2 - on

Hand in hand they went to the kitchen. Marco was glum and withdrawn, and Cassie tired emotionally as well as physically, from the morphing, and finding little to say worth the effort. She boiled some water and made tea, gave him a cup, and then went to the other end of the kitchen to make a few phone calls.

First she dialled the number to Dr Robert Glas, the psychologist who had tried to take care of her when she had been captured by her delusions, after Ronnie's death, after she had morphed away her first unborn child. She remembered how she had hated him, then. But he had been a support and help thereafter. She explained what had happened, and he promised to come as soon as he could – by that very evening. She doubted him, but thanked him and hung up. Knowing that Marco's parents were away in the Caribbeans, she called Loren, asking her to come by and take Cody off their hands for a few days. She did not specify why: she simply said that something which could not wait had come up. Yes, she knew it was four in the morning. And of course it concerned aliens. Loren, who did not live far away, mumbled a sleepy promise to get dressed and come right over.

Cassie fetched herself a glass of milk, and walked back to the table where Marco sat. "I called Dr Glas," she told him softly as she sank down onto a seat, opposite from him. "And Loren. She's coming to pick up Cody, and baby-sit him while we sort this mess out."

Marco sat with his hands cupped firmly around his teacup. The tea was steaming – the cup must have been scalding hot. He appeared not to notice. "Good," he gritted. "Then he'll be out of my easy reach, at least."

She watched him – this man she had grown to love. The sparkle which had been in his eyes in his younger days was gone now. The war had never quenched Marco: the Elŷrrics had. He had told her fragments of that tale, spare pieces to a puzzle of horror and pain. She had never asked for more. She could read the unuttered tales in how he had changed. His sharp wit had grown cautious and bitter, his open manner more reserved. His priorities had changed: he wanted nothing of fame. He wanted peace, and he wanted her.

Loving something had never come easily to Marco, not before, and even less now. But when he loved, he loved intensely.

He could sit and watch her. She would feel his usually cautious gaze grow warm as his eyes followed her. She could feel how he treasured her.

Now, he barely looked at her, and did so in short, fearful glances. Now, she could feel nothing but his anguish. The only time he had removed his hands from that scalding cup, it had been his right hand, reaching for his pocket, and the tiara there.

"What are you so afraid of?"

For anyone else, he would have denied everything. For her, he spoke. "I'm losing control. I can feel it. Something's changed. And the tiara…" His voice faded away, the hoarse rasp weakening. He swallowed, once – his hand travelled to touch that pocket again, before trembling returning to the cup. He licked his lips. He did not look at her. "Something's changing the rules. The tiara is more… insistent. I don't know much longer I can fight it. I don't know… how much longer I can want to fight it. I keep forgetting why I should. It's… taking over."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Too late for that," whispered Cassie. "This morning…"

"That wasn't planned," Marco said, avoiding her searching gaze. She cupped his cheek in her palm. His eyes were pleading… hers began filling with tears.

And then the first sob shook her.

He was mortified. "No, no, don't, Cass… please don't weep."

But Cassie had already let go. Since finding Marco draped over the side of that bathtub, she had been strong. Something had kept her eyes dry from tears, and her mind clear. Something – some reserve of emergency strength – had kept her chin up. And now she released it. The fear nagged at her. The tears came. The sobs. The wild relief.

The despair.

And in another moment, Marco was there. He gathered her into his arms, slipping down onto her chair and in the same movement scooping her easily onto his lap, as if she had been no larger than a child. Again his embrace became that safe haven, that comfort, and nothing would be allowed to harm her. She was rocked gently back and forth, the arms around her tightening as if to extinguish her sobs.

"No, don't cry. Please don't. Cass. Please. I'm sorry."

Cassie hugged him in return, burying her face against his shoulder. Slowly, she calmed her ragged breathing, stilled her sobs, and her tears dried out.

"You promised you'd never leave me," she reminded him.

"I know."

"You scared me."

"I'm sorry. I… panicked."

"Your dreams? You should have woken me. Talked to me."

"Not just my dreams." He spoke in a whisper against her ear. "I woke and reached for the tiara. I had it in my hand, going down to the kitchen. I stroked it, treasured it. If it had asked me then to wear it… I would have. And I would have been lost. But it didn't. It just made me head for the kitchen. I fetched a knife. And. And… I was opening…" His entire body tensed, pausing a moment before he went on. "I was opening the door to Cody's room when it suddenly let go. Just let go, and let me realise what I was doing. I panicked. I was so close to hurting you, Cassie. Both of you. And I can't let that happen. I won't risk it."

"Why? What could it gain by…" she paused, hesitating. "Why would it want you to hurt Cody – or me?"

"I don't know. It's changing tactics, I told you. I don't know what it's up to." He added in a darker voice: "But an Elŷrric would have found this morning very amusing."

"Then you tried to kill yourself."

"Yeah." Marco's reply was grim, cold, efficient. "I'd be safer dead. But I didn't try hard enough, apparently."

Cassie shuddered, and Marco murmured a "sorry" – a "sorry" which lacked all emotion. His ensuing speech was more emotional: "I'd rather have died than been infested. And I'd rather be infested than go back to the Elŷrrics. And… I'd rather go back there, if that ensured your safety, and Cody's. But it doesn't. I'm dangerous to you, Cassie. I don't want anything dangerous near you."

"You won't hurt me. I can take care of myself."

"But I can match you morph for morph. Besides, I panicked, and panic doesn't really stop to think."

Loren was dressed but unkempt when she showed up. Her old German Shepherd, Kevlar, followed docilely at her heels, his tail wagging slowly as a sleepy Cody gave the big dog a child's wild hug. Cassie still remembered Kevlar as a puppy, showing up all big paws and puppy eyes to fill some of the void left by Loren's seeing eye dog, Champ.

"Don't be at home," Cassie said softly. "Be somewhere safe."

"I will, Cassie," Loren muttered tiredly. "How do I reach you if something happens?"

"We'll probably be in the house. If we're accessible at all. Marco's parents will be home in another week."

Loren took Cody by the hand and gave Cassie a hard look somewhere between "I don't want to know" and "Take care", and the trio went out to Loren's waiting car.

Cassie watched her little son leave with the same mixture of worry and pride which always haunted such moments. Cody had never worried about being babysat by someone. Marco had never worried. Cassie had worried enough for all three of them.

This time, more than ever. She felt Marco's dark eyes watching the boy leave, from where he stood in the doorway to the living room. He stood very, very still, as if he was afraid he might set off something he could not handle if he moved. It made Cassie's skin crawl. And for the first time ever, Cassie was glad to see Cody leave the house. Which terrified her.

With nothing left to do but wait for Dr Glas, Cassie and Marco retreated to the living room couch to watch TV. It felt like a harmless activity. Nothing good was on – the 'mute' button was used, leaving only pictures to flash across the screen. Marco soon descended into his customary light slumber. Cassie did the same.

She stirred as Marco left the sofa. She followed him with her eyes – he toed over to the window, remarkably light on his feet, and gazed out. Even before he turned about again, Cassie was sitting up, longing for some hackles to raise, some teeth to bare. She could read anything she needed to know just from the way Marco stood.

"A cruiser," Marco told her. "Coming in to land."

Cruisers – all space ships, down to the smallest fighters – were closely monitored, and in many places forbidden. Cassie was certain that her land was one of those places. In reality, there were three exceptions: dire emergencies, Andalites who considered themselves above petty laws, and hostiles who simply did not care. Marco, too, had upon his homecoming landed his Tenkharian shuttle craft, which later had baffled the Andalites and (few) humans in orbit, but that had been a onetime occurrence. A returning Animorph landing a strange space ship on her lands would not happen again.

So Cassie mouthed hopefully: "Andalite?"

In reply, there was a thoughtful ripple of muscles along Marco's arms, as he touched upon his gorilla morph, considered it.

Cassie sighed – again she was glad Cody was out of the house.

"They already know we're here," Marco said softly. "Bioscanners – no use hiding. How trusting do we feel?"

"Do you know what it is?"

"Iguarnee, no doubt." He whispered it. His gaze disappeared to somewhere far away – and his hand found its way to his pocket, touching the tiara through the fabric. The hand lingered – Cassie held her breath until it was lowered.

"Who are the Iguarnee?"

"Never met one. But..." He paused, hesitated. "But the Elŷrrics used all the technology they could get their hands on. So I recognize the cruiser." His expression was forbidding, his eyes empty, and his stance was waiting, waiting, waiting like a cat perched in a tree watching the bird's nest above– or possibly the dog below. It was impossible to tell.

Cassie schooled her voice to steady and calm. "But Iguarnee doesn't necessarily mean Elŷrric, then. Let's see who it is and what they want first."