This story takes place after the events of Star Fox: Armada and before the multitude of story lines of Star Fox: Command.
Marked mature for language and m/m sexual behavior
I don't own these characters. Obviously.
I love feedback. Don't be shy!
Fox's personal com pinged. He glanced down at the com. A short message appeared.
"You owe me. I'm calling it in now."
Fox was momentarily baffled. All his debts had been paid since the Aparoid Conflict. Personal debts seemed even less likely to the hero of the Lylat system. If not for he and his team, the whole known galaxy would likely be under the sway of the soulless Aparoid Queen. So who in Lylat thought they held something over Fox McCloud?
Fox glanced at the origin line of the message, and his stomach rolled as it had when he was a cub in the back of his father's freighter.
Wolf O'Donnell was calling an a favor. Fox's mind was filled with contradictory thoughts about his arch-rival: deadliest of all possible foes, treacherous, but also a savior. Wolf had saved Fox's life not once, but twice during the Aparoid Invasion.
It was almost a relief that those rescues had not been altruistic after all. Wolf wanted something for saving the Star Fox team. Fox pondered the request on his com. He could just delete the message and ignore the wolf. Surely nothing good would come of doing favors for the mercenary.
Yet he found himself unable to walk away. He vividly recalled tumbling from a Cornerian rooftop, Aparoid drones flailing to attack him, the ground racing to approach him. Then, there was Wolf, delivering Fox from harm on the wing of his Wolfen.
No, it was no use pretending otherwise. Fox McCloud owed his life to his greatest rival, and no matter what illegal, unethical operation Wolf needed completed, Fox would be there to see it through.
His com double beeped to indicate that it was midnight Cornerian standard time. The Great Fox II was as silent as she ever was. The engines hummed softly as the greatship plowed the vast emptiness, but otherwise no living thing disturbed the quiet of space. Slippy had long since retired to his quarters after spending hours on the long-range com with his new girlfriend. Krystal was asleep in the bed she and Fox now shared. ROB was powered down in recharge mode. Fox himself, of course, was passing time by pacing his new ship until exhaustion overwhelmed insomnia. Of other old friends, there was no sign. Peppy had taken a generalship with the Cornerian Army immediately after his recovery, and Falco was off again to the void knew where. The greatship was quiet, and that suited its owner's now dark mood.
It would be impossible to tell Krystal that he was about to assist in some likely heinous crime. Slippy, though being his best and oldest friend, would be even less understanding. Better to just leave now before any complicated explanations were needed. Why talk about things they would never understand?