Work Text:
‹I have made right everything that can be made right, I have learned everything that can be learned, I have sworn not to repeat my error, and now I claim forgiveness.›
Aximili’s main eyes watched the stream and his stalk eyes searched the sky. They were united in the reflective water, which seemed to glow with the colors of approaching morning. Sunrise was the time that Earth most resembled his homeworld, the sky ablaze with red and gold. It was his favorite time, but it also forced him into contemplation, as he felt the ache of loneliness most acutely.
‹That’s not your normal morning ritual,› Tobias said. Of course, Aximili was rarely as alone as he suspected.
Aximili spotted Tobias, off in the dark part of the western sky, high overhead. Aximili knew that Tobias often observed him performing the morning and evening rituals, as well as the occasional mark of changing season, when he could figure it out based on Earth’s relative position to its sun -- human calendars were woefully imprecise in this regard. Marking the changing season was an elaborate ritual, requiring much preparation, and Aximili had only had the occasion to properly observe the ritual twice. Earth seasons came and went much more rapidly than on homeworld, and this was yet another thing that reminded Aximili of how removed from his home and people he truly was.
‹It is not the morning ritual,› Aximili answered, guarded.
It seemed that Tobias observed Aximili’s rituals with far more regularity since he found out the nature of his parentage. Aximili wondered if it was not coincidental. Was Tobias interested in his Andalite heritage, as it were? Aximili didn’t want to impose or assume that he should want to learn about Andalite culture, even if Aximili thought his own culture was quite the improvement over human culture -- which Tobias seemed to have little interest in anyway.
‹You’ve been doing it a lot, instead of the morning ritual,› Tobias observed. Aximili didn’t give him enough credit; Tobias was alive because he was observant -- they all were.
‹Yes,› Aximili admitted, ‹It is the forgiveness ritual.›
Aximili took a drink from the stream, a sign that he had completed his contemplation on his mistakes, even though he hadn’t, and trotted off to the lush part of the meadow to complete his meal.
‹I guess it’s invasive to ask what you need so much forgiveness for, huh?› Tobias asked. Again, more careful than the other humans. It shouldn’t have been a surprise Tobias was something different. Not an Andalite, exactly, but he had at least some of the superior caution and intuition of one.
‹It is private,› Aximili confirmed.
‹Well, that’s fine. But you keep doing it over and over.›
‹I keep making the same mistakes,› Aximili said, some frustration creeping into his thought-speak. Not at Tobias, but at himself.
‹Sure,› Tobias said, and Aximili watched him roll over in the sky, causing a rapid loss of altitude in the chill morning air. Tobias flared his wings when his body righted itself and swooped into a branch in front of Aximili. ‹You know, some humans have a similar ritual. It’s called ‘confession.’ You tell someone else about your mistakes and they forgive you. Not saying you should, or you have to, just -- y’know. You can talk to me, if you want.›
‹Thank you, Tobias. That is a kind offer. As I said, it is private.›
Aximili was aware that his problems were the sort of things humans were comfortable discussing with close friends, but his own culture had strong restrictions against being open about such things. It was worse because he had been acting with extreme impropriety for so long. Aximili wasn’t even sure for what transgression he was doing the forgiveness ritual, he had so many different reasons to feel shame.
He hadn’t realized human customs were different, at first. He thought, for a long time, that Marco had “made the first move.” He had been shocked that Marco was so forward, but as any trained fighter would know, when faced with a blow, one must either dodge or parry. Aximili did not prefer to dodge.
When Aximili realized Marco made asteistic and coy statements to all the members of their team, he felt conflicted. He should have been relieved that Marco was not specifically targeting him with suggestive behaviors. Obviously, he hadn’t wanted Marco to make advances toward him. But when he realized such things had different significance to humans, Aximili embraced a rapport with Marco that, on homeworld, would have been considered indecent.
As such, Aximili had compiled a non-comprehensive list of his indiscretions to meditate on. Besides the coy persiflage that was typical of Andalite flirtation, many aspects of their relationship had strayed past a casual association in Andalite terms. Aximili accepted many lessons about humanity and entertainment from Marco -- for research, of course, but a cultural exchange outside established roles and rituals was considered quite intimate. Aximili had accepted so much human culture from Marco, he had begun to pick up humor from him. To change oneself based on another was generally an undeniable sign -- it said that the other person’s value was so great, you wanted to make them a part of you.
Beyond that, Aximili took Marco’s side in most group decisions. Of course, they generally agreed on such issues, but close alignment with your comrade is a sign of compatibility in other ways. Aximili covered Marco in battle more times than he could remember, but that was easy to defend, since Marco got himself into trouble more than anyone else. In human morph, Aximili frequently put himself in situations where Marco was compelled to make physical contact with him. He embarrassed Marco in public so often that Marco was even in the habit of touching his face to clean off food and other substances. Of course, Aximili justified that by telling himself touching was less significant to humans, and if he was in human morph, it was acceptable.
On top of all of that, Aximili, completely beyond the humans’ notice, had changed his eye contact, stalk eye gestures, and physical signifiers only toward Marco, just for his own amusement.
Aximili wasn’t sure when he decided he’d gone too far, but he had started to feel guilty that he was doing these things without Marco’s knowledge. He told himself he was bored, that it was funny humans were so oblivious, that he could have performed a union ritual with Marco and they wouldn’t have noticed. It was true that the delicate subtlety of Andalite friendship and affection were more interesting, but really only if the intricacies were reciprocated. To do these things with a human was like dancing with someone who was standing still. The humans’ undiscerning nature had been amusing at first, but now Aximili was just ashamed of himself.
But clearly he did not feel enough shame to stop doing it.
Aximili had resolved several times to discontinue the improper, one-sided flirtation. But then, as reliable as quantum electrodynamics, Aximili would say “your minutes” and Marco would respond just as Aximili had wanted and the resolution was broken again. It was frustrating to feel like he couldn’t control himself. He wasn’t so bored that he should feel compelled to continue this. Even imagining how other Andalites would react did nothing to discourage him. After all, he was the only Andalite on Earth apart from the Abomination. He wouldn’t even be having this problem if he didn’t only have humans for companionship.
And Tobias, who was something else.
Aximili walked back to his scoop and Tobias followed, flapping lazily from tree to tree until he arrived at his usual perch. Aximili looked up at him, studying his strong chest, his deadly talons, his pitiless expression.
‹What do humans think of interspecies… relationships?› Aximili said delicately, trying to maintain neutral thought-speech, as if the question he was asking were academic.
‹Uh. That’s not what I was expecting you to ask.› Tobias’ thought-speak was hesitating, uncomfortable. ‹Well. Humans are the only sentient species we know of, so uh, it’s frowned upon? Like, human-plus-horse, frowned upon. What are you getting at?›
‹You are in such a relationship, are you not?› Aximili pointed out. ‹And you are also the product of such.›
‹Yeah, when you point it out like that, it’s, um, pretty weird being me. Definitely outside the realm of most human opinion,› Tobias stammered. ‹But Rachel and I are both human. You know. Sort of.›
‹So in human culture, if both species are sentient, it is acceptable?› Aximili asked.
‹I mean,› Tobias said, ‹I guess in Star Trek it’s okay? Like Sarek and Amanda or Garak and Bashir. Humans don’t know about real aliens.›
‹I see,› Aximili said. The answer was hardly satisfactory. Aximili knew Garak and Bashir weren’t even canonically a couple.
‹Is something on your mind?› Tobias asked. ‹Or is this just another ‘awkward shorms talk’?›
‹I was just wondering,› Aximili said.
‹Uh huh. Just to be clear, we’re talking about me. Not you.›
Aximili swiveled his stalk eyes to meet Tobias’ fierce gaze with all four eyes. Aximili was sure he hadn’t said anything to reveal the intention of his question. For someone who identified as human at least some of the time, Tobias was disarmingly perceptive.
Aximili didn't respond, so Tobias asked, ‹How do Andalites feel about interspecies relationships? Since that's relevant to me.›
‹As you say, it is ‘frowned upon,’› Aximili answered, possibly a bit judiciously.
‹But Andalites know about other sentient races. So, like, Aldrea and Dak Hamee, that would have been… ‘frowned upon’?› Tobias repeated the language they had been using, even though Aximili suspected from the tone of his thought-speech that, at this point, he was aware it was euphemistic.
‹Hork-Bajir are usually far inferior, intellectually, to Andalites. Dak Hamee was a rare exception, as you know. The situation would have been difficult to explain, and under different circumstances, probably would not have happened,› Aximili explained.
‹Okay, but Andalites think all species are intellectually inferior,› Tobias pointed out.
‹Not all, but most -- you are probably right,› Aximili agreed.
‹So you’re saying that an Andalite would really only want a relationship with another species if it were the only option, because no one else is smart enough to keep up? That kinda sucks, Ax-man.› There was some silence between them and Aximili toed at the grass in front of his scoop. He was aware humans and human-adjacent people had some difficulty accepting Andalite values.
Tobias finally added, ‹You know, that doesn’t really check out with what Elfangor did. It seemed like he would have chosen humans, if he could have.›
‹Yes,› Aximili said. He attempted to be neutral, since Elfangor’s breach in duty had resulted in Tobias’ existence, and for that, Aximili was grateful. ‹A very unusual circumstance.›
‹So you don’t ever feel that way?›
Aximili exhaled deeply. Tobias knew he had struggled with his feelings of loyalty to humans. Aximili still pictured returning to homeworld and resuming his old life and trajectory, but some part of him also accepted that if that was impossible, he wouldn’t mind living a life among humans. He didn’t think he would want to become a human nothlit, as Elfangor had, but he had become accustomed to Earth, accepted the ways of humans, and learned them well.
‹Humans are not my first choice as a people, but I believe they are a fine backup option,› Aximili said.
‹Backhanded compliment, Ax-man,› Tobias said.
‹That is a common expression of affection among Andalites,› explained Aximili.
‹Huh,› Tobias said. ‹I’m gonna be straightforward here, since you’ve been pretty evasive so far: are you trying to tell me you have a crush on someone?›
‹I am not trying to do that at all,› Aximili said adamantly.
‹So, you’re trying not to tell me you have a crush on someone, or you don’t have a crush?›
‹This line of questioning is demeaning,› Aximili protested.
‹Oh my god, there’s no way you don’t have a crush, or you would just deny it.› Tobias’ thought-speak tone was amused, which only made Aximili want to discontinue the discussion more.
‹I would like to inform you that an Andalite would not pursue this conversation,› Aximili said, resigning himself to the humiliation.
‹Thanks for letting me know,› Tobias said wryly. ‹I guess I’m definitely establishing that I’m more human, then. It’s uh, it’s not Rachel, is it? Like, I definitely get it, if so. But, you know.›
‹It is not Rachel.› It didn’t need to be said why Aximili was not interested in Rachel -- he had no intention to judge his shorm. Tobias and Rachel brought out the humanity in each other. Aximili assumed that is what they both needed and wanted.
‹Okay, good,› Tobias said, quickly. ‹It’s not like I think I own her or anything, but it would be weird, you know?›
‹I agree.›
Aximili felt like he was sinking into the ground. If only he could actually bury himself to escape this conversation. He estimated how long it would take to dig a hole large enough with his tail blade -- with variables including ground density, temperature, Aximili’s endurance, and potential subsurface obstacles, it would likely take at least six Earth hours. He ruled out the option, as Earth days were too annoyingly short to get most things done.
‹You know, this is quickly rising to the top of my ‘most awkward conversations with the Ax-man’ list,› Tobias remarked.
Aximili also logged many conversations with his friends that he found informative or memorable. He did not have a specific tag for “awkward,” but unlike humans, Andalites quickly moved on from such moments. Aximili had learned both from television and his friends that when humans make mistakes, they tend to relive them as a form of self-punishment. Perhaps that difference in internalized castigation was why Aximili kept making the same errors. ‹I am interested in the contents of that list.›
‹It’s not a literal list. Are you really going to make me guess?› Tobias whined.
‹I wasn’t aware I was making you do this. You may stop.›
‹Hah. A joke. Good one.› There was a beat of silence and Tobias tilted his head to the side, his unchanging hawk stare seeming to bore into Aximili more deeply. ‹Ax. Is it Marco?›
Aximili turned and dropped into his scoop, swinging his tail low. ‹I do not think I have a crush,› Aximili stated piquedly.
He turned on his TV and picked out one of These Messages that featured many ways to cut potatoes and other items that were mostly but not all food. Aximili was interested in the many devices that humans had to improvise to make up for their lack of tail blades.
Tobias swooped down to the edge of the scoop.
‹Marco?› Tobias repeated.
‹It is not significant,› Aximili said. ‹I have made poor choices in my behavior toward Marco. I was attempting to amuse myself. That is all.›
‹You’re saying you Andalite-flirt with Marco because he has no way to know you’re doing it?› Tobias laughed, which made Aximili flick his tail blade in annoyance. He didn’t see what was funny about the situation.
‹It is dishonorable and I intend to discontinue my actions.›
‹Uh huh,› Tobias said. ‹And that’s why you’ve done the forgiveness ritual ten times in the last couple months. You know, you don’t have to beat yourself up for having a crush, Ax. It’s normal.›
‹Normal?› Aximili moved his ears and stalk eyes in a gesture of dismissal. ‹It is hardly normal to conduct oneself in this manner toward an alien.›
‹Ax-man,› Tobias said. ‹Nice to meet you, I’m Tobias, your half-human nephew.›
‹Just because Elfangor did it does not make it normal,› Aximili said. ‹I am already strategizing how I will explain your existence to my parents. I do not need the complication of my own inappropriate diversions, especially since it is meaningless.›
‹Why is it meaningless?›
‹I have no intention of acting upon whatever feelings I may have.›
‹Dude. You already act on them, you’re just taking advantage of the fact Marco doesn’t know any better. Which, you know… Is funny. But it’s not like you’re not, y’know, basically pursuing him. Just because he doesn’t know.›
‹I knew this conversation would not be helpful,› Aximili said.
‹You could tell him.›
‹That is the last thing I want.›
‹Sure, maybe intellectually,› Tobias said. ‹But sometimes the logical choice isn’t what’s best for you.›
‹I doubt that admitting I have been making romantic overtures to Marco is what is best for me.›
‹Yeah, well, sometimes you just go with your feelings and deal with the consequences later,› Tobias said.
Aximili thought it was darkly ironic to be receiving such advice from a person who wanted so much to fly that he became trapped as a bird. Aximili would never say such a thing to Tobias, though.
‹Are you saying you believe there would be a positive outcome if I admitted my improper actions to Marco? I think it is likely he would be upset and disturbed,› Aximili said.
‹Well, maybe. But it’s Marco,› Tobias said.
‹What does that mean?› Aximili inquired.
‹Well, one, he deserves it for throwing himself at everything that’s ever moved,› Tobias said. ‹And two, he throws himself at everything that’s ever moved.›
‹You are saying he has low standards,› Aximili surmised. ‹That was a passable expression of Andalite affection.›
‹In other words, a sick burn?› Tobias countered.
‹A mild ‘burn,’› Aximili clarified. ‹A ‘sick burn’ would constitute more forward intentions.›
‹No wonder you’re into Marco,› Tobias teased.
Aximili sighed heavily. ‹I recorded a marathon of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Would you like to watch it with me and never bring this topic up again?›
‹Sure, Ax, but can I say one more thing?› Tobias fluttered over to the top of Aximili’s bookshelf to get a better view of the screen.
Aximili kept a stalk eye on Tobias while he queued the show up on his television. ‹Yes, of course.›
‹If I’ve learned anything from being a hawk, it’s that if an opportunity presents itself, you need to take it,› Tobias said. ‹Because there’s no guarantee you’re going to get another one later.›
Aximili turned to study Tobias seriously. Perhaps Tobias was right. Perhaps Aximili didn’t want to die without experiencing every possibility.