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Morgan's living room is a mishmash collection of eclectic items. The walls are adorned with an odd assortment of posters and blueprints, while shelves are filled with knick-knacks from around the world and the occasional alien artifact.
Tables scattered throughout the room are overflowing with blueprints, tools, and various electronic gadgets in various stages of disassembly. Most of the mugs scattered around are half-empty, remnants of forgotten cups of coffee long gone cold.
In the centre of the room is a large, overstuffed couch, covered in an array of colourful blankets that seem to have multiplied overnight. There's barely a square inch of the couch not covered in soft fabric, creating the perfect nest for a movie marathon. An equally plush armchair sits in the corner, its arms barely visible beneath layers of blankets.
Amid this organized chaos, Morgan and Hawk are curled up in a blanket fort on the couch, engrossed in a movie marathon. Morgan occasionally reaches for a handful of popcorn from a bowl resting on the coffee table, sharing it with Hawk as they watch the screen with intense focus.
Everything is peaceful until the tranquillity of the room is shattered by frantic knocking at the door. Morgan reluctantly extricates themselves from the cocoon of blankets and cushions, Hawk choosing to stay clinging to Morgan for warmth.
The knocking continues relentlessly until Morgan wrenches open the door, only to be met with the frantic expression of their younger brother, Chad. Chad stands before them, wearing his hero suit under a poorly thrown-on civilian disguise, his metal prosthetic arms gleaming in the light.
"Chad, what the hell are you doing here?" Morgan demands, their annoyance evident in their voice.
Chad, undeterred, thrusts a large wicker basket into Morgan's arms and declares, "Not it!" before darting off down the hallway, leaving Morgan standing in the doorway, dumbfounded.
As Morgan tries to make sense of the situation, Hawk takes the opportunity to peer over their shoulder at the contents of the basket.
"It's a baby," Hawk announces telepathically, accompanied by a trilling noise that conveys both curiosity and surprise.
Morgan's eyes widen in disbelief as they peer into the basket, confirming Hawk's observation. The baby inside yawns and blinks up at Morgan with green reptilian eyes, sending a shiver down their spine.
"What the fuck, Chad," Morgan mutters to themselves, torn between frustration and concern. "Sorry, buddy," they say to Hawk, "looks like our movie marathon will have to wait."
Morgan reaches for their phone, knowing they'll need Alex's help to unravel this mystery. Closing the door behind them, they retreat to the couch, staring down at the baby that just blinks back at them.
Morgan flicks a quick text to Alex asking how long until he gets back home before putting his phone down and turning to look at the baby in the basket. Who the fuck puts a baby in a wicker basket anyway? Spying a slip of paper tucked away in the basket, Morgan reaches out and nabs it.
Quickly scanning over the message, a hastily scrawled note from Chad it seemed, Morgan turns to look at the child again. It's not until Hawk trills in question that Morgan breaks their staring contest with the baby.
“Well, Hawk,” they start, “I hope you’re ready to be a big sibling.”
Hawk perks right up, staring back and forth between Morgan and the tiny child.
“Sibling?!”
“Yeah, this is going to be fun to explain to your dad.”
As if summoned, Morgan's phone begins to rapidly buzz with an incoming call.
“Heeeeey Alex.”
“You’re not dying, are you?”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Answer the question.”
“I am not currently dying. But congratulations are in order.”
“…. What do you mean by congratulations? What happened to movie night?”
“A stork delivered us a baby. Congrats, it’s a girl.”
“WHAT?” The last sentence echoed as Alex suddenly appeared in the centre of the room, spinning around wildly.
Morgan hung up the phone and gestured to the basket. “Congratulations, it's a girl.”
Alex stares frozen at the crib. Hawk has no such problems and is waving one of its many limbs over the baby like a peculiar mobile. Various chirps and trills of vague happiness rumbled across the apartment.
“What?”
“Chad showed up and delivered a baby. Apparently, it's ours.”
Alex completely blue screens, staring at the basket.
Morgan shrugs and moves closer to the basket. Numbly, Alex follows, and they stand over the baby and the cooing zeranid.
The baby, calm as ever, blinks its gaze away from Hawk to the two adults in the room. One of her fists was now jammed into her mouth and her feet kicking wildly in the air.
“What are we going to do with a baby?”
“Well, step one is to probably name the baby and stop just calling it 'the baby.' Then we need to let your parents know. We don’t need to repeat that mistake.”
Alex winces at the memory. “Right. Baby names. Sounds good to me. You pick, I’ll pack?”
Morgan nods as Alex ushers Hawk away to get packing. After staring for another beat, Morgan reaches a hand down into the baby's basket. Immediately, the baby unsticks its fist from her mouth and grabs onto one of Morgan’s fingers, and Morgan's heart immediately melts. Bending down, Morgan lifts the baby right out of the basket.
Morgan almost misses the little curl of plastic left in the basket. Carefully cradling Avery in one arm, they reach down and grab what appears to be a tiny medical band. Holding it up to the light, Morgan sees that it reads “A-V3 Y”.
“Huh, Avery?”
The baby gurgles and Morgan peeks down, surprised. “You like that? Avery?”
Avery reaches up and pats Morgan's chin.
“Well then, Avery, let's go help your dad pack. Your grandparents are just going to eat you up.”
Morgan pockets the medical bracelet and moves towards the bedrooms to make sure Alex doesn’t forget anything.
This was surely going to be an adventure.