CEO Note: Two for the price of one here

Fox and Falco

By Messenger of Dreams

A/N So! Thanks, CEO, for having me for this project. It seems like a good amount of fun. ^_^

So I'll be doing a bit of an original idea here, that doesn't mess with game events or canon but could serve as kind of a motivator for my good man Falco's intents. Hope you'll enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, regret nothing and let them forget nothing.

After you!

Falco had to admit- it was pretty pathetic that this was the sixth day in a row he had spent doing what was close enough to absolutely nothingto be absolutely nothing.He itched from being under the uncomfortable set of blankets and comforters for much too long but couldn't find much motivation to get out from underneath it except to eat and drink and piss and all the stuff he had to do, no matter how depressedthe doctors insisted he was.

This was utterly ridiculous to him at first. When Fox insisted he see a psychiatrist, and that psychiatrist told him he was depressed, Falco just rolled his eyes at the quack. He was most certainly not depressed, thank you very much. Lazy; unmotivated? Falco would admit that was correct. But depressed implied that he was suffering from heavy grief and was routinely slitting his wrists and weeping to the tune of the incredibly wimpy post-rock genre.

That was his arguing point, but the psychiatrist just rolled his eyes (presumably perturbed by the presence of this Philistine of a patient) and told him that depression wasn't that sweeping. Sometimes it was utterly random, not quite caused by anything, and was as simple as not wanting to do anything except sleep and mope and watch the world move around you. Falco left that appointment feeling incredibly patronized but had to admit that the more he retreated under his covers that maybe that damn quacktor was right.

Falco tried to convince himself to get off his lazy ass, whether for the pleasure for showing that doc up or to prove to himself that the greatest fighter pilot in both sides of the Lylat system wasn't about to disintegrate into a deplorable piece of feathered bedding, but it certainly wasn't as easy done as it was said. It was enough for Falco to take an existential laugh at himself, so at least he could still do that. Maybe that meant he wasn't totally depressed.

An avian can dream, right?

Trying to distract his own brain enough to trick himself to get out of bed, Falco propped himself up and, not even bothering to remove the blankets from his person, let them drop as he crept around the house, looking like an utter mess, he presumed. More of a Mordecai than the Falco Lombardi he used to be. He sighed, glaring at himself as he passed by a mirror in only his boxers with his feathers unkempt and his eyes bloodshot to almost a cartoonish extent. What a joke he turned into, for sure.

He tried to adjust his feathers with his hand, which was easier said than done because they weren't going down without a fight, literally. They continued to awkwardly and wildly stick out, so he shrugged and dragged himself to the bathroom, successfully getting himself into the shower.

He felt the water cascade onto him, enjoying the relieving and refreshing taste on his feathers and skin. It made things just a little more normal, to be doing something as mundane as a shower. He took his time to clean himself, staying in the shower until the water turned cold, and even for a couple of minutes after that. Eventually he found the chill too much to bear rationally and shut it off, stepping outside.

He felt a bit sated to see that his feathers had settled, so he at least looked a little less like he was a sad sack of lazy so-called-depression. If only his brain telling him to spite the doctors, he smiled, and he felt like he meant it. Or at least, he convinced himself that he did. He dressed himself and walked out into the living room.

He couldn't say that he found this bit of an upside day very encouraging overall. Sometimes he'd have the energy to 'take back his life' and sometimes he'd find himself immobile, stuck in bed and unbelievably sleepless despite being tired. He'd admit that he couldn't call himself depressed, but he knew something certainly was wrong with him.

For precaution, he picked up a prescription bottle and fished out a pill from it, effortlessly popping it into his mouth before setting it back down. He stared into his living room, finding that just the simple task of sitting down made him feel nervous because part of him knew there was a possibility that he wouldn't get up for a couple of days. He wandered back into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of chocolate cereal; a large bowl to compensate for a couple of lost meals. He stood at the counter, eating it in large, eager bites, enjoying the sugary treat and hoping it'd give him an energy boost. He messily finished it, getting some milk on his chin before slamming the bowl down, gratefully content.

Again, he glanced into the living room, still unsure of his strength. Soon enough, he zeroed in on an old game system, which made him crack a smile. At least with that, he'd keep somewhat jazzed and active. He slid down to the ground near the TV and snagged the 64 controller and snapping the system off.

Owning a Nintendo was weird for one primary reason; the games Nintendo made, as opposed to other respectable systems by Sony and Microsoft, were entirely based on historic events, even if somewhat loosely. From the citizen knighthood of Mario Segali to the gray-area spacefaring of the enigmatic Samus Aran, the fantastical, mysterious world of the incarnations of Link and Princess Zelda and even the colorful, energetic world of dreams protected by the young, idealistic Kirby, all of them had ties to real events of the history of the universe.

Of course, that did mean one thing.

Falco stared at the TV and watched the Star Fox 64 logo pop up, and he grinned. Was it narcissistic to own a game about yourself and your crew? Maybe. Was it a fun and somewhat cosmic experience? Definitely. It was also a bit comforting to go through your adventures without having to worry about being killed, at least not literally.

Not that Falco had to worry about dying in-game. He was such a master at this game that it'd be boring if it weren't so trippy to be able to play as himself. He pressed start and got prepared for some action. He had to appreciate the level of accuracy this game presented.

Before he could get started, however, he heard the doorbell ring, multiple times.

Oh damn.

Falco resigned himself to the fact that the house was going to be a pretty notable mess while he went to answer the door, knowing very well who was going to be there.

Swinging it open, he greeted his friend. "Hey, Fox."

"Falco," the fox in question gave a quick grin. "Hey, it's good to see you."

"Same," Falco mumbled. "Hey, just as a precaution, it's a mess in there."

To Falco's annoyance, Fox gave him a quick sympathetic glance. Surely he had some idea how much Falco hated those looks. Not only did it make him feel like some sort of medical basket case to take pity on, it also made him feel like an ass to not be around and as reliable as before. "I understand," Fox told him.

Falco sighed, letting Fox in. He didn't really understand, but hell, the idea of not having motivation to do anythingwasn't something that came naturally, so it wasn't as if he could be blamed. Falco was just annoyed that he claimed to or tried, because it just wasn't going to happen.

Fox took a look at the TV and laughed. "Still can't believe you bought that game," he told him.

"How could I not?" Falco responded with a grin. "It's kind of existential to have it. Kind of trippy, really."

Fox laughed again, although it wasn't as cheerful. "Yeah… I think I've had my fill of that in real life, though."

Falco expected no less. He loved being in the stars, feeling the exhilaration of flying at lightning speeds and the rush of the life-or-death balance that could sway either way at any given moment. Fox was different, though. He didn't enjoy fighting as much. It was a bitter necessity for him, while for Falco it was a sport- well, except for killing people, something which he wasn't as comfortable with but knew, had to be done.

Falco turned the TV off and took a place on the gray couch, kicking his feet up on the equally gray ottoman. "So," he began as Fox took a place on the loveseat to his right. "What brings you up here?"

"What, I can't stop by and say hello to a good friend?" Fox countered.

"Well, you could, but seeing as this place is a wreck, if you wanted to just say hello you'd get me out of the house."

"Yeah… just didn't want to make a hassle for you," Fox admitted.

Falco sighed without even bothering for subtlety but said nothing more. He hated that Fox was being so cautious about his symptoms and hated even more that he was kind of right to do so. He was somewhere between guilty that Fox was somewhat sucked into this mess and silently grateful that he cared to help.

"But, yeah, you caught me," Fox interrupted Falco's thoughts, and he then realized that it had been silent for half a minute. "There was something I wanted to bring up. Don't worry; it's actually kind of cool."

"Oh?" Falco perked up, just a smidge. "And what would that be?"

Fox pulled out an opened envelope from his vest pocket. "Well, I got this letter today. Why don't you take a peek?"

"Sure." Falco was intrigued that Fox would present him with a letter addressed to him. He took the letter out with ease and skimmed it over. After doing that, he was intrigued enough to read it fully.

Hello, Mr. McCloud. I hope everything is going well for you.

I am a representative from Nintendo. I'm sure you know us well as we have created a game based off of the stories of you and your crew. Recently, a proposal has been made for a new idea; an event with the participants being those we have featured in our works. They would participate in a fighting tournament against each other in order to prove who the best warrior in the universe is. This would be a large media event, gathering viewers and attention from all known places in the world, and hopefully, if well executed, would go down in legacy as much as yours have.

Needless to say, Mr. McCloud, as the leader of the StarFox team, we would be honoured if you were to participate. It would require at least a three month leave, so we hope that wouldn't be an inconvenience to you, but rest assured that you would be taken care of. We would also be glad if you could possibly bring a member of your team with you to participate with you. You would be fighting against each other, however, so do be warned. If that is too much of a deterrent, we understand if you would not take this option as it is not as much of importance as your attendance.

"Ouch," Falco mumbled, but continued reading.

The details still need to be worked out, but you would be at our grounds within a month if all goes well, and you would be fully briefed there. However, if you could RSVP now, it would make things easier.

Please contact us at U15-563-09874-215

Thank you.

~Master H.

"Huh," Falco stated as he handed the letter back to him. "So, I suppose that you want me in?"

Almost immediately compensating, Fox nearly tripped over himself saying "Well, I mean if you're up for it. It's going to be pretty intense and you have to keep motivated- I mean, I suppose that you can do that well, but I mean with everything going on and-"

"Fox!" Falco interrupted the ramble. "Jesus Christ, man, chill the hell out. I'm up for it."

"You sure?" Fox checked.

"I'm going to try," Falco answered. "I mean, it's a purpose, and one of those would be… healthy, I suppose, for my…" He wouldn't say the D word. "…my whole being off. It'll take some willpower but hell, I've done harder things."

Fox looked up at his friend. "Alright, well I'll send in the RSVP. I mean, should I put you down as tentative?"

Falco sighed. Damn how that was a pretty decent point. He ran a hand across his face, trying to decide if this really was a good idea. He could totally burn out pretty easily, and it'd be pretty demotivating to crash and burn in any place with two digits. That wasn't how he wanted to play. He was, somewhere down there, pretty competitive and he wanted to do a remarkable job.

Somehow, that would be enough. He'd make a drive to win be enough.

"Put me down as a definite," he argued.

"You sure?" Fox repeated.

"Agh, damn it, Fox, if you say 'you sure' one more time I'm going to cream you with the nearest non-lethal object." He threatened, only half-joking. "I'm going to do it."

"Alright, alright," Fox replied with a level of urgency. "I'll do it."

Falco observed his friend, unpleased to find a level of uncertainty across his features. "Fox," he asked. "Do you think I can do it? Be honest, man, do you really think I'll have the motivation?"

He was almost let down when Fox had to think it over for a moment. He wished it was as simple as a definite, confident yes, but unfortunately it wasn't to be. Eventually, Fox told him "You know, it's kind of, you know… but I've seen you in action before, and I think once we get back into it, you'll find yourself feeling a lot better."

Falco closed his eyes, but somehow he knew that he was smiling despite his doubts and his small bit of worry. He took some time himself to think it over, but it wasn't long before he opened his eyes.

"Alright then," he said. "Sign me up."

A/N: This is somewhat of a risk, but it's one that I'm hopeful will work. I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter and everything. This is a killer group to work with and I'm really pleased with how it's going.

I'll be back later with the second chapter.

~MoD