Graduation
May 25, Saturday
Someone shouted his name from outside the door. A groan escaped his lips. Lights flickered back at him. Everything hurt. He couldn't move his neck, or his arms, or his legs, so he just laid there in the disgusting bathroom stall. He probably couldn't stand up. Someone would have to come find him, but even if someone walked in, they'd only see an unrecognizable mess of matted fur sprawled on the ground.
He was supposed to call me.
Someone was frantically shouting out his name from outside. He needed to at least pretend to have the dignity to not be found crying in a bathroom. He forced his feet to work, made his trembling limbs support his weight, and hobbled to the sink. Bracing himself against the sink with one hand, he splashed water in his face, as if it would wake him up, as if this was all a terrible dream and the next time he blinked he'd wake up in his house and his comfy bed to the smell of cooked breakfast.
It didn't work. He blinked and he was still half-standing in this dingy bathroom, music pounding against his skull and pain pounding against everywhere. A shudder escaped him when he exhaled. He couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror. Even when he glanced up, he could barely see himself past the grime caked on the surface, but he could make out his orange messy fur and green puffed eyes staring back at him.
What a disappointment.
He punched the mirror until it shattered and his knuckles bled, and he kept punching it. He wanted to grab his reflection through the mirror and rip his throat out, punish him for being a pathetic shell of the man he wanted to be, but he couldn't. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare, but he couldn't.
He couldn't do anything.
June 8, Saturday
Towel around his waist, he emerged from the shower to see his phone vibrating on his nightstand. Ring. The familiar number shone and tempted him to reach over and pick it up, but he stopped himself. What else did he have to say? Nothing good would happen if he picked up the phone, so he let it go to voicemail like usual.
Ring. Now dressed in a white T-shirt and boxers, Fox browsed through his closet. Today was his graduation, he noted, seeing the red cap and gown draped in his closet. He never bothered to steam out the wrinkles when he first got it, not that it mattered anyway.
Ring. On second thought, maybe he needed to answer his phone. Hearing her voicemail would only make him tense up, curse at himself, and feel a slew of emotions that he didn't need to be feeling. He picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.
"Fox?" Fara's voice came through the speakers quiet and meek. "Fox! You answered."
He didn't respond. "Fox, listen, I'm . . . I'm sorry, okay. I didn't know that . . . Gods, I messed up. But I just want you to talk to me. Please, I just want to hear your voice. Everything can be okay, just . . . it might take a while, but everything will be okay. I can help you cope. You'll be fine."
That made him flinch. "Fox?"
"I'm here," he said.
Fara waited for him to speak, but he didn't have anything to say. "I understand if you don't want to talk to me on the phone. Maybe it'll be easier in person. I'll see you at the graduation, right?"
Fox paused, staring at the wrinkled red gown hanging in his closet, the symbol of his hard work the past five years in the Academy. "No."
" . . . you're not going?"
"No."
"Fox—"
"Please don't call me anymore," Fox muttered.
"What?"
He hung up. It was low of him, he knew, but he couldn't stand to have this argument over the damn phone. He wouldn't be able to make Fara happy, whatever he did, and he couldn't explain himself because the words to explain himself didn't exist.
So he cut himself off. Just like with Bill, and just like with everyone else in his life. He sighed. Way to go Fox, it only took you two weeks to lose everybody you loved.
Before finding breakfast downstairs, he stopped and stared at a family portrait above the downstairs archway. In it, his parents were smiling, and his father was holding him, a baby in his arms. His only memory of his mother came in a few pictures. Most of the time, he just stared at his father. Back when he was a child first learning to cope with him being away for weeks at a time on various missions, he would stare at the portrait, and it would seemingly come to life. A glint came in his father's eye, and it was as if James was standing right beside him.
He still saw the glint today. At least he didn't feel completely alone.
May 5, Sunday
Alone.
Alone on this podium in front of an audience of hundreds. Gods, please get me out of here.
Max Huntree, the mayor and a muscular beast of a mastiff, stood across the stage from him, rattling off his accomplishments. "It's no easy feat to qualify for the Corneria City Golden Heart award. This young man has done so much for our city. He's logged an impressive amount of community service hours, helped construct the new McCloud Homeless Shelter in downtown Corneria, and has organized a new network of food kitchens in Eastern Corneria."
The dramatic pause made Fox hyper aware of all of the eyes focused on him. "But the Cornerian Flight Academy doesn't only make good citizens. They, obviously, make great pilots, and the icing on the cake came when this young man risked his life and used his personal starfighter to save a stranded rock climber on Mount Feldberg. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the recipient of the annual Corneria City Golden Heart award, Fox McCloud!"
The crowd stood and erupted in applause. Fox couldn't quite make out the faces past the light, but they were mostly people he didn't recognize. Mayor Huntree approached him with a large, silver trophy and shook his hand. "Would you like to say a few words?"
His posture stiffened. He glanced back over to the crowd, and in a small pocket of people in the front corner were familiar faces from the Academy. Beneath the shadows was Bill Grey giving him a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. "Sure," he said, stepping up to the microphone. It'd been forever since he took speech class. What did Professor Brenbauer always say? Right, short and sweet.
He inhaled. "I'm really grateful to have received this award," he started, conscious of being too cliche. "But I don't think I'm a hero. Anyone would have done the same things I did in my position. That's the beauty of our city though. People take the time to help others in small ways each day. Eventually, we'll all be able to make Corneria City a better place."
The last sentence was awful, but the audience didn't seem to mind. After the applause, Fox disappeared off the stage. The audience packed into the auditorium was starting to shuffle out. Hopefully, he could find Bill, Slippy, and his friends, but he didn't find any familiar faces in this new crowd. Countless people shook his hand, patted him on the back, and congratulated him, but he wanted nothing more to escape all of the attention and leave.
His phone buzzed with a text from Bill. we're in the parking lot, if you want to go eat somewhere and celebrate. He replied with a quick, sure, before making his way down the back corridor, as far away from the crowd of people as possible. Someone's voice made him jump.
"If you wanted to borrow the Arwing, you should have just asked."
James McCloud. He wasn't wearing the sunglasses indoors (because he's done that sometimes), but he was wearing a new green dress shirt Fox never remembered seeing, and a sly smile. That was when Fox remembered that he never told his dad about his little adventure. "If I asked," Fox began, "you would have said no immediately."
"You're right." James deep voice resonated easily in the small hallway. "Flying a real starfighter is much different from the simulation. Weights are off, there's more data to keep track of, everything's real. What you did was pretty reckless."
His father wasn't always the most readable, but even though his arms were crossed, he didn't appear to be upset. "Yeah it was reckless," Fox said. "But I learn from the best."
James laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "At least it makes for a memorable first flight." He reached for the silver trophy in Fox's hand and examined it. "The Golden Heart, huh." Fox nodded, hoping that his dad wouldn't mention his embarrassing acceptance speech, but James just smiled and embraced Fox in a hug. "I'm proud of you, ya' know."
"Thanks, dad," he said, trying to keep himself from squirming in joy. The words replayed in his head.
I'm proud of you.
June 4, Tuesday
Pride was the only thing keeping Fox operating. Pride was the only thing that made sure Fox was a man working to get his diploma and flight certification in a couple of days, and not a sniveling mess of fur curled up in his bedroom.
But sometimes, his pride and his conviction faltered. The first strike came in his morning political science class. Before, the large Harkness table made it difficult enough to contribute to class without feeling awkward; now, each time he spoke he received worried gazes from half of the room. He gave up contributing much to the class, opting instead to listen (to Scott Finnigan mispronounce the word sovereignty for the eleventh time), nod, and occasionally repeat a basic point enough for Professor Scarner to not call him out on it.
Scarner's alarm clock buzzed, signalling the students to scoot out their chairs and leave. "Don't forget. If the late essays aren't in by three tomorrow, I'm not looking at them. No excuses. Johnson." He lowered his glasses, and the feline on the other side of the table groaned. "McCloud."
Bill Grey shot Fox a worried look before opening his mouth in protest. "Professor, you can't be serious—"
"I'll take care of it," Fox interrupted, glaring at Bill before leaving the room. The last thing he wanted was special treatment. Policsci and Advanced Flight were the only two classes that didn't end after their finals last week. As much as he wanted to be at home doing absolutely nothing, he forced himself to stay on campus and give his mind something to focus on.
The second strike came later in his dorm room. He neared the last few pages of his essay — 2000 words on the demographic factors behind Macbeth's civil war — as Bill walked through the door. "Hey Fox!" he exclaimed, a little too loudly for the room. "How are you?"
"Fine. You?"
Bill paused for a second. "I'm fine too. Just need to finish packing." He pulled luggage out from under his bed, staring at it before getting to work. For a while the only sounds in the room Fox's clicking of keys and Bill's zipping and unzipping of different compartments.
"Hey," Bill started, speaking a bit more carefully. "Do you have any plans the week after graduation?"
"Not particularly."
"My . . . my family's going on a camping trip that week, and they said you could come, if you're interested." Pause. "You could finally meet my psychotic little brother I've been telling you about. What do you say?"
Fox stopped typing and turned to look at Bill. He was sitting at his bed, hands clasped together, gazing at his suitcase. "I'm not sure, Bill . . ."
Bill looked up and gave him a weak smile. "It's fine. Was just wondering, in case you, ah . . ."
"I'll be okay," Fox said, turning back to his computer. "You don't have to worry about me—"
"I said it's fine." Bill's voice rose. "Forget I asked."
Fox didn't say anything more, continuing to type his essay, but he heard silence from Bill's end of the room. At some point the bulldog stood up, and Fox got the uncomfortable sensation of someone looking over his shoulder. "Fox," Bill was almost whispering. "Umm . . ." He exhaled, seemingly straining himself for the words. "Sorry."
He could feel the desperation in Bill's voice, but Fox didn't know how to respond. "Say what you were going to say."
"It was nothing."
"Just tell me."
"It was—" Bill caught his voice from getting too loud. "You used to talk to me more. You used to be happier."
"Gee, I wonder what could have happened."
"Forget I said anything." The door opened and closed with a creak behind him. Fox kept typing, only noticing a couple of minutes later that Bill's suitcase and clothes were strewn across his bed, his luggage still half empty.
You used to be happier.
May 20, Monday
It was a bit difficult to be excited when Professor Fink decided to jam in five extra chapters that weren't in the original curriculum right before the test. The physics final was daunting enough as it was. Fox scratched at the fur between his ears. Sitting in his father's office didn't actually make him do computations faster as opposed to his own bedroom, but at least it felt that way. The television was on, but it was mainly for white noise as he drifted into his comfortable studying pace.
His ears did flick when he heard mention of Star Fox, and he turned to the television to watch. "Peppy Hare, Pigma Dengar, and leader James McCloud of mercenary team Star Fox have finished their operations in Macbeth. Their actions in the nation, a planet struck by rebellions and on the brink of civil war, will hopefully bring much needed stability to the region." Clips of his father shaking the prime minister's hand, waving to a large crowd, and speaking on a podium played in quick succession. "Their meeting with Macbeth's government comes shortly after Corneria's pledge of military support for Macbeth's government."
Fox grinned. The adoration, the smiles, the sheer respect Lylatian leaders gave his father — Fox would never reach that level, but some day he could come close. Working on team Star Fox alongside his dad was a faraway goal.
Before that happened, he had to conquer this physics final.
A half hour later, pangs in his stomach reminded him to go get a snack. As he wandered to the kitchen, his phone rang, and he was greeted by a familiar number. "Hey, Fara."
"Hey Fox." The voice on the other end sounded excited. "What'cha' up to?"
There wasn't much in his fridge that he could eat without wasting time cooking it. He decided on a pack of strawberry yogurt. "Studying. You?"
"Nothing much. Listen, your dad will still be out of town by Saturday, right?"
It didn't take a genius to know where Fara Phoenix was going with this. "It's going to be longer," Fox said. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Star Fox is going to Venom on a reconnaissance mission." Then, with as stern of a voice as he could muster, he added, "But we're not having any parties here."
"Why not?"
Bingo. "Because the last thing my dad will want to come home to after a stressful mission is a messy house."
"Well if he's gone for say, an extra week, it gives us plenty of time to clean up."
"That's what you said last time, and your friends trashed the place."
"I helped clean."
"I know." Fox struggled ripping the yogurt cover off, so he bit through it with his teeth. "But then my dad found the broken china in the drawer, and he asked me about it. I'm bad at lying to him."
"Fine, fine. No more parties at Mr. Responsible's house." He cringed each time she called him that nickname. It was laced with just the right amount of sarcastic playfulness and bitter truth to make Fox feel guilty. "I just wanted to do something relaxing with Fox before the Academy finals murder us all."
Fox licked yogurt off of his spoon. "What about your place?"
"Can't. Mom works from home now, so I never have the house to myself. But if you still want to have a party . . ."
"Only if it's not as destructive as last time."
Fara laughed. "I'll only invite a few close friends. Just enough to have our last memorable moment before graduation. There's this clubhouse by the lake, and the scenery's gorgeous."
As he walked back into his dad's office, he glanced up at the family portrait above the archway. His father was holding a baby Fox McCloud in his arms, smiling at the camera. Sometimes, like right now, if he looked hard enough, he saw a lively glint in his father's eye. Even when he was planets away on a mission, Fox felt as if James was in his home, right by him. "I'll be looking forward to it."
"So you aren't doing anything besides studying tonight? Want me to come over?"
He almost instinctively said yes, but looking at his father's empty office chair made him hesitate a bit. "Umm. Technically I'm not supposed to have anyone over this time."
He bit his lip, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist if she asked again. Sure enough, her voice got low and sultry, and she nearly whispered into the phone. "Oh Fox. How much of a mess can two people make?"
Fox smirked. "I guess we'll have to see." A laugh came on the other end, and the phone call hung up shortly after. He plopped in his dad's chair, absentmindedly solving physics problems as he waited for Fara to ring the doorbell. He couldn't help but smile. Loving father, amazing girlfriend, and delicious yogurt to boot.
June 4, Tuesday
The third strike came at lunch. Fox peered through the glass, mulling over whether to choose the slightly undercooked chicken enchiladas or the imitation oriental soup. Both would likely taste awful. Somebody tapped his shoulder, and when he turned he saw Bill Grey. "Hey, Fox." A nervous smile appeared on the bulldog's muzzle.
Fox ended up choosing the enchiladas. "Hey Bill."
Bill's collected demeanor returned, and any signs of his earlier frustrations disappeared. The man was a master at hiding his emotions. "Just wanted to know if you wanted to sit at the table, eat with our friends."
The connotation in the last two words was impossible to miss. It pained him, but Fox still found himself saying, "Sure," if only to avoid Bill's inevitable pestering that would follow. "And I'm sorry for being so difficult back in the dorm."
"It's fine, Fox . . ." Bill's muzzle contorted into an expression of pained confusion. He opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips. "It's fine."
Fox followed Bill to the table. Everyone else he knew was already sitting. Jake, a grey coyote, was conversing with Slippy Toad. The identical ferret twins Daniel and Quinn were engrossed in some silly debate, judging by the former's flailing arms. Sitting next to Jake was some badger he didn't know, but it didn't surprise him — Fox often came back to his dorm to see Bill playing video games with a new unrecognizable face.
The talk faded when Fox sat down, and everyone met him with greetings and polite smiles. He forced a polite smile himself. "Hey everyone," he said, sitting next to the unknown badger.
"Glad to see you back, Fox." Slippy said this as if Fox had taken a year long vacation, but Fox dismissed the strange feeling and poked at his food until conversation started back up. Normally, the dining hall's cheese-covered enchiladas were his guilty pleasure, but today he couldn't get over the taste of leather and salt. After three bites, he dropped his fork.
"I'm just saying," Quinn said in between bites of broccoli. "I would take Valencio over Petersen any day on my team."
Bill shook his head. "It's stupid that the underclassmen get so crazy over your silly power rankings."
Dan smiled. "Is someone jealous that they never got top ten their senior year?"
"Shut up, Dan."
"I'm Quinn."
"No you're not. You're wearing the earrings today." Dan sighed in defeat at the loss, and Bill continued. "Besides, it's better to be noticed by the important people. Headmasters, generals, captains, the people that can actually give you promotions and help you rise up the ranks. Not some ferrets with too much time on their hands."
Quinn made an exaggerated lean over the table to smirk at Bill. "Are you getting noticed by those headmasters and generals and captains?"
Bill sank back in his chair. "I'm just saying."
That forced a laugh out of the twins, but now it was Jake's turn to step into the conversation. "Bill has a point though. We aren't only evaluated on flight. The air force cares about intellect, the ability to lead, the ability to follow—"
"All I know is that we're in the Cornerian Flight Academy," Dan said. "So somebody ought to make a list of the best pilots."
"And I would still take Valencio over Petersen on my mercenary team."
"Like you guys are in the position to debate any of this," Bill said. "Neither of you would even be in the top 50 of your rankings."
Even Fox chuckled a bit at that one. "Regardless," Jake added on, "Most of us aren't going to be on mercenary teams. We'll probably be deployed in the Cornerian Air Force, and even if we weren't, given recent events I doubt the Cornerian military will trust teenagers to be on any sort of special ops squadron."
Bill shot Jake an angry glance. Fox averted his eyes, putting his full attention on the enchilada lumps on his plate. "Fox," Slippy said, forcing Fox to glance back up to see, sure enough, everybody's eyes fixed on him. He pretended not to notice. "Did you hear that they're televising our graduation this year?"
"No." Fox felt his tension evaporate. "Why would people want to watch it?"
"Slippy told us about this," the unknown badger said, and Fox tried not to dwell on his use of the word us. "He thinks it's a sign that full out war is coming soon. I think he's silly."
"Well that wasn't what I meant." Slippy cleared his throat. "War's inevitable anyway, but I don't think it's a good sign that suddenly everything related to the Cornerian military is getting televised. What better way to shore up nationalistic fervor than to show the next generation of Cornerian men and women to defend our nation graduating from the Academy?"
"You sound like a conspiracy theorist," Jake said.
"It's not a conspiracy. It's just what the media does."
"All I know," Quinn started, "is that Mom's going to make this even more of a big deal."
"Damn it, I forgot." Daniel dropped his fork and crossed his arms. "Knowing her, she's going to invite our entire family to come, even our uncle that moved to Katina."
"Maybe you should appreciate your parents more," Bill said.
"It's impossible. All she does is pester us about our lives, like she can't let go, and Dad just sits there and says nothing. My parents suck."
Bill shot Fox a worried glance before muttering, "Christ guys, can't you be a little more respectful?"
It was almost a direct invitation for Fox to say something, but he didn't, and after everyone gave cursory glances to Fox, the table fell silent. Quinn's ears folded back as he took a bite of broccoli, and suddenly everyone gave too much attention to their food, leaving Fox to stare at everyone at the table, mouth agape.
He couldn't stand it. "Are you fucking serious?" Fox said. Ears flicked his direction, but no one could meet his eyes "You guys can't talk for five minutes without someone feeling sorry for me."
Bill was the first one to look his direction. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Well, you failed."
Bill clenched his fists. "What? Quinn was the one who wouldn't shut up about disrespecting his parents—"
"Do you think I've forgotten? My father's dead." The words sounded so wrong coming out of his mouth, but there was nothing he could do about it. "I'm reminded of it every single day, every single minute. I don't give a fuck what Quinn thinks about his parents; that doesn't set me off. You constantly checking up on me as if I'm going to break down and collapse at the smallest little thing — that sets me off."
Quinn and Daniel both scooted their chairs back. "Someone needs to check up on you," Bill said. "You won't tell anybody anything."
"Why do I need to? I'm trying to cope and not dwell on it. You're the one always bringing it up."
"You're the one dwelling on it. You think you can pretend not to care and just ignore the fact that your father's gone, but bottling your emotions is only hurting yourself."
Fox scoffed. "Are you my therapist?"
"Might as well be. I know you didn't get one yourself."
An unfamiliar voice spoke up. "We're just trying to help, Fox."
The badger tried placing a hand on Fox's shoulder, but he jerked back and stood up immediately. "Who the hell are you, even?"
Now Bill stood from his chair, anger creeping into his voice. "Don't yell at my friends."
Random students in the dining hall were either peeking their heads his direction or crowding around their table. "I didn't ask for anybody's help," Fox said, keeping his voice down. "Stop feeling like it's your responsibility to protect me. I'll be fine. Just leave me alone—"
"Why? So you can sit by yourself and not talk to anyone for the rest of your life?" Bill slammed his hands against the table. He wasn't backing down. "You call that fine?
"Bill." It was nearly impossible to keep himself from shouting. "Don't tell me how to feel. It's my father who's dead, and I'm—"
Pain. Bill shoved Fox and his back slammed against a pillar behind him. A hand was gripping his shirt collar, and Bill was inches from his face, teeth clenched. "Then fucking act like it!"
What hurt most was seeing the tears well up in Bill's face, but if Bill was expecting Fox to scream, or cry, or have some emotional cathartic moment, he didn't. He couldn't react even if he wanted to because he didn't know how. Bill dropped his hands from Fox and walked away, and the crowd slowly began to dissipate.
Fox tore his eyes off the crowd and headed out of the dining hall, nearly sprinting back to his dorm room.
June 8, Saturday
It was the first bill that came addressed to him, Fox McCloud. He eyed the Space Dynamics logo, the golden letters SD in a circle with a silver jet flying between the letters, before ripping open the letter. He couldn't make sense of most of the terminology, but his jaw dropped when he saw the numbers at the bottom.
He had no friends, no family, and now a shitload of debt. Cool.
He tried to laugh about it, but it came out bitter and weak. Personal finance wasn't a class offered in the Academy, for whatever reason. It was one of those things he was going to ask his father about after graduation.
Except he couldn't exactly do that.
He slammed his fists against the table before he could calm himself down. There was no one to ask for help on this one. As he flipped on the TV to look for the channel his graduation would be on, he tried to think of how he was supposed to pay this loan on the Great Fox, or what in the hell possessed his father to take out an 80 year loan in the first place. It was probably a combination of reckless ambition, a couple sheets of paper work, and a few words of agreement.
Fox sank back in the couch. It was funny how a few words could change everything.
May 25, Saturday
"Rebel forces have launched a full-scale attack on Macbeth's capital. While most of the weapons used by the rebels thus far have been smuggled machine guns and rudimentary explosives, sources say that Venom has supplied them with a large number of high-grade weaponry, including anti-air missiles, cruiser tanks—"
Fara flicked the radio off, then slapped her hand on Fox's thigh. "Enjoy yourself tonight, Fox." Gentle caresses of her fingers relaxed him a little, as did her smile and traces of perfume. "I don't think this radio is going to help."
He held Fara's hand with his own. "I don't know." His eyes returned to the road. "Dad was supposed to call me three days ago. I can't get through to him or Peppy. If they're stuck in Macbeth . . . "
"Relax. It's a reconnaissance mission. He probably can't tell you a whole lot." She squeezed his thigh. "And you know how much of a hassle interplanetary communication is."
Fox frowned. "He's called me before."
Some silence passed. Rows of trees zipped past them, their green leaves combining with the orange evening sky to make a swirl of colors outside his window. "Just enjoy yourself, hon."
A few minutes later, the dirt road winded to a halt, and they reached the clubhouse by the lake. Not only did the sheer amount of parked cars worry Fox, but when he stepped out of the car, rhythmic pumping bass seemed to rattle his feet. He bit his lip. "Jeez, how many people did you invite?"
Fara didn't respond, instead grabbing Fox by the wrist and leading him up the steps to the clubhouse. Inside, he was greeted by a mixture of strobe lights, booming music, and the stench of alcohol. Unrecognizable faces greeted them both. "Seriously Fara," Fox said, barely able to hear his own voice over the bass and treble of the dance music battling for power in the air. "I hardly know anyone here."
"You know Katt," Fara said. "And Falco."
"And the other forty people?"
"You sound like a grumpy old man." Fox glared at her. He almost opened his mouth to retort, but he knew Fara would just brush off his complaints. Some otter bumped into them and gave Fara a plastic cup, and after he left, she handed it to Fox. "Here."
He took it and got a whiff of cheap beer. "If I get in trouble and don't graduate cause of this, my father will kill me."
"Like they're going to keep Fox McCloud from graduating." Fara stared at him, smile on her face, and Fox took it as a hint to take a drink. The beer tasted just as awful as it smelled. When he put the cup back down, Fara placed her hands on Fox's shoulders and leaned into his body. "Listen. I know I've been pushy recently, and I know preparing for finals is important for you, but it hurts me seeing you this stressed. You can't always be Mr. Responsible. Sometimes you need to loosen up. Have fun tonight, for me?"
Fox sighed and returned the smile. Passing his finals with flying colors was more than important — it was necessary — but maybe one day to relax wouldn't hurt. "Sure thing." He gave Fara a light kiss before a vixen tapped her on the shoulder and grabbed her wrist.
"Hey Mindy!" Fara gave her friend a tight hug. "Sorry Fox, I'll be right back."
Fara was whisked away in the crowd of people, leaving Fox with nothing to do but stand there and finish his drink. He ended up drifting through the crowd, and countless people talked to him, joked with him, and offered him drinks. A couple minutes of small talk somehow turned to him getting roped into moderating a game of truth or dare. He joked along occasionally, but in front of him were people who lost all their inhibitions, whose only thoughts were the immediate satisfaction and happiness of the night, without any worries of getting caught, or passing their finals with high marks, or disappointing their parents.
He cringed and took a swig of whatever drink was in front of him. Fara never came back, but he did see a familiar blue face sitting on the opposite side of the room, so he excused himself from the game before he had to do anything and walked over to the bird. "Hey Falco!"
Falco's eyes snapped to him and he grinned. "Fox! Long time no see, buddy."
"Yeah, it's been months," Fox said. "Still hanging with us boring Academy folk?"
"Ya' throw good parties at least."
"You come here with Katt?"
"Tch." Falco's feathers ruffled as he shook his head. "No. Was just in town, and I heard it was graduation time for you guys, so I wanted ta' stop by. Maybe pick up a few recruits."
Fox smirked. "Do you guys still call yourselves the Hot Rodders?"
"You bet." Falco puffed out his chest and pointed at himself. "Proud of the name too. Say, what're you up to after graduation? A certain team could use a pilot like you, if you're interested."
Fox shook his head. "Nah. I'm planning on going through the air force, anyway. Even if I ever joined a mercenary team . . . it would be Star Fox."
"Working with daddy, huh?"
Fox nodded and became uncomfortably aware of the drink in his hand. "Just sayin'," Falco continued, "you're missing out on a lotta fun."
"Don't you guys get tired of escorting shady people around?"
"They ain't all shady." Falco crossed his arms. "Although if I'm being honest, I'd like more of a challenge. Travel's fun, but the battles are pretty shit."
"Join the air force," Fox said. "I'm sure they'd let you back in, and you'd be fighting for something real."
"I'm trying not to get involved with this war stuff. Besides, I don't take orders well. I'd be kicked out the first day."
Someone hugged Fox from behind, and he didn't need to turn around to tell who it was. The perfume was familiar enough. "Fara! Took you long enough."
Falco looked amused. "You guys still together?"
Fox reached back and wheeled Fara around to his front, so now they were embracing each other normally. "Why wouldn't we be?" he said, looking down at the vixen's eyes.
"Sorry for the wait," Fara said. "A bunch of friends wanted to talk, and then the DJ called me asking for directions."
Fox raised his eyebrows. "You hired a DJ? How much did that cost?"
"Don't worry about the money. You having fun yet?"
"More than usual."
"Well just you wait."
Some minutes later, the DJ came, and the entire clubhouse was filled with people recklessly jumping up and down. Fox still felt a bit unnatural, but he took Fara's lead and tried to emulate how much she was enjoying herself. It took a few drinks to push his worries to the back of his mind, but eventually he was jumping with the music as well. At some point Fara left, but he didn't mind. It wasn't often he got to be a normal teenager, and damn it he was going to enjoy himself.
"Hey, hey! What's going on?"
Hands groped at his back and hoisted him into the air. He was surfing along the sea of hands, being passed around across the room and being thrown into the air to the beat of the music. By the time his feet touched the ground again, he still felt as elated as ever. He made a mental note to do this more often as he helped lift someone else up to crowdsurf.
Then the phone call came.
He didn't even notice it at first, attributing the feeling to be someone rubbing against his leg. But after the third or fourth ring, he took out his phone, not recognizing the number. "Hello?" he said, covering his other ear with his finger.
"Good evening, Fox McCloud." After hearing General Pepper's voice, he went dead sober. He'd only spoken with the general of the Cornerian Army a couple of times before, and they were all in formal settings, never when he was drunk at a clubhouse party.
He pushed his way through the jumping crowd and made it outside, where the drone of electronic music became more distant. His feet kept carrying him through the grass. "Hey, sorry I was, umm—" He stopped himself from speaking so informally to the general. "I'm not used to speaking with you over the phone. What was your request, sir?"
There was a long pause, and when General Pepper finally spoke, his normally firm voice was quavering. "Have you watched the news tonight?"
"No, I've . . . " Been getting trashed at a party? Shame hit him. "No, I haven't, sir."
"I wanted to deliver you the message before you heard it second hand." Another long pause. "It concerns your father."
The music, the evening sky, the grass under his feet — everything disappeared from his senses. He could only feel his heart racing faster. "As you're aware, Team Star Fox was recently contracted on a special ops mission to Venom. We lost our connection with them for three days. Peppy Hare contacted us from Zoness a few hours ago."
He wished he hung up. He wished he could cut off General Pepper's voice and never have to hear the words.
But he stood there in silence. "I'm sorry to inform you. Your father, James McCloud, has been killed."
He stared at his phone, its harsh backlight beaming at his face.
No.
It was a lie.
He couldn't blink, his eyes fixated on a patch of green grass in front of him. James was going to call him that night, and they'd laugh, and he'd take him out to dinner.
Deafening silence came from the other end of the call. This wasn't happening. He heard someone choking back words, and he wanted to bring himself to respond to General Pepper, but he couldn't say anything. "Fox—"
He dropped his phone. It was all a stupid joke — it wasn't even General Pepper calling him. He looked up to the night sky, knowing that soon, he'd see the blue streak of his father's Arwing mark across the stars as the Great Fox soared into orbit. It was all a joke. His father was going to call him that evening; he just needed to get home.
Fox tried, struggled to walk, but his legs were shaking. He couldn't move. He collapsed to the ground, clutching patches of grass as he tried to regain what little composure he had, as he tried to combat the burning feeling in his throat, in his heart, tearing his insides.
He needed to get home. He stumbled up to his feet and managed his way back into the clubhouse. Everyone was jumping around, these drugged up bodies of fur, these maniacs, and there was all this fucking noise. He found Fara, jumping with the rest of them, and grabbed her shoulder. His throat was constricted, but somehow he managed to get words out. "Fara, I need to go home."
She turned with a smile, but it faded as soon as she met Fox's eyes. "What's wrong? Are you not enj—"
"Fara!" He gripped her shoulders, his arms trembling. Fara's eyes widened. He was hurting her, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself.
"Okay, okay. Let me find my keys."
She disappeared into the crowd and left Fox without a lifeline. People kept bumping into him, and he couldn't get rid of the noise pounding against his ears, and his stomach was churning — so he ran. He bumped into people, ignored the yelling, and made his way to the bathroom.
Collapsing on his knees in one of the stalls, he gripped the sides of the toilet with his hands. He threw up until it was painful, until there was nothing left in his stomach and he was just dry heaving. Then the tears came, and he couldn't breathe. He gripped the fur on his head and kicked against the wall, groaning and yelling and crying. His head was still in spirals. The music was still pounding against his ears in a language he couldn't even understand.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't actually be happening.
He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there until someone shouted his name.
June 8, Saturday
A young terrier stepped up to the podium and went to shake the hands of the headmaster and General Pepper. The camera panned over to presumably his parents, smiling and applauding, as the announcer rattled off the man's accomplishments.
Fox wasn't bitter. Really.
For the past couple of years, the possibility that his father wouldn't return from a mission was always in the back of his mind. Living in a military family meant that at some point, you would have to cope with death. Students became soldiers. Mercenary teams vanished. People he knew from school, who he saw each day in the hallways, who he called close friends, would risk their lives and die in military operations. That was the reality of enlisting in the Cornerian military, and it was something multiple professors and counselors reminded him of early in the school year.
Still, knowing about it didn't make it any easier.
At some point he tuned out the TV, the repetitive praises of the students, the smile on General Pepper's face as he shook people's hands, and just stared in the space in front of him. He was so out of focus that he didn't notice the door creak, and he jumped in his seat when he heard the voice behind him.
"I expected to see you up on that stage. Not here."
He turned to see Peppy Hare. Fox hadn't seen him since the mission, and for the first time he noticed what hell he must have been through. The man bore deep, oddly shaped wounds on his shoulder and face, bandages on his arms and legs, and his face seemed to age ten years with wrinkles and exhaustion. "Peppy . . ." Fox stood from the couch to meet his gaze. "How? Are you alright?"
"Could be better." Peppy forced out a laugh. "I've been wanting to get to you earlier, but I've been locked in talks with General Pepper and Prime Minister Jericho."
"And?"
"War's inevitable." Fox had heard the words for the past months, yet never did they hit him with as strong of a punch. "In their current states, Corneria and Venom can't coexist in the same solar system. War was going to break out anyway. Venom is building a massive armada. Our diplomatic solutions aren't working. Sanctions aren't working. We knew soft power wasn't effective, but no one had the balls to strike first. Great power war was just as unpalatable to Andross as it is to us."
Fox shifted his gaze back to the graduation procession on his TV. War, huh? Just a few weeks ago, they were still just kids, stressing about classes and hooking up and getting to the top of a stupid power ranking. "How long do you think we have until it begins?"
Peppy's face was grim. "Months, if we're lucky."
"Christ—"
"Some would say that what transpired on Macbeth was a proxy war, and war has already begun." Peppy sighed. "Regardless, we're preparing quickly. Corneria is building her fleets as Venom does. Military intelligence wants us to wait for a clearer act of aggression by Venom, as if this cold war is still salvageable. I say that's horseshit."
"That doesn't give us any time . . . "
"Time isn't favorable to Corneria right now. Thinking like that is what got us in trouble."
Fox knew the us was referring to Star Fox. "Because of people like Pigma?"
Peppy nodded. "We knew there were Venomian spies in our government and our intelligence. We just didn't think he'd be one of them. We thought, I mean, James always prided us on our good rapport with all Lylatian nations. General Pepper sent us to Venom as an entity independent from Corneria, to try to understand their motivations, maybe find an inkling of hope in all of this. But they saw through it."
It finally registered how unnatural Peppy's scars were — crashing in dogfights typically didn't give you such deep, characteristic wounds. "They tortured you?"
Peppy nodded. "Yeah."
Fox could barely bring himself to say his next words. "They tortured him?"
" . . . yeah."
His heart couldn't sink any lower. He took a step back, legs shaking, but Peppy grabbed his shoulder and put something into his hands. "He said if he didn't . . . if he didn't make it out, to give you this."
He looked down to see his father's signature wool scarf. Despite how much the man wore it, the deep scarlet color still rang vibrant. Fox gripped it with his fist and closed his eyes. James McCloud was conquered so easily by Venom, and all that was left was this memory in Fox's hands. "Peppy," he managed between short, exasperated breaths. "I'm not ready for war."
"No one's asking you to fight."
"What do you mean? I went through the Academy, didn't I?"
"Well, yes, but I would understand if you didn't want to be in the front lines of the conflict. I don't think I will be. Pigma ended Star Fox, and I feel too old to keep serving for the military."
"You want me to run from my problems?" Fox noticed how loud his voice was echoing through the room. "Would James have wanted that?"
Peppy crossed his arms. For a moment they stood in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Then the hare spoke up, his voice a bit quieter. "So how come you aren't attending your own graduation?"
Fox shrank. "I don't know. I mean, I can always go to the front office tomorrow and get my diploma and flight certification—"
"Fox."
"I couldn't walk in front of everyone like that. The attention — I'm tired of everyone feeling sorry for me. But it's not the same—"
"Have you talked with anyone about your father? Counselors, therapists—"
"Gods, Peppy, I don't need any therapists."
"They could help."
"I've been managing on my own." Fox felt trapped in a corner, Peppy's eyes towering over him. "What are you getting at?"
Peppy frowned, his face marked with exhaustion. "It should have been the other way around. I wanted to sacrifice myself for his escape, but he wouldn't listen. By the time I got to Zoness, I must have sat in a hotel room and just sobbed. Cried for hours, drank, cried more. It was hell." Peppy wiped something from his eyes. "I'm still not over it. I lost my closest friend that day, but I can't imagine what the loss must be like for you. I just want to make sure you know you can recover, that you can be comfortable expressing your emotions."
"That's what Bill said."
"Hmm?"
Fox took another step back towards the TV. "Everyone's telling me to just let my emotions out, but I'm managing, okay? James always told me to be strong, and that's what I'm doing."
Peppy frowned. "Letting yourself feel sadness isn't weak."
"Of course I'm sad. I'm depressed as hell. My father's dead, damn it, but what will wallowing around and being miserable do? Life goes on, right? Crying and breaking stuff isn't going to bring him back."
"Have you tried crying and breaking stuff? It can help."
The entire time, Peppy had been inching his way closer to Fox, and Fox had been backing up against the TV until he now truly was cornered. He placed a hand against the TV behind him, hearing the drone of the announcer call out names of future soldiers in this impending war. Except that drone turned to noise, and he couldn't really see clearly, and his insides were tearing apart.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Fox spat. "You think I cry about it and he'll show up from his office?" He slammed the television down — sparks flew from the wall sockets and the screen collapsed with a deafening crack on the ground. "Hey dad!" he screamed. "I broke the TV! Are you alive yet?"
Peppy could only give a horrified stare. "Fox—"
"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" He smashed the glass of the trophy case behind him with a lamp. "I'm showing my emotions, right?" All of his accolades as a kid — his academic honor roll trophies, tennis medals, community service awards — he shoved them off the cabinet, each striking the floor in rhythmic succession. Crack. Crack. Crack. One silver trophy gleamed in particular, his Golden Heart award from the mayor. He sent it hurling against the window across the room. Crack.
"They fucking tortured my father!" The words came out as a harsh wail as he sent the entire trophy case falling forward. It crashed into the floor and made a cloud of dust and debris. "They killed him!" He punched through the cabinet. Splinters and shards of glass bore through his wrists. "They killed him and I couldn't fucking do anything!"
He stood up and backed against the wall, panting. His hand bled more than he expected, and he was exhausted. His lungs strained for empty breaths. Peppy still hadn't moved or said a word. All Fox could do was stare at the spectacular mess he made, the broken television on the ground, his childhood memories turned into shards of glass strewn across the living room. Of course, the sight wasn't new, and it almost made him laugh. He'd thrown tantrums as a kid — nothing would match the time when he nearly caught the house on fire when he almost wasn't accepted into Flight Academy. But his father had been there to clean up the mess.
His father had been there.
He stared at the portrait above the archway, searching desperately for the glint in James's eye, for some sign of response, but it wasn't there. He wasn't there.
Fox broke down and wept, unable to stop his heaving sobs. He tried to apologize to Peppy for acting so pathetic, but he couldn't do it with his throat so constricted, so he just sat there sputtering. Peppy approached him and hugged him in a tight embrace, and it only made Fox cry more, now burying his tears into the older man's shoulders.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Maybe it was a couple of minutes of him only hearing his own embarrassing cries. Finally, he managed to get something out, hoarse and weak. "He's gone."
Peppy squeezed tighter. "I know." His reassuring voice reverberated through Fox's body.
Exhale. Inhale. "I miss him."
"I do too. Everything's going to be okay."
For a second he wanted to pretend it was his father hugging him, whispering assurances into his ear, but he didn't let himself. His father was gone, but it didn't mean he was alone. The man who was now comforting him was evidence of that. Things could get better.
His sobs died down, and eventually they stood there in silence. Fox pushed himself out of Peppy's embrace. "Thank you, Peppy."
"I can help you clean this mess, if you want." Fox shook his head, and Peppy continued. "I'm not as good at giving advice as James was, but you ought to listen to me more." He gestured to the rest of the room. "Break shit."
That forced a laugh out of Fox, however strange it felt. "I only have so many trophies." Now it was Peppy's turn to laugh, but Fox kept talking. "But I'm still not going to run away from my problems."
"I just want you to know, if you have any apprehension about serving in the Air Force, that's okay. James loved — loves you, and he's proud of you, but most of all he wants you to be safe."
A smile crept on Fox's muzzle. "If he wanted me to be safe, he never would have let me join the Academy. It's always been my dream to be a hero like him and to one day work with him, and maybe he's gone now, but that doesn't mean my dreams are gone. And to be honest, I never planned on joining the Air Force anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"I want to join team Star Fox."
Peppy chuckled. "Huh."
"I'm serious. You said Pigma ended the team, but he didn't. I know great pilots that I can trust, and I'm sure you do too. There's no way in hell I'm letting Pigma ruin my father's legacy like that. More than anything, I think it'd really make him proud, if, uhh . . . " He almost lost his composure again, the stinging feeling returning to his eyes. "If the team stayed together. Please?"
Peppy nodded. "Whatever you say, Captain." Fox's grin faded as soon as he realized what Peppy said, but it just made the hare erupt into laughter. "What? It would be a shame for me to be the leader. I don't have the qualifications."
"And you think I do?" Fox blinked. "I'm seventeen."
"I'm forty. What else you got?"
" . . . I don't think I'm—"
"A hero? James always said that. 'I'm not too sold on this hero business. I'm just doing me.'"
Fox stared into Peppy's eyes, bewildered and unsure of what to say. "It doesn't make any sense, Peppy. You were his best friend."
"You're his son."
"You've been on the team for years. You need to be the leader. I have no idea how a mercenary team works. I've flown a starfighter once."
"You know, I said the same thing to James when we first started out. He wanted me to be the leader, said I was the more responsible one. But I told him that there were a hundred other qualities that being a leader was about that he beat me in. After knowing the two of you, I can say that there's just something in a McCloud that I can't recreate. Passion, drive, honesty, humility, pride, talent."
Fox shivered at how strange it was for Peppy to be talking so highly of him. "Are you doubting me, Fox? On your first real flight, you weaved through mountain cliffs to save a man's life. On my first flight I nearly crashed and killed myself after twenty seconds."
Fox looked down at the scarlet wool scarf in his hands. Peppy grabbed his hands, held up the scarf, and tied it around Fox's neck. For a moment, Fox felt an emotion fluttering in his heart that he hadn't felt in ages, one that overshadowed the wretchedness of the past two weeks: hope. "So you think I can be a leader? You think I can be as good as my father?"
"I think you can be better. What do you say?"
He looked at the portrait above the archway, and his father looked back down at him. Sure, the glint in his eye was gone, but he could still hear his reassuring voice giving him a crucial message: "I'm proud of you."
Fox grinned, and said, "Sure."
This was much longer than I expected. I wanted to write a quick one-shot before college life took me over, and I wanted to try drama/angst because it's probably my worst genre of writing, or at least the one that makes me the most uncomfortable. Thanks for reading if you've gotten this far, and if you liked it, loved it, hated it, found it mediocre, had critiques, or any thoughts at all, please leave a review. I really appreciate all feedback and I'd love to improve.
Strangely enough, this was inspired by a Korean song. G-Dragon: Crooked.