4AN: Written for the kinkmeme - because never in my life would I even contemplate a Bird Rehabilitation AU but here it is! Heads up for Established Relationship.
It was hard sneaking into the back room of the rehabilitation center. The free swinging doors always had a rusted squeak to them, much to Altair's chagrin as he failed to slip inside unnoticed.
"You're late," Malik said, not looking up from where he was sitting. There was an indistinct but sizable puff of feathers on the table, and as soon as Malik held out a piece of raw meat, a set of beaks appeared in between the fluff, snagging it away. This, he did several times with the sort of special patience he reserved for only the birds he took care of, which was somewhat unfortunate for Altair.
"Yes, but I'm here now," he replied, unruffled and deciding that it was hard to take Malik seriously anyway while he was wearing a mother-owl puppet over his hand. He approached the table, the clipboard roster tucked under his arm. Like Malik, the owlet took no notice of him, so he leaned his hip against the back of Malik's chair, looking down at the baby bird. "Who's this?"
"Curry," Malik said, sounding a bit fond despite that he had a habit of naming the more difficult birds after various dishes or cooking techniques. Even as he took the one second pause to answer, the owlet shrieked impatiently and bit into the puppet. Malik rolled his eyes and resumed feeding it at a rate the tiny owl deemed acceptable.
"I thought we named C-Six-five that," Altair muttered, looking over the checklist on the clipboard. He was unsurprised to find that, as punishment for coming in late, Malik had left all the temperamental birds for Altair to clean and feed. Though, honestly, he had pointed out more than once that he had less problems than Malik with the animals in general—probably because he did not threaten to eat them if they were troublesome.
"Sixty-five is Teriyaki, which you'll have to feed soon before she starts gnawing on her cage."
"And you gave me C- forty six, M-nine, E-three-five-"
"Sauté, Stew, Burgers-"
"-Kung-Pao, and Panfry," Altair finished, letting the clipboard rap once over Malik's head. "You need to stop doing that; they are not going to like you any better."
Malik waved his puppet hand dismissively, and refused to duck when the clipboard hovered above him a second time in silent threat. Instead, he elbowed Altair in the stomach while his gaze finally flickered upwards, a small smile settling over the curve of mouth. "We can't all be bird whisperers like you."
They stared at each other for a moment, with Malik looking amused and Altair disgruntled, until Curry hooted at them to dosomething a little more productive. Altair took that as a cue to give Malik's face a bird whisperer-worthy peck, always just a little surprised whenever Malik would turn into it, and even more so when Curry's impatient clucking went momentarily ignored. Unable to help himself, Altair shot the little bird a childish but entirely satisfying smug look. He was sure Malik hadn't seen it, but as he straightened to get started on his work, it was clear from Malik's exasperated expression that he, in fact, had.
"Could you also check on the new bird we got?" he asked, catching Altair before he could leave the room. At his nod, Malik added, "Eagle, adult male; broken left wing. The animal patrol found him yesterday and put him in holder sixteen. No one's been able to get near without using sedation. I figured you might be able to do something."
Altair eyed Malik, raising his brow. "So you've tried."
"Earlier, I did," Malik admitted, motioning to the front of his jacket where there was a small tear. "I had to back off."
Altair hummed thoughtfully. "I'm surprised you didn't give it name right off the bat."
"I thought it would be nice if you did."
"Ah, so you doubt my skill? I thought you said I was a bird-whisperer," Altair said, hanging the clipboard back on the wall. He grinned as Malik snorted. "All right, but I'm not going to give it some derogatory culinary name."
"They are hardly derogatory—Curry, shut up, if I feed you anymore you are going to get fat and burst, and I swear I will really eat you then—" He turned around to face Altair and continued, rather pointedly, "They are disciplinary names."
Altair allowed a few seconds of silence to permeate between them while Malik packed away the meat and soothed the ever-hungry owlet. "One day I will come in and find a restaurant instead of a rehabilitation center," he said.
"Sometimes I think the same thing," Malik grumbled, but his complaints always fell a little short in comparison to the way he cupped the owl in his hands to gently move it aside, or the way he preferred nicknames to identification numbers, and feeding by hand instead of leaving a dish in a cage.
"Right," Altair said in mock disbelieving tones, exiting out the room before Malik had to remind him again to get started. "I'll go see what I can do for Sixteen. How does Aristotle sound?"
"Oh, you won't want to name him after someone so great, trust me."
"We'll see; leave it to this bird-whisperer," Altair called out behind him, and he could hear Malik's laughter even after the squeaky doors swung shut.
Malik was taking out another baby bird to feed when Altair returned an hour later, entering a little louder than usual, but quieter at the same time. He did not say anything, but opened one of the cupboards in the room and proceeded to loot whatever was inside it. Malik looked over his shoulder, bird in hand, and almost had to put the owlet down when he saw blood streaking down Altair's hand.
"You were right. Sixteen is practically the devil's incarnate," Altair said, his voice even and calm. He found the first-aid kit and since he did not seem to need any assistance, Malik did not move from his spot, mindful of the skittish owlet.
"You didn't think to wear a glove?" Malik asked, preemptively annoyed since he already knew the answer. Altair had a knack for birds and tended to disregard the most basic safety measure, but his luck had to run out sometime.
"I only opened his cage to put in some food. I didn't know he was going to bite the first shiny thing he saw!" Altair said, throwing his forearms up.
"Shiny?" Malik asked, stroking his thumbs down the owlet's back, who started to hoot in quiet distress.
Making a noise of disgust, Altair held up his left hand, his ring finger appearing more bloody that the rest. "He tried to eat my ring."
Said ring was conspicuously missing, but Malik glanced over at Altair's other hand and frowned when that was cover in blood as well.
"And your other hand?"
"Well, I tried to get the ring back before he could swallow it," Altair said, sounding reasonable.
Malik's expression stilled, clearly wondering which question he should ask first, and how he should prioritize the rest. Eventually, he began with, "Is the bird all right?"
"Perfectly fine. It's probably gloating over its meal as we speak," Altair replied, nudging the tap on at a slow stream to wash his hands.
Having cleared most of his anxieties, Malik relaxed and, as an afterthought, asked, "Are you going to need shots?"
"I don't think so."
"Let me be the judge of that," Malik said. He put the owlet down on the table and began to feed it. "And the ring?"
Altair glanced up with a wry smile. "In my pocket."
Immune to his attempts to be charming, Malik raised an eyebrow. While Altair's recent display of senseless devotion could be considered valiant, it was still too unbearably stupid for Malik to find it anything but exasperating and, admittedly, hilarious. It wasn't as if the ring wouldn't have come back sooner or later.
"You see, I take my ring off before work," he said. "You should try it."
Seeing that his ring retrieval efforts were going to waste, Altair made a face in Malik's direction. By now he was applying alcohol onto his cuts, most of them quite shallow, if numerous. He grimaced, and looked up as Malik left the little owl dozing upright on the table, gesturing for him to sit on the counter by the sink.
Altair did, holding out his hands for Malik to inspect and wrap up. Malik's own hands were freshly sanitized, and he tensed for a quick second as their fingers rested over each other, stinging slightly but completely welcomed.
"I found a name for Sixteen," he said, letting his knees brush at either side of Malik's waist.
"Let's hear it," Malik said with a smirk.
"Jerky-Peking-Oven-Baked-Barbeque," he said, dead serious.
"That's a long name," Malik mused, bandaging the last of the cuts and content to let their hands fall into Altair's lap.
"It's a big bird," Altair huffed, leaning in.
He was about to say more, but Malik closed the rest of the distance to press their mouths together, having never been impressed by birdlike pecks and kisses, and Altair figured there was always time to contemplate the merits of opening up a restaurant later.
