"You're an idiot. It has to be now because if we risk dying without saying it, we'll regret it," Marco answered between clenched teeth and nearly sobs. "I'm not leaving. I'm not. Thatch, please. If I'm the only one you'll trust, you can always trust me, I'll never steer you wrong. You didn't just save my life a thousand times over." Okay maybe he was really sobbing now. In the manliest way possible. "You made it worth living. If all I can do is be trustworthy back, you have that. You'll have it a thousand times over. Thatch, please." Marco couldn't take the tears anymore, he switched into his phoenix form and curled up in Thatch's lap with a soft sad whistle. He didn't know how to protect him. He couldn't go back in time, he couldn't fix it, but so long as he was with Thatch, he wouldn't let him get hurt again. He'd take any shot that came for the man.

"Mine," he quietly asserted in a whistle, the emotions blessedly a little more dulled in bird form. Dulled, but no less present. Just simpler, less sharp, easier to cope with. They were direct. Thatch was his brother, his best friend, his and he'd protect him. Or die trying.