In the vastness of deep space, all was drenched in a permeating twilight. When the lights went out on the Great Fox, its crew became shadowed in a darkness that waxed as they passed behind one of Lylat's many planets or moons, and waned as they emerged into the farthest reaches of Solar's glow. Stationed this night in the shadow of Katina, the faint white light of endless stars cast a pale illumination in the halls of Star Fox Team's flagship, and spilled through the door of Fox McCloud's quarters as he opened it.
Fox was perched on the edge of his bed, wearing his navy-colored Captain's housecoat, with fatigue-slumped shoulders. Even further were they weighed down by the pressures of the past day, when he and Falco, Slippy, and Peppy had taken out the gigantic alien mothership Saucerer, before it could vaporise the Frontline Base on Katina. Since Corneria's failure to secure the planet for colonization, the Cornerian Fleet had felt a particular debt to the area and now leapt to its protection at a moment's notice.
Fox had opened the door with a swat of a weary hand to the wall-mounted room controls. He was not often seen by his crew in such a state; to them, in combat and the anxiety leading up to it, he broadcasted a calm level-headedness that none other possessed. He was their infallible, fearless leader, in the crucible of their everyday lives. But now, he could barely stand.
Fox lumbered heavily across his room and over to the far side of the hall, where he could see the outlying planet large in the starboard window. He leaned his elbows on the windowsill of the eye-level glass pane and stared out at the rusty brown surface. It was now so pocked with craters, left at the crash sites of hundreds of fallen fighters, and grazed by laser fire that it was virtually unrecognizable as its former self.
Catching a faint noise, Fox turned an ear, like a satellite dish, to the side. The clink of footfalls on the grating underfoot grew closer and louder, until a voice finally announced the presence responsible.
"Purty, ain't it…?" the impudent voice floated down the metal corridor. Soon its owner strolled into view, with steps light and agile even at the late hour.
"Falco, you scared me," Fox lied, his gaze not leaving the view outside. "What's brings you here in the middle of the night?"
"Oh, you know, just roaming aimlessly, haunting the halls… can't keep still for too long, you know; gotta stay sharp." Falco, still in his day clothes – white sports jacket, red pilot's uniform, and polished white boots – stepped up to the window and turned with a rustle of his iridescent blue feathers to join Fox in his stargazing. "But hey, it's normal for me. I should be asking you why you're here."
"I didn't feel like sleeping," he replied simply, as he did to most of Falco's questioning. The sardonic bird had a fast mouth and flying skills to match, but his jeering and chiding solicited little reaction from Fox, a man of few words. Which was just as well – the two got along fine most of the time, each holding a quiet respect for the other's differences and skill. They were undoubtedly the closest wingmates among the four.
"Yeah, we had a real field day down there, didn't we? Gets the blood pounding too loud in the ears for sleep." Falco heaved a laboured sigh that belied the battle-happy words he spoke. He was only his hot-tempered, pigheaded pilot self by day, when he was in the seat of his Arwing; underneath that skin, there was a man of mystery, deep reflections and unspoken sadness, mature beyond his years.
"I hope Bill and the others will be alright, now," Fox said worriedly. "On days like yesterday, when we get launched down on a planet totally overrun by the enemy, I think long and hard of how little we can really do to halt Andross' advance, with just our small force…"
"Now hold on just a second." Falco turned to face Fox, his crest of head feathers raised to its full height. Fox knew he'd incited Falco's ire.
"We do plenty," the latter continued. "We may be small in numbers, but we've never failed a mission and we certainly pushed them back today. Bill and the others are fine, that much is plain to see. So what's really eating you?" he squawked the question.
At this, Fox finally met Falco's gaze, his eyes full of surprise and secrets. He drew in a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth, and he resettled into his position at the window. The bird stared back, his gaze full of knowing, and, deciding he was satisfied with the reaction, gave a tension-breaking chuckle.
"Ha, I'll let it go." He pressed a finger to the insignia that adorned the left chest pocket of Fox's housecoat. "Don't be a stranger, Cap'n."
With that, he disappeared back into the night.