#14 – Pale

Marco had a bad feeling as he approached his house. The sky was lightening rapidly, but the sun hadn't yet peeked over the horizon. His bad feeling was probably nothing but leftover stress from the mission he'd just finished; it had been a nasty bit of business that had ended in a fight. Even though he had gone through the progression from gorilla to human to osprey in the time since the battle, he felt beat up. It was all mental…but as anyone who's ever been through times of acute stress knows, that mental weariness easily translates to the body. Even if that body happens to be a bird's.

He automatically made for the back of his house, meaning to fly in through his bedroom window. He could almost feel the comfort of his soft pillow and warm sheets. If he was lucky, his dad would sleep in and let him get a few hours of shut eye. That dream died when he got a direct line of sight on his window and saw it closed.

As tired as he was, Marco instantly knew what the closed window meant. His dad had checked on him during the night and found him missing. It was bound to happen eventually, Marco told himself wearily, and was grimly amused to find that the knowledge he'd been busted didn't even faze him. He was matter-of-factly glad for the precautions against this inevitability he'd taken.

He swooped in for a landing behind the prefab shed in his backyard and quickly demorphed. When he had his fingers back, he reached under the aluminum building and pulled out the waterproof duffel bag he'd stored there. He quickly dressed in the clothes stashed inside and fished his house key out of the pocket of the jeans. He then walked to the back door and snuck in as quietly as he could.

"Marco?" his dad called from the living room before he could even get the back door closed. Interestingly enough, Marco was glad. Best to get this out of the way now, so I can go and get some rest.

"Busted," he called back, trying not to sound relieved. The fact that he was alive to be caught sneaking in was a relief. He walked into the living room, mentally preparing himself to act like a kid who'd been out all night. It wasn't hard; he felt asleep on his feet.

Peter didn't yell. He wasn't wearing some shocked, I-can't-believe-this look. He just muted the TV and waited calmly for the explanation.

"Sorry," Marco started. It seemed as good a way to begin as any.

Peter waved the word away like an annoying gnat. "No you're not. If you were, you wouldn't have done it to begin with. What were you doing?"

"Went to a party," Marco sighed. He was wondering how long this was going to take; his eyelids felt ready to crash closed.

"I can see that," Peter said. "You look wrecked to the Nth degree. Was it fun?"

"I guess."

"Just drinking? Or drugs, too?"

"Neither." Marco thought that was the best answer; a kid wouldn't admit to that even if he'd done it, right? And it would be weird if he claimed to have been drinking and Peter didn't smell any booze on him; that would just make him even more suspicious. It would make him wonder what sinister things Marco was really hiding.

Peter looked at him with disbelief. "Lying is only going to make this worse."

Marco was hit with a flash of inspiration. "I wasn't getting trashed, I swear. It was a girl."

He saw Peter's expression blank as he considered the excuse. Hadn't he been a teenager once? Girls were worse than drugs in some ways – they made you do crazy things, too. "So if I hit you with a pee test, you'd pass?" he tested his son.

"I'll take it right now," Marco confirmed. "No drugs. No drinking. Just Allison…and that girl is worse than crack."

Peter tried to hide a smile and couldn't quite do it. "So long as you realize that. And, of course, you're grounded. Length of punishment to be determined." He seemed almost ready to let it go before his eyes tightened. "I might still give you a urine test – you look like shit. I can't remember the last time I saw you so pale."

"I'll see your pee test and raise you a hair sample," Marco tried to joke. "Seriously, dad, this is pure exhaustion. Allison…well, you probably don't want details." He could feel himself swaying on his feet, like a boxer who's been rocked by repeated punches. He cursed himself and tried to stay still.

"You're right about that. Still…Marco, are you sure that's everything? I feel like I'm missing something here; something's not right, I can feel it. I want to believe you, and mostly I do. But…you're getting worse, son."

Without realizing he was even going to say it, Marco giggled sleepily and said, "Call the doctor, call the nurse, Marco's bad and getting worse."

His dad just gave him a sideways look. "You're delirious. Go to sleep. I'll let you have four hours, then I'm waking you up to take a piss test. And you'd better pray that you pass it."

Four hours? Marco felt like he'd just won the lottery. "Dad, you're a saint. See you in four hours."

Peter watched him stumble up the stairs. It wasn't drugs, he was sure of it. No kid with pot or mushrooms in his system would be so blithe about the possibility of being caught with a drug screen. But it was something; Peter was damn sure of that. He thought it could be a girl, but he didn't think that was all it was.

Peter shrugged and unmuted the TV, worried. Whatever it was, it would come out. These things always did. Peter just hoped that when it did finally come into the light, it wouldn't be something too damaging. Kids'll be kids, and they have to make their own mistakes. Peter knew that for a fact.

He also desperately wished it wasn't true.