely did consciously. Sometimes they would get wrapped up in each other in the night, but they would usually start on opposite sides of the bed, and they never spoke of it in the morning if they woke up tangled together. Instead of those more distant nights of falling asleep on opposite shides, Missa nuzzled further into Phil's chest peacefully, wrapping his arms around him to nestle in like he dreamed of so many times, with Phil's arms securely around him right back, absently tracing patterns along Missa's back with his fingers.

• Phil smiled down at him, tilting his head down to start gently placing kisses along his hairline again, idly giving Missa the love he deserved, the love he always deserved. He smiled into the kisses when he heard his reaper squeak, continuing his movements for a time. When he tired of kissing his hairline, he shifted an arm to gently catch Missa's cheek, tilting his head up so he could kiss along his temples, to his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, trailing affection like Missa deserved. He slipped off his nose to kiss up his cheekbone, down his jaw from the ear to the chin, then up the other side. A lingering press to his pulsepoint, feeling it speed and stutter under his affections with a pleased smile.

• Missa was utterly shut down. If the gentle hold in Phil's arms back in the medbay was perfect, if the soft kisses to his hair in their bed was heaven, then this, this was Elysium. The gentle touch of a warm hand cradling his cheek, the tender presses of lips that left near burns behind in their wake, an arm draped across his side to keep him close to his husband. He could barely breathe from it all, he must have acended in the night and everything was his afterlife.

• Phil took pity on him after a moment, pulling his lips away to admire the utterly stunned face of his husband, giving him a moment to breathe. He let out a gentle laugh, releasing his face to instead pull him close and nestle again in his hair, just enjoying the moment. He could have been doing this, the fool he was, pampering his husband and making him feel loved. Especially since it seemed Missa needed it, needed to know just how loved he was. This was perfect, he could last in this moment forever...

• But Phil was tired. It had been a long few days, and he had barely slept last night because of his vigil on Missa, making sure he could be there when he woke and could keep him safe if anything happened. Missa was safe now, he was happy. Missa's cool form was comfortably nestled in his arms, his tangled hair was soft against his face, and the summer air kept their home just at the tipping point between comfortable and cozy. With a content sigh, he allowed himself to doze, to drift along this moment with his husband, quiet with the exception of a few content warbles he didn't bother to hold back. He didn't even notice when he began to slip deeper into rest...

• Missa was slow to recover from the lavishing of care on him, catching the breath that he lost under the whirlwind of gentle touches. He slowly brought his hand to his face, feeling the heat of his blush alongside the phantom burn of lips, letting out a near silent giggle after a moment, giddy with love. He grinned ear to ear up at Phil, catching sight of his lax, peaceful face as he dozed. The sight was perfection, something he rarely got to see, his husband relaxed and content, a lingering smile on Phil's face as he drifted.

• How the gods had he been gifted this? How on earth was he able to pay witness to this? To be here? With wonderful, incredible Phil, who protected and cared for everyone around him without cause. Phil and his perfect laugh, his breathtaking face, accented beautifully with the start of laugh lines and crows feet, his incredible heart that cared for so many things, a heart that Missa apparently had. How the gods had he managed to gain Phil's heart? To hold his affections? What had he done to deserve such a precious gift? He barely could care for his own heart, bleeding everywhere he went, how could he care for someone's as priceless as Phil's? He wouldn't let it hurt...he couldn't. He had to protect it, like Phil always protected him, cared for him, loved him. He would do everything to do the same. He swore it as he watched Phil slip deeper into sleep, stunning and beautiful and everything he could have dreamed to see.

• As he watched him, enamored, he found himself wanting to join his husband in sleep. The night had been hard on him, recovering physically and mentally from the withdrawal. He could feel the ache of the sleepless nights he had endured in that drugged state, training and fighting and showing off for something so stupid, so wrong. And Phil was warm, so warm like a furnace against his perpetually cold skin, and the air of their home had the slightest chill to him even in the summer day, so he buried closer to Phil under the blankets and breathed in his cologne where he pressed against his collarbone. His face still tingled with the lips pressed against the skin, and the spot where Phil had cradled his cheek burned so sweetly, the phantom sensations lulling him to rest.

• The two slept soundly in each others arms, safe and loved.

Chapter Text

Waking up was a slow, comfortable endeavor for Missa.

He came to gently, woken not by alarm or panic, but merely by a gentle lull back to wakefulness. Softness surrounded him, thick blankets heavy over him and the soft down of feathers and fabric under his fingers, keeping him just under the surface. Instead of the ever-present cold, he was pressed against something delightfully warm, chasing the chill that always seemed to follow him. As he roused and his senses slowly came to life, the lovely scent of familiar cologne wafted against his nose, drawing a content sigh. Only the daylight, bright against his eyes, dared to draw him from his haze.

Even as a persistent ache awakened with him, settling in his bones, and his head twinged with the remains of a headache, he felt like he was floating, safe and warm and comfortable.

He pressed his face more into the warmth to hide from the light, a content sigh slipping unhindered, only to pause as the warmth vibrated with a soft chuckle. Surprised, his gaze shot up, only to come face to face with a soft smile and fond blue eyes.

~~~

Phil was drawn from sleep to the sound of quiet birdsong, a few crow caws, and little else, his awakening as peaceful as Missa's own. Well rested, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and air just on the right side of comfortably warm for his warm avian body. Slow, steady, and unimpeded by any stress. A lovely awakening not interrupted by anything. Though, his awakening wasn't nearly as lovely as the sight Phil was treated to once he finally managed to open his eyes against the sun's rays.

Missa was sleeping soundly in his arms, cheek nestled against his chest and arms wrapped around him. His breath brushed lightly against Phil's collarbone, the slightest snore escaping at each soft exhale. He could feel Missa clutching lightly at the back of his robes, just on the edge of brushing his wings, fingers twitching slightly as Phil ruffled his feathers to brush against the digits. Their legs were tangled together beneath the sheets, snuggled close and safe, and he could feel the end of Missa's skeletal tail resting over his calf.

In the afterglow of the sun, Missa looked utterly ethereal.

Phil didn't dare even twitch at first, staring breathlessly at the unmasked face laying lax and peaceful only inches from his own, skin nearly glowing gold in the light, lashes casting shadows upon his cheeks. His hair, though tangled from sleep and the morning's chaos, framed his face like a dark mane, somehow perfect. His lips were slightly parted, the pointed curve of his upper lip drawing Phil's eyes, though he averted them quickly after. Gods, if he wasn't already utterly in love with him, he probably would have fallen in love right at this moment. Perfect, stunning Missa, breathtaking in his arms. Even tainted by the memories brought by the white robes he still wore, a reminder of last night, he was utterly breathtaking.

Looking over this blessing, Phil admired, not knowing how long he memorized every curve of his face, the place of each mole on his cheeks. He breathed in the moment, holding onto Missa before his thoughts shifted to reflection.

A lot happened these past few days, this past morning, even. Missa had taken those terrible pills, and he'd become wild and unhinged, obsessed with "proving himself" to Phil, as if he had anything to prove. Phil had told him as such this morning, but he had to make sure that Missa knew he had nothing to prove. Even with the eggs missing and all the chaos of trying to find them, Missa had nothing to prove to him in any way. If Missa didn't know that, then clearly Phil hadn't done enough to show him. He had left his care too implied, too much in the subtext of his actions and looks. Too afraid of the Federation weaponizing his care of Missa against him, which they had done anyway.

He was an idiot to not show him how much he cared...

Who cared if trouble often found Missa, or he didn't have many resources to defend himself, or wasn't good at fighting sometimes, though he clearly was capable of it with how he fought yesterday, geared up and confident. Phil had enough resources of his own, and Phil was a good enough fighter for both of them, even if he ignored the prowess he had seen Missa capable of. Missa wasn't weak, or useless, or anything what he claimed earlier.

Missa was an incredible father, kind and patient with the kids and always protecting them. He was charismatic, a performer. Effortlessly funny, always making Phil laugh. A thoughtful partner, loyal and devoted, someone who he could trust on this island even when everything else was in turmoil. Missa always tried to come back to them when he was gone, made every meeting worthwhile. The crows adored him, always excited for his arrival, and Missa loved his chaotic entourage right back.

Missa was kind, like a salve to a burn after all the hardships and struggles Phil had endured here, all the secrecy he had to sift through on this island. Phil felt so much calmer whenever Missa was around. He was easy to come back to. With Missa, it was easy to love. That was what mattered to Phil.

He only wanted what was in his arms right now, sleeping away.

Phil sighed peacefully, shifting slightly to lift a wing from the covers, spreading it up, up, up, stretching each sleep-ached muscle. His other wing, pressed against the bed, mimicked the action to sprawl fully along the mattress, drawing a pleased warble from Phil as he felt his wings settle into place. Satisfied, he drew his lower wing back in, but the one in the air followed a different path, slowly lowering to settle over the both of them, blanketing Missa in warm feathers.

Missa seemed to appreciate it, shifting a bit with a soft noise before settling peacefully, leaving Phil to his thoughts once more. More awake and no longer distracting himself with the sight before him, his mind started to wander to darker times, though he fought it. He tried not to drift too much to the night before, but the sounds of agony that Missa had made in that cage still kept him company, the clutching grip on his back as Missa shattered burning phantom touches on his skin. Missa's broken whimpers of unworthiness, of being useless and unable to protect, lies that he seemed to believe with such self-loathing...

Phil pulled him closer, wing tightening over them both.

It took time to shake himself from those thoughts, to meander to better things. The pains of Missa's withdrawal shifted to the deprecation and fear that Missa had this morning, which drifted to ways to check on Missa, to reminding himself to thank the other Order members and give them an update, to trying to figure out what that update would be, to plans to continue the search for the eggs now that Missa was safe.

By the time that it seemed sleep was coming to an end for Missa, Phil was back on track, planning and preparing in his mind. Much more manageable, practical thoughts, which he set aside the moment he saw Missa start to shift, only to find himself once again captivated by the sight before him.

Phil had the pleasure of watching Missa slowly wake, his lax, beautiful face slowly shifting, tightening his eyes shut against the light and washing all worries away from Phil's mind. He watched Missa rouse bit by bit, mumbling to awareness, making Phil's heart skip as Missa let out a content sigh against him. Missa's eyes fluttered before turning more into his chest, an adorable smile on his face as he hid from the light. The way Missa nuzzled into his collarbone was too precious, drawing a fond laugh from Phil, only for Missa to jump a bit and lift his head, blearily coming face to face with Phil. Phil looked down at him, an adoring smile on his lips as he admired the way Missa's face dusted pink.

"Good morning~."

Missa flushed darker, staring up at Phil with a stunned look, waking up much faster now that he was only inches away from a very, very handsome avian. Phil's ear feathers flicked in amusement, only worsening the heat he could feel on his cheeks.

Phil chuckled, leaning down to press their foreheads together with a smile, admiring the way Missa seemed to fluster like this. He was going to have so much fun loving on him...

Missa stuttered, mind catching up, a smile of his own forming on his face as he stared back at Phil, a perfect sight to wake up to. "...Good morning, Philza."

Phil shifted an arm, pulling it from around Missa to cup his cheek, pulling a sigh from Missa as he leaned into it. "Did you sleep well?"

Missa hummed in return, nodding slightly against Phil's forehead.

"I'm glad." Phil pulled his head away so that he could shift his hand, taking advantage of Missa's awakened state to touch and hold. Brushing lightly over soft skin usually hidden by his mask, tracing circles over his brow with a thumb, stroking gentle rhythms to his temple and forehead, rendering Missa devoid of air. He relished in the sight of Missa's eyes unobscured before they fell shut in contentment, the deep brown with flecks of gold, like sparks from the wood of a campfire.

That was so dumb and sappy, what was Missa doing to him?

He brushed over a mole under Missa's eye, and Phil leaned in again to press a gentle peck to the dark spot, startling a laugh out of Missa as his eyes shot open again. Missa saw Phil perk up at the sound, ear feathers pricking in interest and a growing smile on his face. Missa was taken by the sight for only a moment before Phil leaned in again. Phil started to gently kiss along his cheekbone, to his temple, delicate kisses to his fluttering eyelids, along his brow.

Missa couldn't control his mirthful laughter as Phil trailed down the bridge of his nose to place a quick peck to the tip, Missa leaning into the hand at his jaw with a smile. He tightened his hold around Phil, overwhelmed by the affections lavished on him so early in the morning...was it morning? Didn't matter. Could be the Afterlife for all he knew, it felt like a dream.

Phil trailed back up his face to pepper kisses along his forehead, utterly in love with the way that Missa blushed under his touch, never wanting to stop showing how much he cared about him...for this him. Anything to draw more laughter from his husband, his beautiful husband. He finally paused after a few more moments of lavishing, pulling away to admire his handiwork, feeling Missa's tail wag against his calf with a feeling of triumph and a pleased warble.

Missa stared up at Phil, utterly stunning in the light coming in from the windows. Dark feathers were wrapped close around him, and Phil's hand was on his jaw and looking at him with such affection, and Missa couldn't help but fall in love again and again in these safe, warm arms.

Phil cradled Missa's flushed, adorable face, opening his mouth to speak again after a moment, putting on an overly sappy tone. "Good morning, husband~."

Phil snorted as he heard himself, immediately breaking the moment with another as he burst into laughter. Missa followed behind with a suppressed snort of his own, ducking his head to hide in his chest as he joined Phil, both of them cackling like children as the afternoon caught up with them.

Phil wrapped his arm around Missa again, burying his face in Missa's hair as his laughter subsided, grinning like a madman as he held his husband close. He relished in the moment, this waking up together, laughing together, something he hoped would happen again and again, dangers be damned. Missa deserved this, deserved love, deserved to know that he was loved.

Missa stayed pressed into his chest, giddy. "That was...the dumbest thing I've heard."

"Hey, I tried being romantic for you!"

"It was so fucking dumb, man."

Phil huffed indignantly, ear tufts puffing up in offense, but he couldn't keep character for more than a moment before he laughed again, utterly in love as he snuggled close, wing shifting to wrap around them more. Goddess, he loved him.

Missa relaxed in Phil's hold, full of mirth, turning his head to look up at the wing shifting to cover him, only to pause as he caught sight of cut feathers in front of his face, stilling the moment. He stared, pulling an arm from around Phil to hesitantly reach up towards them, only to hesitate, guilt stopping him short.

Phil paused, feeling Missa tense in his hold, catching sight of what was happening with a sobering of his own. Half exasperated, half mournful, he lifted his wing up from around them...only to shove it into Missa, smothering him in the fluff. "Quit being dramatic and groom them if you're gonna groom them. Thought you knew I don't care about all that."

Missa sputtered, turning his head away from the faceful of feathers, only for Phil to shift his wing further into his face with an exasperated grin. Missa pushed the wing away, gentle as always with the feathers, and he pouted up at Phil, his husband remaining unrepentant.

Phil only grinned. "You're very pretty, you know."

Missa's face fell into a whine at that, ducking to hide in Phil's chest, having to stop his tail from lashing under the blankets in embarrassment.

"It's true, you're adorable~."

Missa whined louder. "¡Intentas ponerme nervioso!"

Phil laughed, though his com wasn't with him to translate exactly what he said. It sounded flustered, though. "Hey! That's no more than what you say to me when you're trying to escape the translator, I know you do that! You are! Even with the whole priest getup, you're so pretty!" He nuzzled his hair, pausing a bit. "...We do need to burn that or something, though."

Missa blinked and glanced down, wincing as he saw he was still in the white reaper cloak the Federation gave him, instinctively tucking his hand into Phil's robe for comfort. "...yeah. We should." He pointedly ignored the dig at his secret praises.

Phil hummed, leaning down to press a kiss into his hair as he felt Missa tense, trying to raise the mood again. Though, he should probably check on him in all seriousness. "...We can do it in a bit. How are you feeling?"

Missa paused, considering himself the first time this afternoon. His head held onto the remains of a headache, one that persisted even past the potions he took earlier, and now that he was paying attention to it, his body ached past the worn out muscles down to his very bones. His mind was still feeling a little foggy, and his hands were pretty shaky, and his skin was tingling, and–. Gods, also he was starving.

"...I feel just fine. Just a little hungry." The rest was fine.

Phil chittered in consideration at that, looking out at the sky outside. "...We have missed...a lot of meals, haven't we. Goddess, I'm fucking starving, you're right." Lifting his wing from atop Missa, he began to untangle from him and sit up, much to Missa's disappointment to lose the cuddles. Full of energy, Phil slipped out from the blankets, looking back at Missa with a grin. "Come on, let's eat."

Missa stared up at Phil, struck frozen by that beautiful grin down at him, seeming to glow like an angel in the afternoon light.

Without the mask hiding his face away, Phil got the pleasure of watching Missa's face bloom with pink, staring with a look of almost awe. Phil tucked down the way his heart fluttered at the look, admired like this, forcing his ear feathers not to twitch too much with the flattery. Instead of showing how Missa's gaze got to him, he instead smirked and leaned over him again, teasing. "Well? You coming?"

Missa let out a frankly adorable squeak, scrambling to move.

He tried to sit up, struggling out of the blankets, but his arms felt like jelly now that he put weight on them, wincing as the ache doubled at the effort. Phil was quick to catch his shoulder and help him, looking at him in concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine." Missa steadied himself, playing it off with a smile. "I'm alright, don't worry."

Phil didn't seem convinced, but moved away to let him up. Missa fully pushed himself up, swinging his legs off the bed and stumbling to his feet, ignoring how his legs wobbled under him. Phil let out a fond huff, wordlessly pressing close and wrapping him in a wing, admiring the mock pout on Missa's lips as the reaper leaned against him.

They stepped outside, the heat of the summer air hitting them as the sun shone upon them, Missa melting a bit as it chased the chill away from his aching, always cold body. Reaper drawbacks...

They rounded the corner to the bunker entrance, waving off the half-dozen or so crows that hopped along the fence with them, eager to see the two after all the excitement. Phil moved as if to help carry Missa down, though Missa waved him off, determined to make it down the ladder himself. He was fine, no need to worry over him so much. Phil sighed at him, mumbling to himself, but he was happy to hold the trapdoor to the bunker for him instead.

As they slipped inside, Phil paused as he caught sight of the tiny empty beds across the room, nestled in the moss. He quickly shook himself out to escort Missa the rest of the way to the kitchen, guarding Missa from the sight with the wing around him. Now wasn't the time to upset him with that. Not now.

Missa moved to take his spot at the counters to cook, only for Phil to push him into a chair and move off to grab the supplies himself. "Philzaa..." He whined.

"Sit. I got this." He tapped Missa's nose as he passed with a loaf of bread, an affectionate smile on his face as he watched Missa wrinkle his nose in response.

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Missa sat back, secretly appreciating the gesture as he rested his body. Gods, those pills really did something to him, his muscles were shaking from just the trip down, making the bone-deep ache everywhere only worse.

He watched Phil set to work, putting together some sort of fish sandwich, or maybe fish and avocado toast, knowing Phil. It was nice to sit, his legs were settling again, and the sun was pouring in from the window, haloing his husband like the angel he was as he worked. It was comfortable just watching him, able to admire the scene, watch Phil's ear tufts twitch and swivel with focus. He seemed to have the food handled. Maybe he should just rest...

Oh. No. He should not. That fish was going to cook unevenly.

Missa pushed himself to his feet with a vengeance, tail lashing to keep his balance as he stumbled over to the stove to push Phil away, a strict look on his face, though his push was merely more of a suggesting nudge. Phil blinked up at him, a gentle laugh on his lips as he heeded the nudge, shaking his head. A stern look like that was to be heeded. He trusted Missa to know himself, stubborn as he seemed to be about this.

As Missa leaned against the counter to support himself, determined to make the food, Phil moved back in to press a kiss to his cheek, admiring the way his skin flushed under his lips. Goddess, he could get used to this. Seeing Missa. Touching Missa. Kissing Missa. He could get very used to this.

Keeping an eye on Missa just in case, Phil leaned back against the counter nearby, letting him work. He pulled out his com to idly fuss with it, only to find whispers to him from the others. Might as well.

[11:48:25] Etoiles >> You were so good at fighting, you were the goat. Nothing can stop you.
[11:48:57] Etoiles >> When I think of my fighting skills, I cry because they are not as good as yours
[11:49:11] Etoiles >> Rest king, you are so epic.
[16:18:35] Ph1LzA >> you're the goat you're the goat you're the goat
[16:18:44] Ph1LzA >> you are the only one who can't lose even if you try
[16:19:02] Etoiles >> MY BROOOOO

[12:32:05] Tubbo_ >> PHILLLLLLLLLLLL
[12:32:38] Tubbo_ >> U good?
[12:42:50] Tubbo_ >> Philllllllllllll
[13:47:50] Tubbo_ >> Phil youre gone where dd you go
[13:48:32] Tubbo_ >> Youre usually out and about by now
[13:49:10] Tubbo_ >> Donowalled
[13:05:25] Tubbo_ >> Cellbits asking about you are you okay?
[13:06:33] Tubbo_ >> Phil?
[13:07:27] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:28] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:28] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:28] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:29] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:29] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:29] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:30] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:30] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:30] Tubbo_ >> PHIL????
[13:07:31] Tubbo_ has been timed out for spam.
[13:08:53] Tubbo_ >> Phil are you good?
[13:15:01] Tubbo_ >> Cellbit said youre fine now
[13:15:08] Tubbo_ >> I've been baited
[16:21:32] Ph1LzA >> Yeah m8, just at home again and slept. Had a busy night.
[16:21:49] Ph1LzA >> We got Missa. He's doing better.

[13:02:34] Cellbit >> Where are you?
[13:03:18] Cellbit >> Everything alright?
[13:08:52] Cellbit >> Saw you and Missa at home on the map, everything alright?
[13:14:26] Cellbit >> Aww, when's the wedding?
[16:22:34] Ph1LzA >> Fuck you. Did you spy on us???
[16:24:58] Cellbit >> Your windows were wide open. It's not spying if I can see right in.
[16:25:06] Ph1LzA >> Bruh.
[16:25:20] Cellbit >> Is everything alright though?
[16:25:49] Ph1LzA >> Yeah, Missa's a little fucked up still, but we're fine
[16:26:06] Ph1LzA >> I think he's still pretty caught up on everything that happened
[16:26:18] Cellbit >> Let me know if you need anything
[16:26:31] Ph1LzA >> I will, thanks for helping
[16:27:02] Cellbit >> I want in the wedding party.
[16:27:09] Ph1LzA >> Piss off.

Phil turned off his com with a roll of his eyes, turning his attention back to Missa. He didn't stop himself from simply watching, admiring the focused look on his face as Missa worked, braced against the counter. He shifted to free a wing from between him and the counter, reaching out to brush at Missa with it in affection. Missa gently pushed it away from the fire of the stove, not even seeming to notice what he was doing until a second after he had already done so, looking up in surprise. Phil laughed at his expression, bumping the wing against his hand again.

Missa's tail twitched anxiously as he looked the wing over, trying to quiet the guilt in his chest as he looked at where his hand was buried in feathers. It was fine. Phil said so. He could touch. He pet it the slightest bit with the back of a finger, convincing himself, before gently pushing it back to Phil and away from the stove, offering a little smile that seemed to send Phil melting. It was fine.

Phil thought his gaze was utterly beautiful, the way his eyes glittered free of his mask.

He watched Missa turn back to the stove to cook, admiring him quietly as he focused on seasoning the fish and cutting the lettuce and making some sauce that smelled amazing. His tail idly swayed behind him as he worked, arm carefully braced on the counter to stabilize himself, bathed in light from the window above the counters. A domestic scene right out of a dream. His husband in his element, easily back on his feet, resilient as ever. Phil would keep close to make sure it wasn't an act, but for now, it was easy to imagine nothing even happened other than the shake of Missa's hands and the steadying arm on the counter.

And the bright white cloak. It was...very bright in the window-light.

With a hum, he pushed off from the counter to wrap his arms around Missa from behind, nuzzling his nose into the hair behind his ear. He pulled Missa to lean back against him, supporting him a bit to give him a rest and free up his hand to work, feeling Missa sigh against him. He just enjoyed the moment, holding his wonderful husband close while nestled into his hair. The only sounds between them were idle chirps of contentment from Phil and gentle sighs from Missa, both lost in each other for a time, together shining in the light of the window.

They pointedly ignored the crows staring through said window at them.

As they focused back in on their surroundings and Missa began to plate up the food, Phil propped his chin on his shoulder to watch, the scratch of unfamiliar fabric against his jaw making him pause. "You know, your new outfit's a little blinding like this."

Missa blinked, looking down at his outfit with a wince. "Ah. I didn't change." He reached up to tug at the cloak, face turned in disdain, discomforted by the reminder of the prior days. What he'd worn when he'd hurt people, hurt Phil.

Considering the fabric for a moment longer, he pulled from Phil's hold. "I'm taking this off. I hate this so much."

Phil moved to grab the place to take to the table as Missa tugged the cloak over his head, twittering approvingly. "We can light a fire after dinner." He turned back, idly watching Missa fight the fabric off of him, then throw it into the corner with a disgusted huff, drawing a snicker from Phil as he saw Missa's mussed up hair.

"Should be burned in the Federation's building."

Phil laughed louder, moving over to smooth his hair down for him. "We can smoke em out, maybe burn it down."

"Yeah, burn it! Burn them all down!" He grinned fiendishly as he leaned into Phil's claws, then against Phil himself for support, feeling the claws scratch nicely against his scalp a bit with a wag of his tail. Picking at his undershirt a bit, He weighed whether to actually go up and change out of the rest of it, or stay down here. The warm sandwiches...

Missa sighed, leaning more against Phil. "I'm changing after dinner."

Phil hummed agreeably, using the hand in his hair to tilt Missa's head, pressing a kiss to his temple to watch his eyes light up again. Missa covered his now pink face with a hand a moment later.

"We can head up after. Come on, you made us a nice dinner." He pressed a wing idly against Missa's back to nudge him toward the table, letting Missa cling to him.

As Missa slipped into his seat, Phil rifled about in his inventory, sliding a regen potion next to Missa's plate with a knowing look, settling into his own chair. Missa sighed fondly, shaking his head as he grabbed the potion. "You give so much."

"I give enough." Phil picked up his sandwich with a pointed look, shutting down anything possibly behind Missa's words. Missa hummed and ducked his head a bit but didn't say anything, focusing on his food instead. Phil kept his gaze on him for a moment longer, before smiling and and taking a bite of his own sandwich, only to freeze as the taste hit his tongue. Holy shit. He forgot Missa was the perfect cook.

Phil savored every bite, reverently eating the expertly cooked salmon and perfectly toasted bread. Hopefully Missa would make many more meals like this, he was so talented at this. Not to mention it was nice to sit, eating a nice dinner together, just quietly in each others presence.

"You think this is a date~?"

Missa nearly choked on his food, covering his face to hide the blush as Phil laughed fondly. Another victory to fluster him.

Missa muttered exasperatedly in Spanish under his breath for a moment, composing himself. "...It can be? I guess? I can do a better date than this. It would be better. Much better."

Phil smiled softly, leaning his head on his hand, nudging Missa's foot with his own. "We'll have plenty of time for nice dates."

Missa got a soft look behind his hand as he thought on that. Plenty of nice dates...

They finished their food quietly after that, minds wandering to sweet thoughts. Missa felt strength starting to return to his body as the food broke down to player magics, helping wash away more of the withdrawal alongside the potion. Slowly, he was returning to health and comfort. But, he was still faced with these uncomfortable white clothes weighing on him. He should change out of these, get back into something familiar. But the bedroom was so far up, and while he was already feeling stronger, he didn't want to make all that effort just for the clothes. He also couldn't be near Phil as much as they walked, and he quite liked being this close to him. Maybe...

"I'm tired from cooking, I don't think I can walk back..."

Phil looked over in concern from where he was getting up to put dishes in the sink, checking him over. Missa blinked his eyes sadly at him, pouting a bit, a sad wet cat who was so, so tired from all his hard work.

Phil snorted, shaking his head at his husband. "Jesus Christ, mate. If you want me to carry you, you can just ask."

He set the plates down, easily scooping Missa up bridal style into his arms. Missa let out a stifled noise of surprise, scrabbling for a second to wrap his arms around Phil's shoulders, but Phil could tell this was exactly what Missa wanted by the way he leaned right into him, his tail twitching happily where it hung. It was cute.

Victorious, Missa was happy as could be as Phil moved toward their room, comfortably in his arms. Phil kept him steady, even as they had to scale the ladder, Missa keeping up the act that he couldn't possibly climb up there, testing the boundaries of this new part of their relationship. He may have also been getting a bit of revenge for the flirting, too. Especially when he oh so contently nuzzled into Phil's chest, emboldened by the way Phil's face turned pink.

Back in their room, still aglow with evening light, Phil put Missa down on their bed, looking down at him with an amused look on his face. So Missa was capable of being a little shit, hmm? "Do I need to carry you to the dresser, or are you good to grab your own clothes?"

Missa laughed, stumbling to his feet. "No, I am miraclely better." He moved over to dig around in his drawers, pulling out fresh clothes as Phil laughed behind him. Missa could get used to this, this life. All he needed was...well, the children back. Right. The kids.

Later.

Changing was quick, swapping out the Federation wear for a familiar outfit of a thick, faded blue sweatshirt and warm, dark pants. The dyed leather harness was left in its drawer for now, but he grabbed one of his violet cloaks to feel the comfortable weight around his shoulders again, wrapping himself in it contentedly. In the summer air, the thick cloth kept him perfectly warm.

Phil slipped past behind him, snatching another folded cloak from the drawer to throw around his shoulders, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Missa turned and stared, Phil grinning cheekily back at him, a smug chirp on his tongue. "Do I look good?" He flared his wings out from under the cloth, posing a bit, before he nudged Missa with one to break him out of his blushing stupor. "Hmm?"

Missa shook himself, hands coming to idly pet at the wing pressed against him with a small laugh. He looked lovely in his cloak. "A fashion icon."

The wing fluttered slightly under his hands, leaning into the strokes as Missa registered the softness of the feathers under his hand, Phil moving a bit closer. "You know, they're still a little ruffled up...it's easier if someone helps preen them, you know."

Missa blinked in surprise, pulling his hands away. "Oh, I...I don't know. I don't really know how to do all that, and..."

"I'll walk you through it. It's really not too hard, mate."

Missa looked down at the wing, at the feathers he remembered digging his hands cruelly into when his axe failed him, feathers he had harmed...

Phil looked over the way Missa's face fell a bit, how his tail stilled from his idle sway. He slipped closer, raising a hand to cup Missa's cheek and lift his gaze, looking into his eyes. "You know...if you're really are still caught up on what you did while not of your own mind, you could just help tidy them up in return. Sentence served, debts paid. Not that you even have a debt to pay."

Doubt clung to Missa's chest, but with Phil's thumb brushing his cheek so sweetly, it was hard to say no to that gentle smile.

Missa allowed himself to be ushered back to the bed, Phil settling onto the mattress in front of him, wings idly spreading over the blankets for Missa to touch and move. Though they had to fight the cloak to be out of the way, eventually just giving up and unclasping it.

"Maybe I should have put this on after." Phil laughed, putting the cloak in his lap. Phil easily put his back to Missa, settling a wing onto Missa's lap as if it were no big deal, not something so precious and sacred.

Phil smiled back at him, encouraging. "Just run your fingers through them, put the feathers back in place. Any feathers that have been messed up, just pinch your finger along it and they should hook back into place. They're like velcro. Any loose ones that just flutter around, not attached to anything? You can just comb them out, they should just fall out as you go with a little effort."

He looked at the patches of wings that had been under the axe, considering. "...Any of these cut or messed up ones, I'll pull them out later if they need it, so don't worry about those. Oh, and there's a little thing like right above my tail, makes oil for the feathers. Put it on your hands as you go, you just press on it a bit."

Missa listened intently, hands hovering over the wing, cautious to start. The wing bumped up against him, Phil offering an encouraging smile and a "Go on, mate," slowly convincing him into brushing at the first feather.

As Missa carefully combed at the feathers, arranging and smoothing them over, it was actually pretty easy to fall into a rhythm considering the value of the limb in his hands. Phil hummed contentedly, preening at his other wing idly as he offered little bits of advice to the reaper, the feeling of another's hands in his wings sparking memories just outside of his grasp, something he knew he remembered but couldn't hold. Something the Federation likely kept from him. It was important, some past communal preening. He sighed, letting the ghost memory slip from his mind.

Phil looked back at Missa, his bare face a look of focus, framed by tangled hair. Hair that could do with a tending of its own. "Hang on a minute."

He shifted a bit, lifting the wing from Missa's grasp for a moment to twist and face him, leaning over to grab a brush off the nightstand. Getting settled again, this time facing Missa mostly at his side, he spread his wing round his side to plop it back into Missa's lap, brandishing the brush like a prize. "You need that mess dealt with too, mate."

Missa stared back, a little confused, only for Phil to lean forward and hold the brush up to Missa's head, silently asking permission. After Missa's nod, he started brushing at his hair, separating out sections to tease the knots out. Missa's heart fluttered a bit at the action, right back to being pampered when he was the one meant to pamper Phil, resolving to make sure he preened his wings even better as he ignored the way Phil was leaning close all domestic.

Phil settled himself into a rhythm, careful not to pull too much at the knots. Brushing Missa's hair out felt almost like a preening, working his way up the hair, the movements reminiscent of one of the core bonding activities of avians such as himself. A communal activity of close flock members, trusting each other at their backs, able to sit and talk and bond. Built in socialization time, casually intimate in trust and care. It was nice to replicate it, even if the hints of memories that came with these motions taunted him.

He brushed his hair for a time, tilting Missa's head this way and that to make sure he got each part, repeating the motions peaceably as he felt Missa's hands return to his wing. Eventually, he put the brush down in favor of his claws, dragging them lightly along Missa's scalp to watch his expression melt and lean into the touch, tail wagging happily against the blankets.

With this calm, Missa relaxed like this. Phil employed another factor of preening time to advance his plan. Socialization. Even if he was no good at doing all this talking stuff.

"Were you always that good at fighting?" He started casual, an idle smile on his face, as if it was a random thought.

Missa looked over a bit in surprise, roused from his comfortable focus on the wings to consider the question. "Oh...that was probably the pills, you know."

Phil hummed. "Nah, Forever wasn't that good at fighting when he was on them. Just OP loot."

"Forever was on them?"

"Yeah, you missed that. He was pretty calculated, but he wasn't that good at fighting, not like you were. I doubt they were some sort of steroid."

"...well, it had to be? I'm not very good at that stuff." Missa messed with a feather, smoothing it down.

"Well I don't think it was." Phil spoke fondly, a smile on his lips as Missa looked at him in confusion. "You were really good, mate. Kept even me at bay."

"I...well I had to be a good fighter for...for the Federation. They probably did that."

"Well they had to have a good fighter to start." Phil nudged his shoulder, gentle, Missa letting out a noncommittal hum, a bit red as he seemed to chew on that.

Phil let that linger for a moment before he continued, rubbing his shoulder. "The Federation. What did they need a fighter for like that?" Why did they do this to you? went unsaid.

Missa curled up a bit, wincing, recalling the memories. "...Control. To keep you all in line. I...I had to keep peace...and I had to fight some people..." His face twisted, instinctively covering his expression with a hand.

Phil softened, leaning in a bit as he took Missa's other hand in his own. "...Do you need me to get your mask?"

"...No, no, I'm fine." He took a breath, composing himself, slowly pulling his hand away from his face to pet at Phil's wing, focusing on that instead alongside Phil's hand in his. "People were getting upset about the eggs. They, the Federation, told me that they'd tell me all about the eggs if I did, what happened to them." His face darkened with something, pushing it away as he adjusted another feather. "Then they just told me that this was keeping everyone safe, and this was bringing perfection to the island..."

Phil hummed. "Point the feathers in the direction from the joint, by the way, not straight down." He kept his tone deliberately light, adjusting a strand of Missa's hair. "So they didn't tell you about the eggs?"

"...They did." Missa looked away, something behind his eyes, voice quiet, sounding almost small. "...Something bigger was on the island. They ran away because we couldn't protect them enough. But...I don't know, that was probably a lie, that they would leave us like that, not that we couldn't protect them. I wouldn't be able, but you absolutely could." Missa's hands fell still in Phil's wing, thinking.

"We both could have, you were great." Phil's tone was gentle but firm, drawing a claw over his scalp. That information about their children was the same as what Missa said in the throes of withdrawal, so it checked out, but the way Missa's words tinged with something below the surface, how he didn't look convinced by Phil's assurances, only a hum in response...

They were both still, Missa's gaze clouded in thought, while Phil was observing with sharp attention. Missa shook his head slightly, lighter, playing it off, as if he wasn't an open book in each twitch of his face. "...Whatever they said it was, it threatened the 'perfection' of the island too. The Federation didn't like that, they really like perfection apparently." He laughed idly, looking at Phil with clearly deliberate airiness.

Phil looked Missa over, seeming to consider something, like he knew something he shouldn't. Focused, debating, before cutting to the chase.

"Missa...did you take the pills to try to be better?"

Missa froze, staring at Phil like a deer in headlights.

Phil met his gaze, eyes sharp, but tone even. "Did you?"

Missa stuttered, mouth working to respond, but Phil only stared intensely back, cutting right through him. Under the weight of it, Missa's placating lies died on his tongue, attempts to school his face quailing before they could even start, leaving only an exposed look behind.

He licked his lips nervously, trying to find a route out of this, an escape, to deny, but there was none. Only a long silence between two people that clearly already knew the answer. His shoulders, previously hunched defensively, now sagged with shame, giving up on trying to deny it. Silently, he nodded, averting his gaze in humiliation.

Phil's stare softened to a saddened look, reaching out gently to tug Missa into his lap and hold him close, nuzzling against his cheek. "We have got to work on your issues, mate. Our family doesn't need anyone better. I don't at least."

His wings came up easily to wrap around them, Missa tucking into Phil as the feathers swaddled them. He ducked his head a bit, seeming to not fully believe Phil's words, but Phil pulled him closer to kiss at his temple, nudging at him. "This is exactly what I want, right here. Got it? I like this you, and I'm all for self-growth and all that shit, but maybe grow your self esteem instead or something."

Missa snorted a bit at that, shaking his head, but Phil teased a trail of kisses along his hairline before he could deny his words. "I'm serious, you think I would have stayed if I didn't like hanging around with you? This is exactly what I want, right here." He nuzzled his nose against Missa's temple, nudging his face to the side and granting him access to his cheek, which he took advantage of to linger a kiss against, stopping any protest. "This right here, alright?"

His words and kisses washed Missa's arguments away, leaving only a dark blush and a twitching tail of bone. Missa ducked again to hide his face in Phil's shoulder, whining more as Phil simply nuzzled his hair instead. The avian shifted back to just hold him after a moment, granting Missa a reprieve to tussle with his thoughts.

Why was Phil so sweet to him? Why did he say things like that to him, be so kind? Missa snuggled closer into Phil's hold, taking a breath and just thinking. Considering. Phil really wanted all this. After everything. After even seeing him on these pills.

It was...sweet. It was really sweet. Even if he didn't understand why.

After a time, mulling over everything, Missa finally looked up at Phil, causing Phil's heart to stutter as he regarded something so pretty peering up at him through dark lashes. How did Missa manage to disorient him like that with just a look, even at a time like this? It was unfair.

Missa tilted his head to nestle his cheek better against Phil's chest, humming almost idly. "What do you like about me so much?"

Phil blinked, surprised by the question, before letting out an amused huff. "You really want me to get into it?"

"Try me?"

Phil grinned, taking a deep breath, clearly ready for the challenge. "Alright, mate, you asked."

"I like a lot of things. You're sweet, you're very kind, you make great company every time you're around, and you're a great father to Chayanne, Chayanne fucking adores you, I'm pretty sure you're his favorite of us two, and you took in Tallulah basically as soon as I told you about her. You're fantastic at singing and guitar, and absolutely hilarious, like, you are so fucking funny, and also hot as hell which is a plus."

"You're great to be around just in general, and even when you're gone for a while you always come back to us, plus you're someone I can completely trust, which is kinda rare on this island sometimes. And you always want to protect the people you care about. Not to mention it turns out you can really fucking fight, you managed to put me on my ass. Which was cool. What else about you..." Phil looked back down from where he was ranting, only to pause with a snort.

Missa stared up at Phil with a beet red face, wide eyed with his mouth hanging slightly open, utterly stunned. He blinked a few times, flabbergasted by the whole string of words that just came from his husband, just trying to process it. After a moment, his mouth moved to try to form a sentence, figure out a response to that barrage of praise, before simply settling on a dumbfounded, "Oh."

Phil snorted, and Missa somehow went redder as he caught up to himself, covering his mouth then his face with both of his hands. Phil cackled above him, curling around Missa as he laughed so hard he broke into a coughing fit.

Missa whined in embarrassment as Phil fought to get his breath under control, half-regretting the denial of his mask. At least Phil sounded amazing as he laughed, even if it was at his flustered expense. There was that at least.

Phil...thought all that of him? And he hardly had to think about it before he was saying all that?!

Wings fluttered around them with Phil's laughter, offering a distraction that Missa gladly latched onto, shifting to embarrassedly preen at a wing instead of dealing with Phil, muttering, "Eres tan vergonzoso..."

He turned his body away to focus on preening, and so he could hide his blush when his husband only laughed harder when the translation pinged off his com. Though, he dutifully kept the wing Missa was preening still through the laughter, which Missa was thankful for, he didn't want to accidentally pull on a feather.

After a few moments to curb his laughter again, Phil tightened his arms around Missa to pull him close again, the reaper twisting to put his back to Phil's chest as he preened, settling comfortably in his lap. Phil propped his chin on Missa's shoulder, a giddy smile on his face. "Tu es bonito~."

"Oh, don't start. And es 'eres bonito'." Missa kept his focus dutifully on the wing, fighting to keep his blush down.

"Then eres bonito~." Phil chuckled, utterly in love as he watched Missa's hands stutter to preen at the feathers, leaning his wing into the touch with a smile. "And as I said, you are fucking hilarious."

"You are a menace, I hope you know that."

"I'm just saying! You make me laugh." Phil nuzzled his shoulder, taking a breath to wind himself down. Despite his pout, Missa leaned placidly back into his chest, tail winding around Phil's knee as he smoothed over a feather. It wasn't long until he was settling into the rhythm again, shifting from the excuse of being occupied to actually focusing on preening.

As they calmed, Phil took in the moment for a time, just holding Missa close, the feeling almost perfect. If the eggs were piled on the bed as well, safe and sound, then it would have been. A moment for the future, for when they got the children home.

After a time, they slowly separated so Missa could get at Phil's shoulders, then his back, the avian nearly sinking into the mattress as Missa easily adjusted feathers that he had to contort to even reach. He was making Missa tidy his back every night at this rate, this was much better than the half-hour of struggle otherwise.

...Hands guiding his tail feathers to lay flat over the blankets, a half-familiar, just on the edge of memory sensation...

Phil let the thought pass, instead losing himself into Missa's movements.

Missa prided himself as he got the hang of the movements, gliding his hand through the down against Phil's skin, watching Phil slowly go lax. He noted how Phil stopped his own efforts to preen, instead merely sitting, wings falling more and more from their places against his back to eventually sprawl limp against the mattress.

Pausing in focus, Missa looked up for a moment, only for his breath to catch. Phil, positioned between Missa and the sun-bright windows, head thrown back in contentment, ear tufts peacefully hanging low, hair glowing like spun gold, dark wings spread lax across their blankets. His figure was haloed perfectly by the evening light.

Utterly angelic. One of the most beautiful sights Missa had ever laid eyes on, an angel serene just a breath away, pliant right under his fingers. He couldn't draw breath, but he didn't even notice, didn't need air when something so divine was just before him. A divinity that he had to himself, his husband, his partner, who loved him, could name a dozen things he loved about him, a list that would surely be dwarfed by the hundreds of things Missa could name back.

How on earth did he manage to have Phil as his own? To have someone so beautiful, so perfect? How did he catch the heart of an angel, granted such trust that he put his back to him without any route to escape? Prepared, survivalist Philza?

Phil shifted a bit, tilting his head slightly to the side as his eyes slipped open to look at him, irises as aglow as the window outside, and Missa realized with a jolt that his hands had stilled with his staring. He quickly brushed against a feather, focusing as if he had never paused, averting his gaze until he felt Phil sigh under his hands and turn his head back to rest, neck bared in complete vulnerability as his eyes fell closed once more. Missa devotedly continued the preening, though he allowed himself to stare every few moments the rest of the session.

When Missa finally ran out of feathers to straighten, he couldn't make himself draw his fingers from the wings at first, wanting to keep this moment forever. The contrast of his being unable to even touch the wings a few hours before was not lost to him in this. He sighed, knowing Phil probably did this for a reason, strategical as always.

He instead took the excuse to slowly glide his hands through the down, memorizing the softness, the silken feeling between his fingers. When he ran out of excusable time to reason his movements, then and only then did he pull away and end the moment.

His voice was soft, almost a whisper to not break the bubble of this peace. "Think it's done."

Phil let out a confused chirp, ear flicking towards his voice his only movement for a moment, mind seemingly emptied. Lax and bared, catching up to the preen being over as Missa's words registered. He flicked his ear feathers a few times, rousing himself with a roll of his neck and shuffle of his shoulders, before he spread his wings wide in a stretch, dwarfing all in the room with their size. Even clipped, they nearly brushed each wall, glimmering with fresh sheen and in perfect array. A single flap, and they were tucked neatly against his back once more, Phil turning to look back with a smile that stole Missa's breath away, full of love and gratitude and affection.

Phil's voice held just as much of those emotions, warm and almost adoring. "Thanks for that, mate. Feels great. I'll have to ask you to do that again."

Missa let out a breathless laugh, smiling right back. "I'd love to, man..."

Phil noted affectionately that Missa's tail was wagging, only making him cuter with Missa's...everything. He took a moment to just admire him, just for a second, before he moved to slip off the bed so he could settle his wings properly. He stumbled as he stood, weak in the knees from Missa rendering him so boneless, but he caught himself fast and seamlessly. Once his balance was restored, he ruffled his wings, flapping them slightly until everything felt right, and oh, his wings felt right. They felt refreshed, almost pristine, with none of the aches and twinges of trying to twist round and do it himself. Even if he wasn't more obviously courting Missa now, he probably would have demanded to do this again regardless, screw the prescient of flock.

...It was nice to call Missa flock, though...

He turned back to the bed, seeing Missa had shifted to sit cross-legged, before violet fabric caught his eye. The cloak he had put on before the preen. With a grin, he reached out to snatch it up, throwing it over his shoulders again to settle between his wings. "Now I get to wear this!"

Missa seemed to melt at the sight, laughing a bit as Phil struck a pose. "Are you going to steal all my clothes now?"

"Nah, wouldn't want to cut wing holes in everything."

Missa laughed more, chin in his palm where he propped his arm on his knee. "I may give you...one shirt. In exchange."

"For what?" Phil leaned in a bit from the edge of the bed, bringing his face close to Missa's with a grin.

"Hmm, haven't decided yet. Something of yours." A little emboldened, he tapped Phil's nose, grinning when Phil blinked slightly cross-eyed, ear feathers dropping low in surprise. Gods, Missa could get used to that.

Phil recovered quickly, a fond smile on his face as he straightened out, ear feathers flicking slightly in affection. "We'll see, then." He played with the cloak in his hands for a moment, twirling the fabric a bit.

Missa looked over the dark cloak wrapped around Phil with a smile, only to pause as he remembered pale fabric draped over his own shoulders. Fabric that was still scattered about their home.

It only took a moment before Phil noticed the change in mood, looking at Missa in concern. "Missa?"

"...I want to burn those clothes." He looked at the pile of white in the corner, face turned down in disdain. "Get rid of them." Before Phil could respond, he stumbled to his feet, moving to gather up the clothes with a mission. They didn't deserve to exist, not in their precious home, not anywhere. He'd destroy them like they deserved.

Behind him, he heard Phil make a sound of agreement, then sounds moving around and riffling through something. When he turned back, Phil was on one knee beside his backpack, pulling a familiar skull mask from the expanded space and holding it out to him, a wry look on his face. "Figured you'd want this if we're using your clothes to burn down the Federation."

Missa snorted, taking the mask gently to look it over, checking for damage. Scuffed and a little dirty, but unharmed. "...Maybe we should save the burning for tomorrow. Or when I have gear."

"Oh, right, all your gear is still at the Order."

"Not that it's great gear, but." Missa shrugged. "We can grab it later, after our fire. Probably." The idea of being out in public today was not appealing, but he would hate to ask for more things from Phil.

Phil hummed noncommittally, shuffling his feathers as he threw his backpack on between his wings and under the cloak, heading for the door. "We'll see how we feel after." He paused in the doorway, looking back at him with a smile. "Your cloak is in the kitchen, I'll grab it on the way."

Missa paused to admire the way Phil looked in the doorway, smiling so beautifully at him while backlit by the outside light, before he followed behind. He put his mask on as he slipped out the door, adjusting the straps to comfort with familiar ease. However, he propped it up to atop his head after a moment, ready to deploy should anyone else bother them. With Phil, he didn't need it.

They moved for the back of the house, Phil dipping downstairs as they passed the trapdoor while Missa continued toward the back of the home. As Missa moved around the bath, he caught sight of colorful trees and row after row of potatoes, that little hands had planted. His children planted.

A pang of want ached at him, of failure, of fear. Where his children could be, who could have taken them. The Federation had told him they didn't have them. They weren't the ones to take them. They didn't even know where they were, only that they weren't kidnapped, they ran away from something. Something bigger.

What could be bigger than the Federation? What could be more dangerous? They were easily holding so many powerful people hostage, they were something to fear. He could hardly remember where he was when he was chased off the island by wolves now that he was back, and he couldn't even remember anything before that. What could ever beat that level of power?

...Surely nothing. Right?

Any further thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Phil coming up beside him, snuggling against his side with the cloak in hand. Missa quickly brightened himself up, only half-acting as he smiled at Phil, mood already lifting.

Phil smiled back, holding up the offending cloth. "Right here should be good, hmm?"

Missa nodded, hardly stumbling when Phil pulled away. His legs felt much more stable now with food and potions and time. Phil moved to pull out gear from his backpack, setting up a campfire while Missa moved to clear out some space, just in case. He bolstered it with extra wood, strengthening the flames until they were strong enough to destroy items. With a satisfied huff, Phil sat back, far enough from the heat of the flames to be comfortable in the summer air. "That ought to do it."

Missa watched the flames, slowly coming to stand over it. Never taking his eyes from the fire, he plucked the shirt and pants from his inventory, only looking away after he had the fabric in his hands. His face turned in disdain as he looked over the white, regarding them for only a moment before tossing them unceremoniously in the fire.

At his back, Phil held up the cloak to him from where he sat, offering a gentle smile as Missa took it from his hands. He looked it over, considering it, feeling at the heavy material that would have been so comforting otherwise, but was instead just blinding and cold. The cloak he had worn when he had fought his fellow residents, had turned against islanders that had been kind to him, had laid his hands on Phil.

The cloak that disgusting Federation gave him because it apparently made him perfect.

They had made him do things he didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for. He wanted to be better, to protect the eggs, help his children, and the Federation had offered to do that. Instead, they made him worse. They made him hurt. They had twisted his outfit, made this cloak to wear while he went against everything he wanted to do.

He never needed to be better in the first place, it seemed, though that was still so hard to believe.

Missa considered the cloak in his hands a moment more, disgusted by everything that stood of it, before he tossed it down into the flames.

He moved back, turning away from the fire to settle by Phil, sitting beside him with a nod of finality. Phil offered a rueful smile, quiet as he swept a shimmering wing out to pull Missa against his side. Phil's wing draped over Missa like it was natural, a blanket of warmth as the summer air chilled with the sun's descent. Missa's hand found Phil's, and his head found a place against his shoulder.

The crow and the reaper sat before the fire in the slowly fading evening, watching white spark brightly to red, then char softly to black.