A/N: To the few of you who read this the first time around...
Not much has changed with this story since the first time I uploaded it, but I've decided I will incorporate an SFA storyline later on.
Blue Fire
Chapter One, Human Error
In the past were overwhelming amounts of humiliation, insecurity, and a certain gross amount of fear embedded by an unremorseful monster. Good times were few and far between, home was never a place to feel comforted, and all too often, not even warm. Temporary shelter meant old abandoned warehouses, picking up, scattering quickly, scavenging for food on the way to the next destination. He'd never had it easy. That's what made war so simple: Hunt the enemy. Live or die. If all goes well, willingly accept the grand heroes welcome each time the team returns from a successful mission. The thing about that was, this time, the mission had failed.
The team had been ambushed by a rogue squadron at Sector Z. Fox was shot down but somehow managed getting away before the army of vultures could snatch him by the tail and drag him into the docks for mealtime. However, Slippy was practically turned into frog stew before being rescued by Bill Grey's Husky Unit, and Peppy had made it out alive, albeit by no more than a hair(no pun intended), but he was all broken up; suffered brutal torture at the talons of predators who didn't give a damn one way or the other if the old guy had already been through too much pain. Those guys would've plucked the last member of the team down to his last feather if they had caught him.
In the middle of the night, Falco broke away from a vivid nightmare, one that brought back horrid memories of the day the Great Fox came down indefinitely. He was already onboard when the missiles hit, his ship docked for repairs after taking on a few hard laser strikes by three enemy fighters that he couldn't shake off his tail no matter how many tricky maneuvers he had tried. So far, no one else acknowledged that his plan to lead the team out over the southern post would have worked perfectly; it was Fox who countermanded the order, and it was he who failed to take out those last three enemy fighters.
"Thirty more minutes, honey,"
Falco looked over his shoulder when Katt spoke, trying his best not to lose his composure—couldn't shed tears in front of her, he couldn't even do that in front of his own mirror, only in total darkness, and completely alone.
"You know it wasn't your fault. You're a great pilot, Falco," she moved behind him and snuck her arms around his waist. "Better than...." Her voice trailed off as though she suspected someone of eavesdropping on their private conversation within the solid walls of her small condo in Zoness. "You know it well as anyone. It's just that no one wants to admit the truth,"
"Don't, Katt."
He broke from her hold and got out of bed, bristled his feathers a bit, felt her eyes on him as he retrieved his pants from the nearby pink satin upholstered chair and put them on. At least being with her last night had been a pleasant reminder of how good love could be as opposed to the "on one minute, off the next" relationship with his so-called good friend and current leader of the team. He despised those thoughts as he pulled a Tee-shirt over his head and tugged it over the tapered narrow curve of his middle, then looked back at Katt. She knew him well enough, accepted him the way he was, never asked for anything less. Perhaps he wasn't the one of the nicest guys in the universe, but he sure as hell didn't deserve the kind of treatment he'd been receiving lately. In other words, if someone wanted to pick another fight, Falco was surely ready to roll.
But first, he had this last bit of business to finish.
At the same time he turned around, Katt rose up from the bed then grabbed her fluffy white robe from the footboard and put it on over her semi-sheer camisole.
"I think he's insecure, a personal problem, yaknow? Probably doesn't have anything to do with you, he just can't deal with his own shortcomings and that's really a shame, too. Fox seemed to have it all together and now we're seeing this side of him,"
"Wha'd'you mean...now? This is nothing new," Falco shrugged. "All these years on that giant flying mobile home ain't been all wine and roses,"
"I never thought so."
"But we have a job and have to do it well or else....like Andross. I mean, who didn't want an end put to him? But Fox is still obsessed with it, almost like he's wanting the guy to come back or so he can wipe him out again. I'm sure he knows what went wrong this time but he thinks we're all supposed to show up at Pepper's doghouse and help bail him out after he made the stupid decision to go in blind....same thing happened when he tried being the big bad hero saving his first love..."
Katt winced. "Don't bring that up, Falco. Really, I mean it. He hasn't gotten over losing her yet and no matter what's going on between you two, it wouldn't be fair to him."
There was something odd about that word....Fair. Was there some kind of rule pertaining only to Fox? Were they coddling him in the name of fairness? Lately he'd been making some pretty bad decisions and yet received no reprimands—was that fair to anyone else?
"No more Mister Nice Guy," Falco grabbed his jacket and slipped into it quickly. "If Fox wants all the glory he can sure as hell have it. I always figured I'd do better flying solo anyway..."
"What?" Katt came around the bed in a jiffy as he pulled out his digital notepad and tapped off the alarm.
"Starting today, I'm no longer one of Fox McCloud's wingmen. I'm turning in my resignation to Peppy."
"But......you can't..."
"I sure don't need to ask permission from Fox,"
"I didn't say—"
"It's over,"
"But you...I thought...."
"Thought what?"
"Nothing.....If that's what you really want,"
"Yeah, it is, sooner, the better."
Time: 1100 Sysdate: 103.94
Identified: F. Lombardi, 2nd Wingman, Star Fox Team
A tall, gray female gave him a stern going over with her usual ingrained frown that he had to admit was pretty darned close to his own if not for the fact that she was a vixen instead of a male avian. General Pepper had a private shelter hidden deep inside the western mountains outside of Corneria City. His office was on the third floor of the installation. Star Fox had a permanent space at the location as well—the place where Falco had been hired onto the team as a matter of fact, but this time, before could get anywhere near the door, a secretary sent him through the identification area then screened him like she'd never seen his yellow-beaked face in her life although he'd been a regular visitor.
"You're late, Airman Lombardi,"
"Yeah, I had some trouble flying into Katina. Apparently they've been put on special alert,"
She pursed her lips as though his comment was insignificant then met him on the other side of the detection equipment, and he waited while she issued him a temporary pass that would let him move freely about the third floor. Ursula Anssen, the boss Pepper's personal secretary, not only handled the paperwork and video feeds to the Great Fox, but also kept a detailed record of who came and went, and she took the job very seriously. According to rumor she was a distant relative of Pepper's, but he'd never said one way or the other and so far no one dared to ask.
"Hold it! Where do you think you're going?"
Falco stopped a few feet before the door to Pepper's office and looked back at Miss Anssen. "I'm going in. Something wrong?"
"He's in there," She'd pulled a pen from behind her ear and pointed it toward the next door over from the General's.
"Huh? That's Fox's office. I'm supposed to be meeting with General Pepper. I was told Fox would be there, too."
"Well, he's not. He's waiting for you, in his office," she pointed the pen again. "I've already notified him of your arrival,"
Falco stood there for a moment, perplexed. Sure as hell Katt hasn't snitched on me about the resignation..
"Airman Lombardi, I don't think you should keep your superior waiting much longer. He's not in a good mood."
oooooh, I'm supposed to be scared....?
"Please, you're not doing yourself any favors," The mettlesome secretary scolded. "I said you'd better get going, right?"
He turned away after one last scathing glare then quickly pressed a button just below the rectangular brass wall plate with engraved with black bold faced letters:
J. McCloud, Star Fox One. A touch of the pad automatically spread the rolling metal panels and cleared the entrance.
The heels of Falco's boots stopped clicking soon as he stepped from the hard laminate surface of the outer area onto the wall-to-wall plush royal blue carpet. Lining the walls of the generously proportioned room were shelves filled with books, including Cornerian history, technical guides, and some rare collections of the Lylat System war logs. Straight ahead was Fox's desk, and upon it sat a sleek black flat-paneled monitor and a small amount of backlogged paperwork beside a couple of the newest version of Arwing manuals, then to the right were photographs—one of his four-year old son, the other of his deceased wife. It was then, looking at the face that had vanished forever into the clouds, when suddenly Falco realized that Fox was not seated in his executive chair at the desk as expected.
"Hey, Falco. Glad you finally made it,"
On the far right was a nook for the coffee and condiments. Fox stood there pouring himself a mug and plopped in two sugar cubes, and first thing that came to mind was that he didn't sound all that much in a bad mood, did he?
"You want a cup? I just brewed it...It'll wake you up after that long flight in from Zoness."
"Nah, I'm okay."
"Well then, can I get you anything else? Orange juice? Ice water?"
Falco slowly stepped forward, a little bit on guard. "Nope, I'm fine."
Fox shrugged and came from the counter, "Suit yourself," then he extended an arm toward the chair on the other side of his desk as he sat down in his own. "Why don'tcha have a seat. Relax. We've got thirty minutes before the meeting,"
"Thirty minutes? Didn't you say it would be at eleven hundred?"
"Yeah...I did. But I wanted you here first, so we could go over some things,"
Falco grumbled. "...I should've known."
"What?"
"Nothing,"
After that was a short refrain from the already slow conversation, until Fox decided he was ready to start up again.
"You don't look so good, Falco,"
"Thanks, Fox. You don't look so pretty yourself."
Falco sat back and admired his own sarcasm with a sort of half smirk until noticing how Fox looked at him with a long fixed stare. That's when the cold atmosphere in the room turned frigid as the winter air outside.
"I asked you to come here because I've made a change of plans," Fox finally elaborated.
"Change of plans? I didn't know there were any plans. The last mission failed. We were beat bad, we got out, that was it for the most part."
"This has nothing to do with the last mission. I'd say it has more to do with future ones, and I wanted to tell you first, to make sure you don't misunderstand why I'm making this decision,"
"What decision?"
"I'm reassigning you, Falco. There's a unit at Synthesis Two in need of a pilot with strong leadership and weapons experience. You'll handle some of the training and go in when they need back up,"
"Hold it just one sec," Falco sat forward and scooted to the edge of his seat, ready to shoot up at any second. "Are you saying what I think you're sayin'? You're firing me?"
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to say it, Fox! I'm off the team, right? So how long did it take you to devise this scheme...."
"Falco—"
"..Not long, I bet, huh? Probably right after you blew the mission at Sector Z. Gotta cover your ass some kind of way so the General won't know who really burned us..."
A fierce glimmer came to Fox's eyes and his mouth appeared to twist into a faint snarl just before balling his fists atop the desk, then he exhumed a muffled growl at the moment it seemed he would get up and smash Falco a good one, but something was different about him all of a sudden—not anger, but hurt—like a hand had gone down and ripped the guts right out of him. Falco then scooted back in the chair again and wished he hadn't....
"I'm taking an extended leave of absence," said Fox. "Peppy suggested it. General Pepper agrees with it....even Slippy. I thought I'd have to convince you but I see that's not necessary,"
"Fox—" the voice cracked, a headache that had been trying to come on was inevitable now. "I.....I...."
"Forget it, Falco. I've got two days before taking leave. I'll make sure you've got your mission details by then,"
"No—"
"What?"
"Something's not right about this. You called me in here to tell me you're taking time off, and you say it was Peppy's idea, and that the General and Slippy went along with it. You know what I don't believe about that, Fox? For one thing, there's no way Slippy would've gone along with it. Second of all, Peppy knew where I was and would've asked for my opinion. And the General's got you under contract for the next four years of which I seriously doubt he'd allow you to waste carousing somewhere on an enchanted island sipping umbrella drinks and chasing bikinis. I know the guy's got cash to burn but he's no fool,"
Silence.
Fox eyed the clock on the wall then directed his attention back at Falco. He took the second sip off his coffee then placed the cup down too hard, spilling some over the rim onto what had been a spotless desktop. "..Dang..." He blinked his eyes slowly, like he was sick and tired of himself then made another move to the coffee station where he grabbed a rag to clean up the spill. But he didn't sit back down.
"If you're finished with me, Falco, I suppose you can go out and get ready for the meeting."
Falco leaned forward again, pressed his hand against that throbbing spot in his head and looked up at Fox in a way that couldn't have been any more clear of the way he felt. Damn, they'd been through hell together, spent endless days and nights on the Great Fox knowing each other like brothers, had even nursed each other's wounds and he'd helped Fox get on his feet whenever the kid got soused after lost missions. Lost missions always upset the balance of things. Maybe this was just another one of those instances. Perhaps after this meeting, all would be forgotten and things would get back to normal; not that life with Fox McCloud had ever been predictable... he'd just about shared the guy's soul, couldn't deny how close they'd come to--
"Airman Lombardi...Airman Falco Lombardi, please return to General Pepper's office at once...."
He'd been out of Fox's office over ten minutes, went down the hall to get a bottled drink from a vending machine when the message came through from Miss Anssen.
A strange pinching sensation ran down his back as he made his way through the corridor and got to the door of Pepper's office. The secretary nodded as he went in.
"Sorry I'm late, General. I was here early and I—"
"No need to explain, Falco. I want you out of here soon as possible!"
"Sir, excuse me?"
"Clear out, I said! I want you off this installation immediately, and don't you dare come back! Your severance will be sent to the forwarding address,"
"But, General—"
"OUT!"
He hadn't even been given the opportunity to ask questions. Last thing he saw had been General Pepper's blazing eyes and the door that slammed in his face, then the secretary confiscated his temporary identification and said goodbye to him with just a hint of a smile.
There had been no written or verbal warnings.
But Fox....he must have known. He had something to do with this—the feeling crawled along Falco's spine again, wherein remained a strong connection whether or not he liked it. ...You've gotta pull through....You can't go out like this....Don't die on me...Man, I'd die for you...... He had not forgotten those words Fox spoke to him the last time he'd been wounded in action.
"I'll have to ask you to step off the premises, Airman Lombardi," said one of the guards who escorted him to the main entrance.
"Okay," Falco took one step backward and planted the toes of his boots on the line where all civilians were forbidden to cross. "I'm off. And so tell me whose ordering me off the property."
"General Pepper, sir."
"He can't do that by himself. Someone else would have to sign the order as well, and I wanna know who!"
"Commander McCloud, sir."
The mention of that name pierced him deep within the cavity of his chest.
"Mister Lombardi!" One of the guards came after him, and he immediately noticed the civilian title. "Mister Lombardi! You dropped this."
The guard held out a plain white envelope, the one that had been in Falco's right pocket. It was the letter of resignation. Once getting it in his hands, Falco tore it into shreds and let the pieces fly away with the cold winter breeze.