There was a lot he'd-- he'd never-- but he blocked him out because he couldn't. Not right now. As much as he--as much as Marco was a brother, this was too much and he didn't have a convenient form to change into when things got overwhelming. It was just Thatch. Always just Thatch.

"Yours," he said, picking Marco up and setting him on his shoulder so he could get things put away and go to bed. Moving helped. It pushed everything back. Settled it somewhere in the back of his throat. "And you're mine. And Namur is our beautiful baby smolt and we'll be one big happy family if you promise to change him." He gave a choking laugh and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and then leaned against the counter, gripping it hard, fighting past everything that was threatening to drown him.

"I'll try, okay? I will. And trust or not, I'd still follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond because someone has to look after you." That was the only thing he could say right now. The only thing he could give.