Brad watched, helplessly, as his former father and brother stormed out of the house. For a second, he thought he could feel the tears forming in his eyes, but instead of bringing up his hand to wipe away any tears, his thin, spindly fly legs - his tarsomeres, to be precise - were brought up instead.
He could have sobbed right there.
Instead, his instincts tickled in the back of his mind, and he began grooming himself. It felt good to return to familiar habits, and even as he felt Mark step away from the foyer, the giant steps sending tremors through his little fly body, it was far easier to focus on rubbing his giant new compound eyes than to think about what just happened with his former family.
Rub. Rub. Rub. Groom yourself. Clean yourself.
At least Mark smelled good. Familiar.
The vibrations from Mark ceased, and Brad looked around from his reverie. They were standing in the hallway, where their family photos were hanging - obviously Mark had had the idea to try to find some photographic evidence to convince Jim and Sal.
Brad stared through unblinking, compound eyes at one photograph in particular.
Mark, in a tux. At a wedding - no, their wedding. The colors were all wrong though. Their wedding colors weren't black and gold. And their cake wasn't that tall..
Brad used his wings to lift off from the relative safety of Mark's shoulder and fly towards the wedding portrait. His heart was beating fast, his tracheal air sacs working overtime as he landed on the pane of glass surrounding the swimming-pool sized frame.
Rub rub. Groom.
Russ was the groom. The happiness in his and Mark's faces, apparent even to the fly, who had unintentionally landed where the two mens' hands were gripping the cake slicer -gold rings glinting from the camera.
Mark glanced over, and smiled, seeing his husband. "That's Russ- you haven't met him yet." He paused. "He's a bit bigger now." Mark grinned, thinking of the last time the big man had him pinned in the bedroom. "He should be home soon. We've got to get you situated first. Maybe using the chronivac again? Or get you situated with a terrarium first?"
Brad Rivera, the fly, began to understand just what he'd gotten himself into.