James looked up when there was a knock on his door. He had been laying on his back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, letting the music from his player erase his thoughts. His muscles were weary, the exercise had had the desired effect, he was too tired to bother in anything else. "Who's there?" He asked, pulling one of the inner ear headphones out absently.
"It's O'Donnel. You got a minute to talk?"
He picked up the remote and keyed the door locks. "It's open now, go ahead."
After a moment the door opened and the younger man stepped in, rubbing the back of his neck and looking awkward. "Not sure where to start." He admitted.
"Well, sit your ass in the only chair and think about it. I'm not going anywhere." James didn't bother sitting up, still staring at the ceiling.
Wolf pulled the desk chair out and sit in it backward so he could lean his arms on the back of the chair, tail hanging down, staring at the older man. "I guess I'm just not sure how to take your presence. My soldier's instincts say you're nothing but trouble. A bomb waiting to explode, as it were, especially since you threatened me in the docking bay. But at the same time, you come off as a completely stand-up guy. Part of me wants to believe you're not going to do anything but hang out here during the war."
"So, you want to talk and decide if I'm trustworthy. Is that it?"
"Yes."
James grunted and sat up, hanging his legs off the edge of the bed and leaning on one arm, looking at Wolf. "How old are you?"
"W-what? Why the hell do you want to know?" Wolf jerked back like he had been slapped.
"Just answer the question, O'Donnel."
A long silence, then he said in a begrudging voice, "I'm twenty."
"Good lord." James let himself fall back again, legs still hanging off.
"What?"
"You could be my kid. Now I feel completely old. My son is two years younger then you."
"… You have a kid?"
"Yes. I do."
There was another long silence, and Wolf sighed, propping his chin on his arms. "I would love to know what my Emperor has that made you abandon everything you had." He finally said softly.
"Everything I had?" He dug out his car keys from his pocket, spinning them on his finger. "Millions of dollars in debt? A lonely life? Yes, I have a son. But he'll be more then fine on his own. Besides… kicking Pigma's ass was worth it. I have the feeling that was a lot longer coming then I'm aware of." He tossed the keys past Wolf onto the desk and sat back up, propping on both his arms this time. "Besides, what does it matter what my motivations are?"
"If I don't understand your motivations, how can I trust you?"
James stared at him, at the eyepatch, the stance. He had always been able to read people, stare right through them and turn the pages of their lives. It was an erratic talent, Peppy had wiseassed before that maybe he was a latent telepath, and James had nearly decked him for it. He counted that he was perceptive. "Your father did that to you, didn't he?"
Wolf jerked back again, visible eye widening. "What the fuck!"
"Your eye. Your father did that to you, didn't he?"
"Why would you…"
"Because you got more scared of me when you found out I was a dad. Given you're allowed to have maybe a little bit of professional fear over me, considering you saw the treatment I gave my former wingmate. But the only reason you're not shaking in your shoes is because you've schooled yourself to never, ever show fear to anyone." James popped his knuckles one by one absently. "The trick is O'Donnel that is nearly impossible to hide shit from me. I'm very, very good at my job."
"Boy, you're humble."
"No one's ever beat me. Pigma won because I let go of my controls and let him." James replied matter-of-factly. "If I'm at my peak and I lose, then I will bow to that person and let them be the best. But that's not the point, because I'm right, aren't I?"
"What's it matter if you are?"
James stood and turned his back to O'Donnel, then pulled his shirt up. Wolf gaped, staring at his ravaged back, thin scar marks going from below his beltline to up across his shoulders. The fur hadn't grown back in. He was a scar map, a reverse tiger on his back because of it. After a moment James let his shirt back down and turned back, almost falling onto the bed and contemplating the younger man in front of him. "Trust, right?" He said simply.
"Chips, dips, chains, whips?" Wolf asked weakly.
"HA! Torture scars. Makes you think of your buddy Powalski in a whole new way doesn't it? That's why I exercise with a shirt on. I hate people staring at them."
"You were tortured? Why?"
"God I wish I had a cigarette…" James stared at his trembling hand, huffing, then gaped when Wolf promptly offered him one. "I quit years ago. I shouldn't."
"Take it man. What's it matter? We're all going to die. It's just a question of how soon."
"Sounds like a smoker's motto." He took it and accepted the light, snorting out the smoke in a cough. "Ugh, been too long…" After a couple moments his lungs remembered the habit, and he sighed as nicotine rushed him. "The problem with being a spearhead solution, which is basically what StarFox is, is if you're captured you're on your own. The government will deny any involvement." He blew a smoke ring automatically, propping his elbows on his knees.
"Shit, no kidding? Sounds like I have a better job then."
"Ha, well, we shall see. Basically I was young and got caught behind enemy lines. They figured they could break me, make me tell them why I was there." Another smoke ring. "Back then I figured I was immortal. No way I could break right?" He laughed weakly. "It's a really bad idea to tell a torturer to bring it on."
"Ouch."
"Yes. Lucky for me, in this case I did have backup, and it arrived in the form of Peppy Hare in heavy armor with a grenade launcher. He was just in time. I had lost a lot of blood. I almost had to be carried out. It took months to heal all the damage done." He wove the cigarette. "Old history. Your turn."
"Great." Wolf took off the eyepatch and turned it in his hands, sighing. "There isn't a whole lot to tell. My father and I got into a lot of fights on and off. We never agreed on anything: school, politics, economy, you name it. The house was a warzone. Then I say I want to go into the military, and he says he's going to make damn sure they don't take me."
"Your eye."
"You should have seen him. I didn't even feel what happened to my eye."
"Uh-huh. How'd you end up working for Andross?"
"Well, without binocular vision I wasn't going to be allowed in the service. I begged and pleaded for some way around it, I wanted to go into the air force, you see. But how can a one-eyed man fly a plane?" He laughed weakly. "I was standing outside the recruitment office, broken, no idea where to go, and this older man walks by me, stops, and looks at me. I didn't know at the time that it was Andross, sneaking back from exile somehow to recruit. All I know is this older voice said, 'something wrong son?', and everything came out over coffee. And he said 'if you'll train harder then anyone else, I'll let you fly a plane for me.' Done."
There was a silence, and James smiled. "Father figure."
"Eh?"
"The reason you serve Andross is because he stepped in and held out his hand at just the right time. Your father was useless to you, so you took the next best thing."
"You're a complete asshole." Wolf looked away.
"Yes. But I'm right. And let me tell you something, Wolf. He's a really bad choice."
"What, you're better!" Wolf snarled softly, not even phasing James.
"Did I say that? No. Stand down, Wolf. It's ok. When it all comes down to it , you can trust me. You have no reason not to." He flicked the burned-down cigarette down the room's garbage chute. "Thanks for the cigarette."
"… no. No thanks needed." He stood to leave, hesitating at the door. "James?"
"Yeah, what?" He had flopped back again, resuming staring at the ceiling.
"Do you think we could be friends?"
James lifted his head to look at him. "It's possible."
"Hm. Well, whatever you're looking for here, I hope you find it." Then he slipped out the door and was gone.
"Mm. Poor kid." James sighed, shaking his head. He knew he had been a little blunt and brutal with Wolf, but maybe it had been enough to break in Wolf's head, make it obvious what he was doing. He doubted it, but hey you never know. He stood, pulling his other headphone out and staggering to the bathroom. As much as the nicotine had helped, he couldn't stand the smell of cigarette smoke anymore, and set the room to vent as he turned the shower on.

Andross leaned a shoulder on the doorway, looking at the disgruntled pilot, who was glaring at the cast on his elbow. He was almost looking forward to this—almost. "Morning, Pigma."
"Andross!" Pigma stood, gesturing at the cast. "Look what the asshole did to me! Why the hell is even here!"
"He's working for me." Andross shrugged mildly, stepping fully into the room.
"And don't you think you could have told me he was changing sides too?"
"No. The illusion was necessary to assist in James appearing to be dead."
"Huh, well, wait until his boy finds out he's still alive."
"Well, I won't have to about you spilling the beans, do I?"
Pigma didn't say anything immediately, and that was all Andross really needed to know. He slammed his hand forward, and Pigma was blown across the room and pinned against a wall like he had been crucified, gasping for air as his fractured ribs screamed.
"100 pounds of pressure on your chest right now." Andross said quite mildly, hand still out, like he was pushing a door open. "You see, Pigma, it's quite important that those on the other side think he's dead. And if you're going to go blab to them, well, I might as well just kill you." When Pigma stammered protests, he sighed and increased the pressure. "150 pounds now. I can crush you like a bug, and don't think I won't." He made a fist and swung his arm, slamming Pigma into another wall and pinning him there as well. "So you aren't going to say a damn word. To anyone. You're going to go through this war and act like you killed him. Hell, brag about it for all I care. But you aren't going to mention he's alive to anyone. Do we have an understanding?" When the fat pig nodded, Andross dropped him and walked away, Pigma still frantically nodding behind him.

James walked into the mess hall, running a hand through his shower-mussed fur. A ripple of silence passed through the hall as everyone looked up, then people started getting out of the way, letting him get to the breakfast line. He just smiled and shook his head: obviously word had gotten around about his encounter with Pigma. Oh well, he was hungry so he couldn't complain. The food actually looked decent too, so he loaded up a tray and wandered the tables absently, looking for a place to sit.
"Hey old man!"
He turned, preparing to take offence, then wound down when he saw Wolf waving a hand, strolling over. "Morning Mr. O'Donnel."
"You can call me Wolf you know." He shot back, pointing a fork at James. "Sit your happy ass down and eat."
"I would, but I think your copilots are scared of me." He eyed Andrew, who was leaning away from him.
"He's scared of everything, sit."
"I am not!" Andrew snarled at Wolf, who just looked at him and shook his head.
James sat easily, looking at Leon, who looked back at him with mellow, half-open eyes. "Man, nothing rattles you huh?"
"As far as you know." Leon smiled, slurping milk. "So what are you going to do on this ship?"
"Not a whole lot." He crunched bacon contentedly. "Andross has me listed as noncombatant, so I'll probably be doing a whole lot of nothing."
"Sucking useful air."
"As you will." He picked up his fork and pointed it at Leon. "I understand you pull double duty. Pilot and interrogator."
"Who told you about it anyway? I don't recall informing you I'm a torturer."
James cut his pancakes, silent for a moment, then just said, "It's your eyes. I've seen eyes like that before."
"On another torturer, I take it. I also take it that he wasn't on your side."
"Indeed. Let's say I earned my scars." He shrugged. "Career soldier, you know how it is."
"I'd rather be a career interrogator."
He swallowed, and pointed the fork at Leon. "Now, you know, there's therapy for that."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Andrew choked on his drink, swallowed roughly, and sputtered to Leon, "You are one really fucked up dude."
"Yes, I know. And I like it that way." Leon finished and pushed his tray away, taking out a deck of cards and shuffling. "Same thing?"
"We play poker in the mornings. There's nothing to really do until we ship out." Wolf explained to James.
"Awesome. I'm in." He swallowed more pancake absently, then jumped when arms settled on his shoulders. "What?" He looked up and backwards, and came almost nose to nose with Marisa. "Little lady, you almost got thrown on the table. Don't do that."
"Ha, little indeed." She gave him a noogie, making him sputter, and grinned at the others. "Morning, boys." They said good morning, obviously enjoying watching her torment James, who was helpless against it. "What's the card game of the day, still poker?"
"Yeah. Did my uncle ever teach you?" Andrew asked, finishing his meal and pushing the tray away absently.
"He says it's unladylike." She made a face. "He taught me chess, won't teach me poker. It's unfair."
James just looked back at her in mild shock. The only games he remembered Vixy playing were scrabble and jenga. Poker? Her? He shook off, sighing. "Jump in, we could try to teach you as we go." He offered, rolling a pancake and snarfing it. She drug a chair over and wedged herself between him and Wolf. They shifted over so she fit better. "Know these guys well eh?"
"Not many people get face-to-faces with Andross constantly. They do, and so do I. It went from there." She stole a piece of bacon from him. "I play chess with Leon sometimes too."
"She's not bad." Leon remarked airily.
"I only beat you like half the time." She stuck out a tongue at Leon. "Ok, who's dealing?"
"I will." Andrew took the cards from Leon, who produced chips from somewhere on his person. "We don't play for real money." He told James absently, reshuffling automatically as he knew Leon to be a card sharp sometimes.
"No?"
"No. Most of us don't have cash anymore. So it's for the glory."
"Good enough. Hold'Em rules?"
"Indeed." He dealt easily.
The game lasted nearly an hour, others coming over to watch absently, James watching out of the corner of his eye as Marisa picked up the rules with ease, laughing and jesting with the guys. She wasn't Vixy, that much was obvious. Vixy had been gentle, feminine. Marisa was aggressive, leaning toward tomboyish attitudes and hobbies with the possible exception of her love of flowers. She wasn't Vixy, she was her own personality, and as James watched her break even with Wolf in the game, he couldn't help but decide that it was a good thing. She was new, she was different, and he liked it. And that startled him. Hadn't he gone through this whole mess to be with his wife?
Oh well.
He won the second and last game by a thin margin, raking over the winning chips with a laugh, catching an odd look from Marisa when she flopped her cards down. He caught her on the way out of the galley, frowning. "Did I do something wrong?"
She grinned, and told him her hand. "I won that game."
He blinked. "Then… why did you fold?"
She tapped the end of his nose. "You smiled." Then she was gone, leaving him standing there in something close to a stunned stupor.