PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE

Wulf

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Credits: Stroke of Luck (c) Garbage.

Re-edit, October 2005.

x

Hanging by threads of palest silver.
I could have stayed that way forever.
Bad blood and ghosts wrapped tight around me.
Nothing could ever seem to touch me.
I lose what I love most...

x

a random Wednesday in the middle of summer, Cornerian Air Force Base, Peace Keeper's division

Bill Grey pushed past the door and into the usually spacious room, which by now would probably cause a claustrophobic to spasm into hyperventilation and fits of arrhythmia on sight. Squeezing his way through the dispersing lunch-goers, the mixed breed's was distracted, plotting all the random scenarios of mischief he could possibly allow to come to fruition within a period of one hour. His lunch break never seemed to last long enough. Scanning the crowd for a sign of anyone he knew, his eyes came to rest on the furry reddish head of Fox McCloud. The young canine was busily preparing some lame-ass blah blah report, occasionally glancing up once in awhile to whatever it was that caught his attention, before returning to his report with a little smile that he probably didn't even realize he was sporting.

Bill scanned the crowd, smirking when his eyes came to rest on just what it was that was keeping the tod from his work. Well, this sure is interesting. With that amused thought in his head, and an even better one boiling over with the many ways he could tease Fox about his little crush, the mutt once again struggled to get through the crushing confines of the horde, and stumbled out, nearly falling over another dog in his way. Bill muttered his apologies and stepped around the borzoi, practically skipping with anticipation as he ran to his best friend's side and plopped himself unceremoniously on his desk.

"Good show," he asked, stifling semi-vicious laughter.

Fox jumped, his pen slipping across the rest of the form before hitting the waxy mahogany top of his desk. He blushed, letting out a short curse before pulling open a desk drawer and fishing out his bottle of white-out. Fox dropped his eyelashes, trying to hide the blush before Bill caught on. "Ah-- what do you mean?"

"I think I see some drool there, man."

"Bill. . ."

Bill watched with no small amount of amusement as Fox's blush turned a deeper scarlet. Fox dabbed the white-out on the unsightly black slash across is report, vainly hoping that perhaps if he tried his best to ignore Bill, he'd go away. This, however, only served to incite the dog further.

"Hey, but it looks like you've got some pussy to fight off, if you want that cock..." Bill trailed off, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, slightly mortified at his choice of words. Shit, I should've said BIRD! Fox however wasn't paying much attention. He splattered white-out on the form in obvious anger, nearly covering up the writing along with the blemish His face was contorted in agitation, his small muzzle scrunched up in anger. Uh, oh. Went a step too far here...

"Bill, I'm kinda busy right now. I don't have the time for this. Seriously, what the hell are you even trying to get at?" Fox muttered, although he was already quite sure he knew. Despite his lack of relationship experience, even Fox knew what Bill was trying to imply, and that it was far from the usual joke dropped casually by straight men. He could still feel his face burning, annoyed at his own inability to stifle his embarrassment.

Bill frowned at this turn of events, wondering what could've gotten Fox so riled. Well, there was that cock thing you said. . . Still, he'd obviously struck a nerve with him, went over some line he didn't realize he was crossing.

"Bill, just. . .forget it. Leave it," Fox said while cleaning off the last of his stray ink marks. He placed the cap back onto the long-suffering bottle of white-out and tossed it into his top desk drawer, slamming it closed a little too noisily, the desk rattling, causing Bill to wince and jump. Yep, definitely pushed him too far, and Fox's fur was beginning to bristle. When Fox got pissed, it was kind of cute, like a baby kitten getting miffed. Until you got ten little razor sharp claws in a soft spot, that is. Being Bill, his curiosity overrode his sense of survival, and he pushed the matter further.

"But Fox, I mean. . . I don't there's anything wrong with it. It's kinda weird, but y'know. You guys hang out a lot. I think just about everyone here is curious as to what's going on with you two--" Bill suddenly clammed up, paws covering his muzzle. Shit! I can't believe I just said that! At least I didn't spill it about the pool the office has going. . .

This new bit of news settled into his brain, and Fox's paw skidded across the page for a second time that day. Everybody? What the hell did he mean everybody-- Oh. Oh GOD. . . Why hadn't anyone said anything to him about it before? Fox licked his now dry lips as the new revelation sunk in.. "But, Bill... He's a guy:

"Gee, I hadn't noticed. So?"

Fox licked his lips again. Are you kidding me? Was this shit really happening? Did everyone at the base think he was... that way? Not that there would be anything wrong if he was. But he wasn't. Not even a little bit. Even though he hadn't ever dated a girl. Or a boy, for that matter. Living during a war mean hell on your sex life, which usually meant soldiers didn't even have one. (He had come to realize his paws did not count.) But anyway, he wasn't. At all. (Not that he had a problem with it.) Quietly assuring himself he still liked girls, Fox finally raised blue gaze to Bill's eyes.

"But, Bill... I'm not...gay." Fox insisted, punctuating his sentence with a weak laugh that seemed out of place, yet still necessary. He shook his head, and arched his neck down slightly before staring up at Bill with an unwavering blue gaze after getting his blush seemingly pretty much under control. His pride was at stake, damn it. Where in space had everyone gotten that idea...

Bill's eyebrows arched up. "You sure? I mean, uh. . . Well, I'll totally stop teasing you about it." Bill then looked away, yet again scratching the back of his head uncomfortably, hiding an embarrassed flush. He mumbled an apology and a good-bye before jumping off Fox's desk, hurriedly walking away and disappearing into the crowd to go lick his wounds. Fox leaned back in his plush chair, sighing. He once again pulled out the heavily-used white-out, and set about to cleaning up his report. As he slid the brush across the ugly black line, he let his eyes travel up again.

Across the crowded room was Falco Lombardi, his navy wings wrapped around Katt Monroe. The pink feline was giggling, trying to cover up her breathy laughter with one delicate white paw, playing coquette. Falco was looking down at her, a slight smile curving the edges of his beak. Fox quickly finished touching up his report and bolted for the door, reminding himself that he was still a man, and it didn't matter that Katt was hanging all over Falco. Like the little slut she was.

Shit.

x

Fox jogged down a corridor that led to General Pepper's office. He struggled to gain his composure, as well as settle his little sexual crisis.

Don't be an asshole.

How could everyone think that of him? Was it just because he never brought a girl around him and never made passes at any of the girl in the office? His father had a problem with women until he had met Fox's mother, and nobody had ever questioned which way the Great James McCloud had swung. ...Did they? Fox couldn't remember. He brought a paw up to his face, squeezing at the bridge of his muzzle, jaw tightening. This is so fucking stupid. The last scene played in his brain over and over again. Falco and Katt. Falco hugging Katt. Sure, he hadn't kissed her, but the emotions were in his eyes. Affection. Why the hell should that matter to him? He had known about Falco and Katt since the war ended. He thought everybody did...but still... Why did he and Falco spend so much time together anyway? They had done several things together... but maybe it wasn't the things normal guys did with each other. They didn't watch football, or snicker about how hot Miss Lee looked in her new miniskirt... They talked, mostly...

Fox plodded down the long hall, feeling becoming more tangled and jumbled by the moment. Wondering why he felt betrayed by Falco's feelings for Katt. New pains came as he dwelled on the subject, becoming consumed by the frustration and anger until a girl's voice broke into his thoughts, and Fox realized how close he'd come to plowing over her.

"Fox! ...Fox? Are you okay? You look...upset."

Fox looked down into the clear blue eyes of Fay Dog. He bit his lip, squaring himself, standing tall. This would be a perfect chance to settle the little matter. He hated the idea of using Fay, but the sooner he could prove himself, the better. She had been his childhood friend, and helped him through several problems, even helping him find a good therapist when his father had died. Surely, she could help him through this. It was true he had never found himself attracted to her, and he'd assumed it was the same way for her.

... So, if he tried to take it a step further, how would she react? He eyed her critically, wishing and hoping for something he could find appealing. She was two years younger than he was, barely seventeen, and still looked as if she was a young pre-teen girl developing into a woman. Her chest was small, but a not a bad size for her body, hips slim, giving way to soft curves. Her pooling white ears were rather large for a poodle could take getting used to, but in knowing her most of his life, Fox had already. In fact, it had been her ears that had gotten his attention as a six-year-old. Fox smiled. She was Fay. She was his friend. She was perpetually shining and sweet, with barely a bad-tempered bone in her body. She wouldn't lifted a finger to hurt anyone, unless it was absolutely unavoidable, and he admired her for that. Since the war ended she had moved to Corneria and had started working for the base. Fay had a bit of an attitude at times, and on occasion, a rather short temper, but Fox was still pleased and enjoyed her company immensely.

"Fox? I asked if you were okay," she spoke up again, her soft voice ripping him from the private world he'd been in. He looked up at her hopeful face, his resolved hardened. He would ask her out. In the long run, it would be healthy for both of them...

Right. Of course. Stop stalling.

"Um..." Fox trailed off, suddenly apprehensive, resolve failing fast. He swallowed a few times to get his stomach under control and stared down at his feet, feeling a cold sweat bead up on his forehead. "Doyouwannagooutwithme?"

"Huh?"

"Do you, er, ah, I mean... I'm asking if you'd like to... goonadatewithme."

"Fox, are you trying to ask me out?"

"Eer-- yeh."

Way to go Casanova.

Fox was mortified, but Fay grinned, a sweet Using her strength to bolster his own, Fox found a smile creeping up on his own cheeks. He had made the right decision They'd go out, have a good time, and perhaps several others following. And no one would ever think he was that way again.

"What time were you thinking?"

Fox swallowed again. This was the first time he'd ever even asked a girl out. What was the time people usually went out? Friday? Saturday? Eight o'clock? Nine o'clock? He couldn't remember. He'd been so preoccupied with splattering Andross across the bowels of Venom that he'd missed out on years of simple teen development. Suddenly, Fay's questioning eyes become a daunting oppressive force, and he quickly mumbled that Friday at eight o'clock sounded good and she beamed again.

"Okay. I'll met you at your apartment," She stated rather than asked, and stood up on her toes to peck his chastely on the cheek. Blushing and giggling she skipped down the hallway, humming softly, fluffy ears and tail bouncing as she retreated.

Fox smiled, a sense of security settling over him. His stomach was still acting up, but Fox chalked it up to not taking time for his lunch break yet. He understood now that what everyone thought had just been a freak accident, and he was going to prove them wrong Friday at eight. Hell, if he had to, he'd fucking propose to her in front of everyone at the office. Hey now, Fox. Let's not go just that far. You haven't even been on your first date with her yet. Fox shrugged off the little voice and forced a smile. He was knew he'd enjoy her company. She was pretty and shapely and he was sure he'd have a good time. He would have a good time, damn it. He was determined to.

Nodding to himself, he knocked on General Pepper's door to present his report.

x

x

CHAPTER TWO:

Did you know I was lost until you found me?
A stroke of luck or a gift from God.
The hand of fate or Devil's claws.
From below or saints above,
You came to me.

x

Later that day, Fox's room at the barracks, Cornerian Air Force Base

Fox hummed faintly as he pulled out a snappy ensemble for his Friday night date. It wasn't too dressy, a simple casual outfit designed to bring out his most striking feature. She spread it out on his bed; a green t-shirt, pair of khakis, and a white long-sleeved shirt, topped of with a pair of black sneakers. The rest of the clothes he owned were discarded carelessly around the floor of the small room. This was his first date and he intended to make it perfect. So, after countless hours scrutinizing everything housed in his closet, he finally settled on the apparel laid out on his bed, and was quite pleased by his newfound fashion sense.

He finished folding his clothing and put the outfit away for safe keeping until Friday night. Sighing, he surveyed the room with a grim eye, and commenced the daunting task of gathering up the assorted shirts, pants, shoes, and other items of clothing on the carpet when a low whistle and a voice behind him nearly make him jump out of his fur.

"Nice. What happened here?"

Fox's fur stood straight up. Shit. Swallowing his usually obedient heart (which had decided it would disobey him and frolic in his throat), he slowly turned around, his heart now choosing squeal in a fit of bile. Sweat once more took up residence on his brow (which was thankfully hidden by his thick fur), and licking his now dry lips, Fox wheeled around. "Falco."

"Hey, Fox. I came to see things were still fine for Friday night. I didn't expect to encounter Lylat War II."

Fox blushed a little, and eyed Falco's person carefully. He was clad in a simple thin black shirt, the first few buttons undone, revealing a plume of blue feathers. The shirt's sleeves were rolled up and it was untucked, hanging over a pair of rather worn blue jeans. Falco's dark green eyes glittered as they surveyed the room, as he carelessly ran his long, thin fingers through his unruly blue bangs that deigned to flop in his face. His soft eyes swept around the room before finally settling on Fox, who felt an electric current run through his belly. This is stupid. You're so worked up, you're doing it to yourself, you idiot!

Time slowed to a crawl as the pair peered at each other, and bounced forward again when Fox broke the gaze. What the hell is your problem? He stared at the heap of clothes on the floor and nervously chewed his bottom lip, wondering what in the hell to say to get out of being caught ogling his best friend.

"Eerm, so... nice weather we're having, huh?"

Hell, that sucked.

Falco turned back to look at him after his eyes toured the room once more, a kind of playfulness seeping into him. A tiny, almost shy grin broke out on his face, which suffered the annoying shudder to run through him again, but Fox was too caught up in his embarrassment and Falco's haunting eyes to take much notice. There were very few times Falco Lombardi allowed his guard down, but it was always a noticeable improvement from his usual heated remarks. When he--

"So, Fox, I asked you what happened here," Falco repeated, blinking slowly.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot. I got a date with Fay," Fox piped up with sudden excitement He began gathering up his clothes, turning his back to Falco. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't notice the change in his friend's demeanor. Falco stiffened slightly, his mask slipping back into place.

"Oh."

Fox smiled, whipping around to face his friend, still unsuspecting. "If you'll excuse me, Falco, I gotta go wash a few things. I'll talk to you later, kay?

"Sure."

"Great!"

Fox walked briskly away, leaving Falco to survey his room once again. All the familiar things that made up Fox were there, lying in a boyish mess. His jean jacket hanging at an odd angle on the back of a wooden chair, rumpled clothes hanging out of his too-small dresser, his flute case laying near his unmade bed, posters of singing idols and hot new celebrities pinned up on the wall; everything a you would find in a normal nineteen-year-old boy's room.

And yet all of it was undeniably Fox's, mundane little things that meant the world to him. A large picture of his father hung on the wall, looking smooth and fresh in the habitual shades he was famous for. A leather bound collection of famous poetry was squeezed into one shelf of his bookcase, something pressed in between two of the volumes. Falco wrinkled his forehead in curiosity, stepping over to the bookcase and reaching for the semi-hidden object.

It was a picture. One that had once predominantly taken place framed on Fox's bedside table before. Falco stared down at it, wondering why it was now wedged in between two books that Fox had probably never even read.

It was a picture of he and Fox, taken on the day they had won the war. Fox looked tired, and yet happy, a large grin lighting up his boyish features as he flashed the photographer a victory sign, his right arm thrown over the shoulders of his companion. Falco stood beside him, and although he had his wings crossing his chest, he had on one of his rare smiles, a semi-smirk as he looked over at the happy canine

What the fuck...

Falco stared a moment longer, wondering why he felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. With a stiff sigh, he turned, placing the picture back between the books again, and went to go find something to do that didn't involve him having to interact with other people.