Faking Grief

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs.

I was sitting at home pointedly spending time with my family when the call came. I had Rachel and Cassie with their families as well, just in case. Strictly speaking, I highly doubt that we needed to provide any sort of alibi. Then again, we still sort of tried to avoid publicly hanging out too much even though I've come to realize that nothing strikes anyone (Controller or otherwise) as odd about teenagers and cliques. Being too paranoid is fine, though, and the day may come – may have already come – when something we thought was just unnecessary paranoia ended up saving our lives.

We were playing Candy Land. Even Tom was playing because he got home while we were setting up and he made the same mistake that we did of thinking that it would just be a quick game. None of us had played since I was, like, six and so we had no idea what to expect. At first, it seemed like it would be over quickly…and then we started landing on the wrong spaces or drawing the wrong card and getting sent back near the beginning.

"I'll get it," my mom said when the phone started to ring.

My dad absently nodded as he moved his piece forward two squares.

"It's like this game is possessed or something and hell-bent on keeping us here at this table forever," Tom marveled, shaking his head and looking very much like he'd wished he'd never started playing.

"Hello?" my mom answered the phone. "Nora? Is something wrong?"

I forced myself to look as happy and carefree as I could. I wasn't so good at actually being either and wasn't even going to try for innocent but hopefully I could still put on a convincing act. It was the next part that would be even more important, though. I tried not to listen to the conversation.

"You could always just walk away, Tom," I suggested slyly.

Tom laughed. "And leave you to win? Not on your life, Midget."

Don't call me that, Yeerk.

"Boys, this squabbling is really pointless," my dad told us seriously. "After all, you're both going to lose to me so it doesn't really matter when or how the losing takes place."

"What about Mom?" I asked him.

"Your mother will soon forfeit if that call holds her up for much longer," my dad said loudly.

Mom didn't seem to hear him. "Yes, yes, I absolutely understand. I can't even begin to…I am so sorry. Please let me know if there's anything I can do…I'll pray for you and for them…It's really the least that I can do…Alright, goodbye." She hung up the phone and turned to face us. There were tears in her eyes.

Tom, uncomfortable as ever with other people's distress, went for a joke. "So I guess this means you're going to pass."

"Pass," she repeated, her face crumbling. Pass. Pass on. She gestured to me. "Jake, honey, come here."

I started to stand.

She shook her head. "No, never mind. You should be sitting." She dropped bonelessly into the chair next to mine and gripped my hand tightly.

"Jean, what's going on?" my dad asked, alarmed. "What did Nora want?"

For a moment, she couldn't force the words out.

I frowned, trying to appear both concerned and confused. "Mom, you're really scaring me. Whatever it is can't be that bad, can it?"

"It can," my mom said grimly. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "Marco…and his father. They're…they're…"

"Are they hurt?" I demanded, my voice much higher than it normally was.

"Dead," my mom whispered.

It wasn't true. I knew that it wasn't. I had seen Marco earlier today when we had planned this whole charade.

It still hurt to hear and one day it may even be true.

I tried to pull my hand away but she wouldn't let it go.

"Dead?" Tom repeated dumbly. I glanced over at him. He looked shocked and horrified but he had to have known in advance. An 'Andalite Bandit' making off with one of the humans who had discovered Z-Space in mid-infestation? And the father of his host's best friend to boot? Along with rather sloppy and implausible damage control? Oh yeah, he knew.

I couldn't read the expression on my father's face but he was gripping the table so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

"Wh-what happened?" I asked, utterly lost. My voice was shaking a little as well.

"There was some kind of freak attack," my mom told me hollowly. "Some gunmen burst into their house and shot the two up. Nora said…Nora said that you couldn't recognize the bodies. She wasn't home at the time and none of the neighbors saw anything so we really don't know what happened or why. They don't even know for sure if it was more than one attacker. The police are looking into it, though."

"A violent murder of a father and son in a nice suburb?" my dad asked grimly. "You can bet they'll look into it."

The part about the neighbors, at least, was either true or they were all Controllers. It was rather careless of the Yeerks to have Nora chatting pleasantly with cops in the middle of her driveway in broad daylight when they would have no other reason to be there than her husband and stepson's brutal murder. But then, when you can cover your mistakes with such ridiculous and extreme lengths as the ones they turned to to shut Marco's dad up or even just plain old infestation, I suppose you really don't need to worry very much about not being suspicious.

Must be nice.

We were extremely lucky that the Yeerks jumped straight to 'suspicious execution' instead of another infestation attempt on Marco's dad or (if they were worried about our intervention again) at least Marco to see if he knew anything about our motives. The fact we had apparently let Marco's dad go and get ready to flee the country implied we weren't interested in his continued well-being, though.

We did have a plan for an infestation attempt in the form of 'Marco's dad' grabbing a gun and shooting at them but it was much riskier. The Chee would have to make sure to miss due to their pacifism (but not miss by too much to not be believable) for one thing and that still didn't guarantee that they'd be killed.

Our back-up plan for that was attacking the gunmen and having 'Marco' and his 'dad' killed in the escape attempt but…yeah, it was much better that the Yeerks were feeling so trigger- happy.

Poor Nora, stuck outside while she knew – or thought she knew – the horror taking place inside. We were all uncomfortable about leaving her to them but what could we do? Why would Andalites care?

When he got back from the scene of his 'death', Marco asked me if I was mad at him for blowing his cover and being forced to resort to such drastic measures to fix things. I was, a little, but I could never really be mad at someone for not sitting and watching someone they loved get infested. Hell, if I were watching Tom get re-infested, for whatever reason, I can't promise I'd do nothing. So really, it's more the situation than Marco himself.

I realized that my family members were all starting intently at me, still waiting for my reaction. That was okay, though. Getting lost in my thoughts was an appropriate reaction to this.

"No…" I murmured weakly. "No, no, no!"

I pulled again and successfully freed my hand. I stood up quickly.

"Jake, I know it' shard, baby, but…" My mom trailed off, unable to offer me any platitudes on how everything would be alright. I was grateful because I knew that it wouldn't be and Marco's sacrifice was only the beginning. "We're here for you."

"I-I've got to go," I said vaguely and turned away.

"Jake, I don't want you going out in this state," my dad said worriedly.

"I'm only going upstairs," I promised.

"We'll be upstairs later to check on you," my dad replied.

I didn't answer and just trudged upstairs to my room. I threw myself on my bed and waited.

"I'm not sure if anyone really knows how they should grieve but if I were a normal person or even if I wasn't but Marco was really dead, I wouldn't have to worry (except about not being obviously angry about the Controllers) because however I reacted would be genuine grief. I'm glad that he's not – to say the least – but it does complicate things as now I have to pretend and hope no one sees through my act and guesses that Marco is somehow alive or that I know something.

I don't really want to pretend to be sad for a family that really is devastated by our supposed loss because if makes me feel like I'm a terrible person but I could use the practice. Everyone and their mothers will be watching me for my reaction to this and wanting to talk about it or awkwardly avoiding the gorilla in the room. I'll probably have to see the school guidance councilor and Mom and Dad might even take me back to that psychiatrist.

I really hope that they don't.

My mother comes up first. She doesn't say anything, just sits on my bed next to me and starts stroking my hair. It's easy and comforting because her silence means that I don't have to say anything either and it's not like a little comfort is unappreciated these days. I almost fall asleep while she's sitting right there but they'll be time for that later. Better let them try to be there for me first and then I can sleep.

After she leaves, there's maybe ten minutes before my father comes in. He gives me a hug and promises that they're going to catch the people who did this. That he knows that nothing will ever bring Marco back but that they're all here for me and that I'll get through it. As I feared, he brings up Dr. Greyfield but says that it's entirely my choice whether I want to go back there. That's something, at least.

Then, about ten minutes after Dad leaves, Tom comes in.

I turn around to look at him and even sit up because it's getting more and more impossible to be vulnerable in front of him. He stands there awkwardly in the doorway and just stares at me for a moment.

"I really don't know what to say here, Jake," he admitted finally. "I can't promise you that everything's going to be fine because it's not. Your best friend is dead."

I wince at that.

"There's no point beating around the bush because it's true," he says bluntly. "I never would have thought that something like this would have happened, not here, but it did. But you know what, Jake? You're going to survive this and you're going to be stronger for it. I know you're going to be mourning but just make sure that you don't get so caught up in what you lost that you forget about what you still have."

I considered the words. It didn't sugar-coat things at all, of course, and I was glad for that. I thought it was good advice, too. I wondered for a moment who the words came from. The Yeerk wasn't likely to care but they reminded me of the Yeerk's almost callous pragmatism when it came to war back during that discussion we had at Grandpa G's house right before the dock incident. Despite the fact that I was holding back the fact that I had any idea what I was talking about and we both continued to pretend that the Yeerks didn't exist, I consider it to be the only honest conversation we've ever had.

I wouldn't put it past the Yeerk to just take the easy way out and not have to bother coming up with any advice of his own by parroting my brother's thoughts, either. It didn't sound very much like pre-war Tom but then things had changed a great deal in that time. I guess I just didn't think that they had changed that much. But then, how could they not?

"I'll try," I said quietly.

Looking satisfied, Tom left.

They'll probably leave me alone for awhile and give me a chance to get a better handle on things. I might even get to take a nap and sleep is becoming a more valuable commodity by the day.

And then tomorrow I'll fly to the valley of the free Hork-Bajir and tell Marco all about his death.

Ten to one he insists on attending his own funeral.

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