Chapter 17: Wake-Up Call

It was actually hard for Gary to remember that the Avocato now dead asleep in his bed was younger than him. Not by much, but it was weird to think this once and future bestie was the second-most-powerful being in this part of the known universe. There wasn't much difference in appearance – Ventrexians didn't change much as they aged – but his fur was glossier than Gary remembered, as if this Avocato's diet was better, and while clearly very strong, he didn't have the mean leanness of a bounty hunter. Not yet. When Gary had been thirty-one, he'd been doing time. Killing time. Listening to his brain cells dying of sheer boredom. Being a lump. Doing half-assed repair jobs on busted satellites. Defacing the walls of the Galaxy 1 with graffiti. At thirty-one, Avocato was a general, father, widower, and decorated war veteran who was busy conquering planets and fighting battles and commanding fleets, up to his eyebrows in politics and intrigues and hating every moment of it. Except for the father part.

Look what happens when you stay in school, he mused to himself. Suddenly being a jailbird didn't look half bad, actually. Sure, he had hated every moment of it - he and General Avocato had that much in common - but at least his responsibility had registered in negative numbers, and if he messed up a satellite, the worst that could happen was a few episodes of a soap opera wouldn't get aired. Lives didn't depend on his decisions. Planets didn't fear him. He wasn't making history.

But Avocato was, poor bastard. What was sad, though, was that he didn't want any of it. He just wanted to take his kid and go home, mourn his wife and get on with life. Only, he wasn't allowed to.

Right now, however, the military dictator that could make officers cry with one sidelong glare was snoring slightly and curled partially around Gary, sleeping off what should have been a world-class hangover but wasn't. They hadn't really drunk that much, there was even a (very) little bit of blue liquid left in the bottle, but they were a pair of lightweights when it came to alcohol consumption and the bottle had been pretty big. Luckily, HUE had caught them before they fell asleep in the galley and forced them to down medication to stave off the worst parts of a hangover. He was pretty sure they could thank HUE for the sleeping arrangements, too, seeing as how Gary and Avocato had always shared a bed on the Galaxy 1 and the AI had just fallen back on what he knew. It was a habit they'd both gotten into and never bothered to break.

The upside of the situation was no hangovers and they slept like rocks. The downside was they'd slept so long that Little Cato came in to make sure they were alive and was presently regarding them with folded arms and a skeptical, expectant, and curious expression.

Gary wondered if there was anything more humiliating than being amusing to your teenager. Wait, yeah, being slobber-kissed by a Hooblot was worse. He could say that with authority. But still . . .

"Hey, Spider Cat," whispered Gary, wondering if it was possible to untangle himself and escape before General Avocato woke up and murdered him to death for somehow seducing him into bed. Then again, it might be preferable to just die here and now of terminal embarrassment at his fourteen-year-old, poised-for-puberty son finding him sleeping-not-sleeping with said son's actual father after finding out they've been married for almost a year. Gary just wanted his life. His dignity had died long ago, probably of shame.

Wait - a year? Oh, crap, their anniversary was coming up. When was it? HUE would know.

The only thing that might save him right now was that they were both dressed. The only clothing that had been removed was their coats - they hadn't even kicked off their boots. Other than that, yeah, death was sounding pretty damned sweet and drawing closer with every snore.

How did he get into these messes? Better yet, how did he get out?

"Heeeeey, Thunder Bandit," Little Cato whispered back, not even trying to hide his glee.

"This isn't what it looks like."

"Looks like my dads are . . . sleeping together?"

"Well, yeah, okay. But sleep's it. Did you know about that whole field marriage thing?"

"I thought it was within the realm of possibility when you told me about those first few days with Dad, but . . ." He shrugged for dramatic purposes, the living image of coy innocence while the whole time he was judging them at the speed of light. "I've never actually seen one, so . . . there was no way to be sure. 'Til now."

"Oh, my sweet child, you are so grounded for the rest of your life."

Little Cato snickered, completely unintimidated by the threat. "Worth it to finally get to wake my parents up after a wild night of partying."

"I'll have you know it was a bender with a lower case 'b'."

"It's high time he got drunk. What did it take, two shots?"

"Five," growled a thoroughly unhappy Avocato. He forced his eyes open to glare at creation as a whole, including his own creation who stood there grinning at him in undisguised delight.

"Three were doubles," defended Gary.

"Good morning," sang Little Cato, then, with relish, added, "Dads."

Avocato grumbled, slowly coming to life. Gary had learned long ago that if you woke Avocato up out of a solid sleep, he'd be completely alert and ready for action the instant his eyes opened. Leave him to wake up on his own and you pretty much had a furry zombie on your hands who hissed at everything and whose only virtue was that once he was actually moving, he was well rested. Avocato looked around, realized his situation, realized he was semi-snuggled with the spouse he never knew he had and, in truth, didn't really want, and dropped back into the pillow he shared with Gary with a sigh that was almost a groan. When he put a hand to the bridge of his nose, Gary wondered if perhaps HUE's hangover cure worked better on humans than Ventrexians.

"Please don't tell me we're both in the same bed," Avocato quietly begged. "Please don't."

"Okay," Gary agreed, cautiously sitting up.

"I won't mention it either, even though you kind of are," Little Cato said in a tight whisper as he edged toward the door, adding, "In bed together. I'll go put some coffee on. Nightfall said you could both probably use it."

As the door closed, Avocato squinted at Gary, wondering, "Coffee?"

"Don't worry, you like it."

Another moan, this time at his own ignorance of a decade he had yet to live. "This is why I don't drink."

Gary chuckled and clapped his husband on the shoulder before pushing himself out of bed and getting a start on the day. He'd missed waking up next to Avocato.