Two days later, Andross' forces hit Corneria.
It was brutal. While over half of Andross' Armada hit Corneria's remaining forces, the remainder hit Corneria itself. Corneria's defense satellites, long needing maintenance, went down in seconds, and land forces weren't far behind. Andross had had soldiers waiting for this, and they hit the ground with a vengeance, knowing full well this was their future at stake.
General Pepper was no fool, and deployed everything he had. All soldiers had been on alert, and the guard rolled out, armed citizens walking with them. Andross' soldiers, well trained and backed up with armor, had been expecting the city to fold easily. It didn't have any built-in defenses, after all, but they hit resistance the minute they hit the suburbs. Ground troops were waiting for them, and so were civilians, picking at them with rifles and handguns. Street gangs, once one of the worst problems Corneria City had, were suddenly saviors, defending their territory from this new threat alongside the cops that had only days before been arresting them. The lines struggled, Corneria City was getting hit the hardest and they were falling, little by little. The air battle above only made the situation worse, planes plowed into buildings and stray shots peppered the streets. The situation in space was no better, Andross' armada was plowing what was left of the Cornerian forces.
Which was when General Pepper hit the panic button, and called the same number he had always called in last resort situations. It had served him well in the past, he figured it would serve him well now, even though there had been almost an entire personnel change since the last time he'd called it.
So, the same day Andross' forces hit Corneria, Star Fox took to the battlefield, numbering four. And everything changed.
James bobbed his head to the beat absently, stepping back and crossing his arms, surveying his updated map. The arrows were getting kind of messy, he'd have to get a second printout made up, but the progress was clear. The Great Fox, moving away from Corneria, and Corneria's armada amassing again. His son had dropped the hammer, and Venom had been pushed back.
Well, he figured it had to be his son. He hadn't actually found transmission records yet, but Peppy wasn't a leader. Fox was by nature. Way he had it figured out, Fox was in charge, Peppy was still a wingman, and Falco had come along—perhaps Bill Grey as well, he reminded himself, tapping the capped pen against his jaw thoughtfully. Who else would Fox have recruited if desperate? Well, there was his techhead friend Slippy, but Slippy was more of a geek then a soldier. Then again, it was Slippy's father that had built the Great Fox in the first place, so hey, anything was possible.
He dropped the pens on the desk and turned the volume up on his terminal. He'd figured out his music player's memory card interfaced with the terminals perfectly, so now the computer terminal was playing music. Surprisingly, no one had complained—though one of his neighbors had told him to put all the music to the ship's shared directories. He had, and hadn't heard anything since.
He glanced at the clock, and huffed, pulling his shirt over his head absently, throwing on sleeping clothing absently. Another late night, no surprise there. When he had heard Venom was having trouble, he had stayed up and watched the ships positions that were being relayed realtime on the terminal. It was more sterile this way, almost like chess, and he had been grinning the entire time. Well, he had just made a hundred bucks, it seemed. Nothing was settled, but it was progress.
He had just folded and set aside the dirty uniform to be washed when he heard a tap on the door. He walked over and opened it halfway, leaning on the doorframe and smiling at Marisa, who looked somewhat confused. "Morning."
"Technically. You know, I could hear that all the way down the hallway." She remarked, arms holding the usual chess board to her chest.
"No one's complaining. Come on in, I'll turn it down."
She did, going over and looking at the system map on the wall as he dialed the volume down to half. "You're following the play-by-plays, huh?" She asked over her shoulder, setting her finger on the dot that was marked as the command ship they were on, then tilting her head, moving it to the blue one in the lead. "The Great Fox?"
"My old ship." James replied, walking over to also look at it.
She looked at him, and blinked. "Ok, now wait a minute. So your 'gentleman's deal...' You turned coat from Corneria? You were a ship commander?"
"Well, hell." He gave her a sour smile. "That slipped out. No, and yes. I was the commander of Star Fox, an elite mercenary group. So by any technicality, I betrayed no one—I merely took a work contract."
"Even though Corneria is your home."
"I was only there with permission. As a mercenary, I wasn't even really a legal citizen." He shrugged. "Things worked out. Besides, it looks like everything's going to be ok anyway."
She looked at him for a moment, processing this. So he was a soldier for hire, that made a hell of a lot of sense. Now wonder she had heard Andross bitching about Cornerian military doctors when she had mentioned James' ribs the first time. But then again, it seemed that a lot of Andross' fleet had been Cornerian or otherwise not Venomian before they had joined up, so James wasn't that different. He just worked for the money instead of the glory.
"Does that bother you?" He frowned at her, worry creasing his brow.
"No. I guess it doesn't."
"Well, that's good then. Shall we?"
They set the game up, going through it automatically—though Marisa insisted that he take the white pieces this round. He was fine with that, both laying on their stomachs on the floor, propped on their elbows, him relaxed, her feet up and kicking absently. He had to smile, it was a little hint of youth from a mind that seemed very mature, and besides, she kept kicking to the beat.
"You don't get to listen to music much, do you?"
She glanced up from the board. "No. No I don't. We can't exactly receive radio stations out here, we're close to Venom right now and something about the space around Venom disrupts things like that, apparently enough so that we don't get any echos off Zoness."
"Sounds like Andross talking."
She chuckled weakly. "Yeah, that was sorta quoting him. It only came up because he listens pretty much exclusively to classical, and I wanted to listen to something else. I mean, I'm not daft here, there's always music playing around this place. CD trading is a mainstay on this cruiser."
"In other words, the metal and alternative I listen to is no surprise to you."
"Not at all. Though I do say at your age it surprises me."
"Thanks. I feel old now."
"Don't."
There was a frozen moment as they looked at each other, and he broke the gaze first, moving one of his pieces. "So I guess that means Andross never taught you to dance, either."
"He says he doesn't dance." She moved one of hers.
"Oh, that's bullshit." James made a face. "For your information, he knows how to swing dance. Take it on authority from someone who's known him a very long time. Now, whether or not he wants to, hey that's something else entirely."
"Swing dance?" She started laughing helplessly at that mental image.
"Indeed."
"And what about you? Do you dance?"
"Not in years. But I used to. I mean, you don't really dance to metal or alternative. You mosh. But I do know the basics of swing, as well as just some normal dancing. I don't think I'm great, but I did passable at parties and clubs." He caught her look. "If that's a hint, in a few games maybe I'll give you the basics."
"Good enough for me."
There was a long silence, comfortable and companionable, as that game ended in a tie and the board was reset, James keeping white since no one had won the last game. Marisa propped her chin on her hand, watching him easily put the pieces back in their places, battlescarred hands moving nimbly. It looked like his hands had already recovered from his overworking himself in the gym, she could see new claws were already forming on the hands where they'd been snapped, small sharp points. She shook off, sighing to herself. What was it about him? Whenever she was with him, she found herself not watching what he was doing, but watching just him.
But then again, she wasn't the only girl on the ship, and she'd overheard a few things said about him in the galley. The line that stuck with her the most was a short one, 'that guy is sex on wheels.' She had found herself more then agreeing, but almost wanting to growl at the other women watching him. She felt… possessive. And that thought that rather scared her.
Her mulling made her feel a little uncomfortable with the situation, but James was absorbed enough in the game he didn't notice the slight change, moving so he was sitting cross-legged then moving one of his pieces. He had to admit, he liked this arrangement. The fact that she was comfortable enough with him to drop in on him at all hours of the night made him feel good about himself—most women probably wouldn't have even asked a guy in for coffee if they'd been in a relationship for this amount of time. But then, they weren't in a relationship, and she wasn't 'most women' by any means. He had to smile, watching as she moved one of her bishops, rubbing her eyes one-handed. "Your eyes bothering you?"
She startled, glancing up to meet his eyes. "No, I'm ok."
He nodded once, taking her bishop. "Check."
She looked at him for a moment, then the board, then back at him. "You did that on purpose!" She accused, pointing at him.
"Did what?" He smiled, trying to look innocent, but a trace of mischief got into it. Ok, so he was caught. He had wanted to throw the game to her—if anything, as payback for her throwing a game of poker to him.
She moved one of her pieces. "Checkmate." His taking the bishop had purposely left his king open, letting her win. Then an impulse took over, and she moved to her knees, leaning across the chess board and pressing her lips to his lightly. He had no time to react, a flicker of question in his eyes, then mumbling in surprise. She was winging it, and was relieved when he returned it softly, one of his hands sliding through her hair and settling at the back of her neck, not restricting, just there, warm and reassuring.
James made a soft contented noise, claws on his free hand skittering on the metal as he made a fist, locking down on his body and rampaging hormones, willing himself not to scare her away, not to be totally aggressive, to just share this soft moment and enjoy it… One of her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he trembled, pulling her across the chess board in one motion. The pieces scattered, and they held each other for a moment, then James broke the kiss to bury his face into her neck, sighing.
"What was that for?" He finally asked, taking this in, her arms around him, her body against him. Wonderful and comforting, he had missed this so much, but even now it was obvious that this wasn't Vixy, and he was fine with it, he still loved it.
"I don't know. Just an impulse I guess." She finally replied, setting her jaw on his shoulder, feeling oddly content. "You've wanted to kiss me for a while, haven't you?"
"Since the moment I saw you in hydroponics, yeah." He admitted, grumbled at an awkward pain, and dug a bishop chess piece out from where it was trapped between them.
"Then why didn't you then?"
He stared at her. "You're kidding, right? 'Hello, I just met you, let me stick my tongue down your throat?' I don't think so. For one thing, Andross would have killed me, right then and there."
She blinked, and laughed, blushing. "I guess that would have been sort of odd. Sorry."
"No reason to apologize." There was a long silence, then finally he sighed and gently kissed her cheek. "Well, chess has rather lost its appeal. Do you still want to learn to dance?"
"Yes indeed."
"All right." He stood and helped her up, stepping over to the terminal and stopping the song playing, bringing up the entire list of songs he had. It wasn't short—this little music player had a very big memory—but he finally chose a few of the lighter songs, oldies, and cued them to a playlist absently. By the time he turned around, Marisa had picked up the scattered chess pieces, setting the folded game board on the desk as he watched. "I will warn you again though, I'm not that great and I'm sort of out of practice."
"You're good enough, I'm sure."
"And that sounded dangerously like a double-entendre." He smiled crookedly, tapping the play button and stepping over to her as a rolling acoustic track started, taking her hands and drawing her to the center of the small room. "Ok, let's start with the basics. Dancing is all about following a beat…"
Time seemed to slow after that. She quickly picked up on the basics, and found that she greatly enjoyed the whole thing, if anything just because James was smiling. It seemed he had rediscovered an old joy, cuing up music with a faster dance beat, still mostly oldies, and it was nearly an hour later that they had fallen into a slower song, her arms draped over his shoulders, leaning into him.
"I'm getting tired, and I hate it." She finally said, fighting the urge to yawn, putting more of her weight on him. "Aren't you tired?"
"I should be." He finally said, holding her easily, nuzzling her. He wasn't going to explain that he couldn't get tired with her in his arms like this, there was too much tension built up deep inside him. "You can go back to your room, if you like. There's no reason we can't make dancing a habit as well as chess."
She didn't reply for a moment, shivering as one of his hands rubbed her shoulders gently. "I don't really want to." She finally admitted, and blinked when she felt his hackles spike up under her hands, then slowly relax back down, apparently forced. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No. Not really… Oh the hell with it, ok, let's do it this way." He put her away far enough he could see her face, holding both her hands. "Look, this weird relationship we have, or whatever it is… I'm inept at this. I've been alone for over a decade. So I'm putting this in your hands. It advances when you want it to. Not when I want it to. So if you would rather stay here tonight, I won't argue it. I definitely can't say that I wouldn't enjoy it, even if you were just sleeping beside me."
She blinked up at him, surprised, holding his hands back and trying to think about this logically. He had just given over complete control to her. Why? Surely the comment about his being 'inept' wasn't exactly it. Maybe he was just scared of hurting her? Either way, the ball was in her court, what to do now? She snuggled back into his arms, trying to think, and quickly found out the hard way that logic was not easy to use in this situation. Impulses kept coming up, and she blushed at a few of them, glad James was returning the hold with his eyes closed and couldn't see it.
Damn it. Why did she have to have this amnesia? She had no idea what to do, where to go with this. She had no experience, not even the basics that a normal life would have taught her. All she really knew was that the man holding her was sweet and gentle with her, that apparently in spite of being a mercenary he had a lot of honor since he had put everything in her hands, and that she was drawn to him. Something was right about him, so familiar it was creepy in a way. Maybe Andross was right. Maybe they were soul mates…
James leaned against the edge of the desk, cuddling her in his arms, feeling his tail sway back and forth happily. Giving her that control had let the weight shrug off his shoulders, he didn't feel guilty about this anymore, because he knew she wanted this as well, and that made everything ok in his mind.
"James?"
"Hmm?"
"I think I'm more inept then you are. I don't even know what I want to do…"
He had to chuckle, kissing beside one of her ears softly. "You don't have to do anything if you don't really want to."
"But what if I do want to do something?" She finally asked, tucking her face into his neck.
He was quiet for a moment, busily trying to keep a hold of what small amount of willpower he had left, then sighed. "Go with it, I guess."
She tugged him down and kissed him hungrily, he grumbled softly, tongue wrapping into hers and hands sliding down her back, clinging to what restraint he had as he pulled her tight against him. Her claws raked his back, and he gasped as his willpower shattered, turning so she was trapped against the desk, not surprised when she moved to sit on it, hooking him with one of her feet to keep him ground close, not even breaking the kiss. He simply held her, hands hooked under the waistband of her sweats, common sense gone, only instinct left.
She broke the kiss with a grin, looking at him, his eyes only half opened, looking drugged, eyes dark and deep. "You ok?" She asked in a teasing voice, nipping his neck. He jittered electrically under her touch, breathing going ragged.
"No… well, yes, but…" His voice trailed off, head tilted back, sighing. "Tease." He growled that out, not even conscious really he had said it, a deep rumble in his voice.
"Your point? You seem to like it." She paused, nuzzling him softly, and he moaned under his breath helplessly, unable to deny it. She trailed her tongue along one of his ears, and gasped when he suddenly returned the favor, nipping one of her ears lightly, then trailing down to her neck. She pulled at his shirt mindlessly, and he yanked it off, making a noise that sounded like a purr when her hands slid down his bare back.
"How far do you want this to go?"
She froze, blinking. "Why?"
"I want to know if a cold shower is in my imminent future."
She burst into laughter, hugging him close. "That just sounds cruel."
"I can guarantee it would be uncomfortable." He kissed her on the nose, and grumbled happily when she replied by nibbling his neck again, trailing his claws down her back lightly. She growled, pulling her shirt over her head, then gasped when he scooped her up easily and moved across the room, flopping on the bed and rolling so she was under him, rumbling low in his chest. She propped herself on her elbows and growled back, then nimbly flipped them over, sitting on his stomach and holding his wrists to the bed for a moment. "You said I was in charge."
"I never said I was perfect." He replied, disgruntled, and protested helplessly as her tail wagged back and forth purposefully. "Not fair."
"Never. Stay."
He obeyed, and she looked down at him, smiling and tracing her hand over the repaired section of his chest. The screws she had been able to feel were gone, leaving ribs, not even scars apparent, and he rumbled under her touch, arching into it.
"Andross did a good job." She remarked. "He should have stayed a doctor."
James was incoherent, hands curled into the sheet as he tried to arch more, pressing into her hands, eyes barely open. She traced his muscle lines absently, and he repeated the purring noise helplessly, going limp under her touch, reaching up to brush his fingertips along her jaw. She leaned into it, pressing a kiss into his palm absently, then nipping his fingers, almost laughing at the helpless noise that was his only response.
She went still for a few moments, splaying her hands back across his chest, drawing another soft rumble of appreciation from him. How far did she want this to go? She didn't know. She was acting on impulse, delighted that such minor things could draw such powerful responses. That said, where was impulse taking her? To a point of no return, she was pretty sure, and she wasn't sure she cared. And it was blatantly obvious that the object of her attentions wouldn't argue practically anything at this point.
"Anything I want?" She finally asked.
It took him a few minutes to figure out he was being spoken to, and he nodded, drawing her down to kiss her hungrily. "Yeah, go with it. I have no protests. As long as you're sure about it…" He finally whispered, nibbling on one of her ears. All this time alone, all the half-remembered dreams and fantasies building up, and yet, it was bliss just to be like this, holding her. She nuzzled him absently, listening to the frantic pounding of his heart. He was holding a lot back, letting her have control, and she decided she'd use it. Why not? She knew she wanted it too.
And nearly an hour later, still propped on his chest and gasping, spent, she still didn't have any regrets. He was panting raggedly, hands still curved around her hips, absently thankful that he worked out as much as he did. He was exhausted, and yet as she collapsed on top of him, snuggling down, he felt heat ripple down his spine again. He sighed and shook it off, nuzzling at her absently. She smiled, returning the absent affection as he rubbed his hands on her back, sighing in contentment. "I love you, you know." He finally said, admitting it. She pushed herself up and looked at him, and saw nothing but open, raw emotion.
"How long?"
"Damn, I don't know. Since a few days after I was stationed here maybe. I love your eyes, your hair, everything about you. I was helpless to it really."
"You fall in love easily?"
"Only once before."
She sighed, smiling weakly. "I, I can't really say I love you. I don't know."
He smiled back. "That's ok, just make sure to tell me when you figure it out."
"Fair enough."
Marisa woke up with a start, eyes opening and automatically looking at the glowing clock on the wall. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to avoid the odd hours of the morning. She laid there for a second, trying to figure out why the room was different, and the rest of reality moved in, mostly the fact that James had an arm tightly wound around her waist, clinging to her in his sleep like she was his lifeline. She smiled a bit, then finally figured out why she was awake: bathroom.
She started pushing away, and made an indignant noise as she was promptly tugged back.
"Don't go." James' voice was muzzy, he was probably still mostly asleep.
"I'm not, I just have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back, I promise." Her saying this awarded her with his arm being moved, and she pushed off the bed, moving to the bathroom and closing the door.
A few minutes later she was looking at herself in the mirror absently, hands just washed. She looked tired, but she figured that was a given-she hadn't gotten much sleep. Blinking, she looked down at the sink. Dogtags couldn't be removed, James still had his on even in bed, but the necklace she had seen him wearing was sitting next to the faucet, along with his keys and wallet. She picked up the necklace curiously, turning the heart-shaped pendant in her hands. A locket, obviously, with a hidden clasp. A gold alloy, not a high caret, but considering James' life it was probably chosen for toughness, not purity. After a few moments of studying, she found the clasp, and it came open easily in her hands.
And she nearly dropped it.
Staring back at her was.. herself. She had to assume, it did look just like her. But the hair style was different, and it was younger. She figured the girl in the locket to be in her early twenties. She stared at it blankly for several moments, trying to process this. Had James known her from before her coma? And if that was so, why hadn't he told her? Why was he leading her on like this?
Or if this wasn't her... then who was it? It had to be a relative, it was too identical to be anyone else. Hell they could have been twins. Getting an epiphany, she set the locket down open and picked up his wallet, flipping it open and taking out the stack of photos she had gotten a glimpse of. The top one was the one of Fox, from there it was rewinding time, the son becoming younger. There were years marked on the back of photos. Then, nearing the bottom of the stack... the woman in the locket, with Fox as a small child. 14 years ago. Then an even older photo, the woman even younger then in the locket, a candid photo. She trembled, staring at someone that could have been her, but too long ago. She wanted to cry, to scream. How should she feel? This was illogical. That's why Fox had different eyes. They were her eyes.
She looked at the closed door, beyond which James slept contentedly. Was this why he looked at her in that way? Like he knew her, like his world circled her? She slowly stacked the pictures and put them back, then picked up the locket. She had to know. No way around it.
She left the room, locket dangling in her fingers, and sat on the edge of the bed, prodding James' shoulder sharply. He grumbled, coming awake at her second or third poke, opening his eyes with a lazy smile. "Mm?" He asked hazily, then his eyes snapped fully open when she held up the open locket.
"You have some explaining to do."
"Oh. Shit."
"Is that all you can say?" She asked, staring at him. "This is me, isn't it?"
There was a long silence as he sat up with effort, propping himself on his arms and looking at her, lower half tangled in the sheet. He rubbed his eyes, obviously debating with himself, and let out a slow sigh. He couldn't lie to her, not now, but the situation was dismal. "No. No it isn't."
She gaped. "But, but… it has to be. She looks like me."
"In a way. Yes. But it isn't you. You have to believe me on this."
She looked at the picture, and he turned on the light with the remote so she could see better. There was something subtle, different between this girl and her. She wasn't sure what, though. "Then who is it?"
He sighed again. "Her name, maiden name at least, is Vixy Reinard."
"That name… I think I saw it on some of Andross' notes. I snuck a peek at his desk, once…" She looked from the locket to him. "Wait…"
"Vixy Reinard was my wife. She died thirteen years ago." His voice was resigned. "The only other woman I ever loved. She was my life."
"So you went for me immediately because I looked at her?" She frowned at him. He only shrugged weakly.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"You haven't lied to me yet." She pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.
"That is true. But truth is far more surreal then fiction. At least in this case." He held out his hand, she put the locket in his palm, and he looked at it, sighing brokenly.
"I feel like it's déjà vu when I look at her. Like I know her." She finally said, still frowning at him. "Just tell me. James. Just tell me."
He looked at her, eyes blank. "Fine. You're a clone."
She blinked. There was several moments of silence, then she just screamed, "WHAT?"
He held up his hands in treaty. "Ok, that was a bit harsh, I'm sorry. But it's true. Apparently. You're genetically identical to the woman in this locket. It wasn't my choice, but you see… I… I…" He stammered to a halt. "Oh, god, do you really want to know this?"
She sat there, staring at him, hands curled into fists. "A clone." She repeated, voice cold. "Not your choice."
"Yes."
"Tell me everything. Tell me why." She pinned him in her gaze, demanding it, and blinked. He was broken. The man she knew was gone, just remnants left, something vague and depressed and barely alive. She'd blitzed him, and she couldn't even stop to feel sorry about it. If this was the truth, then she had to know it.
"Where do you want me to start?"
"The beginning."
So he told her. About coming to Corneria, about meeting Andross and being his lab rat, testing weapons and such, and almost dying multiple times. He told her about having coffee with a genius, someone so different then the man she considered her brother she barely recognized it as being the same person. He told her about meeting Vixy, a chance bump at a coffee shop, and being enamored in a split second. The whirlwind courtship that carried on for almost a year, dealing with her parents hating him, juggling the job of a mercenary and the duties of a boyfriend. He told her about meeting and banding up with Peppy Hare, still one of his best friends, a steady, a rock, and meeting Pigma in the same week, and the tough-as-nails trio they formed, taking jobs together and generally showing all of the Cornerian military just what only a few good people could do when supplied right. And between his 'days at the office' he was engaged, then married, and suddenly found his peace with the world.
And she listened in shock as he dumped everything out, two decades of his past. She had to smile at some of it, he was an able storyteller, she felt the joy that rippled off him when he told her about the birth of his son, and in the same year, the official formation of the Star Fox team, the purchase of the Great Fox. His life had picked up a blazing momentum, then from nowhere fell flat. He was leaning on the wall, legs out in front of him, sheet still tangled around him. His head was tilted back, but she still saw the tears run when he explained how his wife had died. She sat there, hand lifted to her mouth in mute shock, as he told her in cold detail how he watched the broken body of the one person he lived for go smashing through the windshield of a car, the explosion still rocking the street. He told her how he held his wife as he died.
And he told her how he was going for his gun, still in a holster, to die right then and there, when his son, standing on the sidewalk, had asked if his mommy was ok. And he told her about the thirteen years of sheer unadulterated hell that followed. How he had, basically, died on that street. That he drug himself through day after day of life, trying so hard to be a good father and to lead his friends through battle after battle, when all he really wanted to do was quit, just lay down and die the rest of the way. He loved his son, he told her about the years of school, about his son graduating normal education and hitting the air force, and basically owning flight school from every angle. He told her about the three musketeers—Fox, Falco, and Bill, and their own sense of virtue.
He told her about getting the letter in the mail, no stamp, no return address. He told her about the check inside, and the offer, and how he was in no position to refuse money because of how deep he was in debt. He told her about jumping here, to this cruiser, and having a meeting with Andross. And how Andross had shown him her, through the glass of hydroponics, and how his heart and snapped right then and there. And he told her about how Andross had explained he had cloned her from a post-mortem blood sample, taken from James' dead wife in the morgue.
She stared at him blankly, listening in shock. She was… his pay? Andross had done that? She didn't want to believe it, but James was open, vulnerable, telling her everything. She was sure he wasn't lying, he couldn't, not in this state.
He trailed off, knowing she knew the rest, going silent and hugging himself, letting himself tumble into the blank depression he had known for so long. He couldn't believe he had said all that. Looking at the clock, he had been talking for a very long time. His throat was scratchy and dry, and shakes wracked his body—exhaustion, sore muscles from last night, and tension. He let himself shut down, drawing in and barely aware of the world. That was it, then, wasn't it? He'd told her everything, she was obviously mad, borderline repulsed. That was it. Done. He'd had one final night of peace. Time to go for good, he supposed…
She watched him collapse, watched the fire bleed from his eyes, sap out, and reached out and touched his shoulder. He startled, looking up at her, gaze hollow, empty. "Yeah?" His voice broke her heart, and she moved to kneel beside him, hand still barely touching his shoulder, holding him there and living, making him focus on her.
"Do you really love me?"
He looked at her, blinking once. "Yes. Yes, I do."
"Just me. Nothing to do with your wife."
"Nothing to do with my wife. I can barely compare you to her. I could venture to say I love you more… but… it wouldn't really matter." He glanced away, and she turned his head to face her, making him look at her. "Why? After all I've told you…"
"None of it was your fault." She replied, voice gentle. "I'm mad. I can't say I'm not. This whole thing seems impossible, but… you aren't lying to me. I can tell that much. You dealt with the circumstances the best you could, and in spite of the situation, all that shit you went through… you love me."
"Yes."
"Then I can't just let that go."
"What?" He asked blankly, and gasped when she drew him in, sharing a soft kiss, tender and loving. He curled his arms around her shoulders, and she felt that fire spark back to life in him. She broke it after a moment, and smiled softly at him, brushing her fingers down one of his cheeks. He looked back at her, smiling weakly, that world-ending depression receded, fading. "Why…?" He asked faintly, barely able to put words to it.
"I can't let you go. You… complete me. I guess. I don't know. But I know if I freak out now, and dress and leave… you'll be out of my life forever. They'll find you, dead, or near it, dying, because you'll just stop. You shoved all your chips in for one final gamble, gambled your life for someone who didn't know you." She repeated the soft caress, and he shivered under it, not arguing, knowing it was true. "But it's ok. You won your bet."
A choked sob of tension escaped him, and she held him to her chest, letting him get it out. They stayed like that a long time, intertwined on the bed, pasts left behind, futures uncertain, only the present mattering. It was hours later, as she mulled over what he had told her, that she finally spoke again.
"James?"
"Mm?" They were laying down now, his head leaned to her chest, listening to her heartbeat. He was lax, tension gone, just hope now. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe…
"One thing still bothers me."
"Mm?" He repeated.
"Why would Andross have a sample of your wife's blood? It's gotta be… taboo? To just walk into a morgue and take a blood sample from a body… Why would he bother? I mean, surely he couldn't have known at the time that he'd need it for leverage against you…"
He stiffened, blinking. "Oh, holy shit." He said, stunned. "You're right. There isn't a logic to that. And at the time… he wasn't really insane. I mean I still knew him. He seemed pretty stable. Depressed, maybe a bit, but stable."
"Then why would he have it?"
He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at her. "I don't know. But as soon it's a decent hour, I'm going to go ask him myself."
Andross sighed, drinking coffee, as he stared at the hologram floating in front of him. It was a display of the system with his forces mapped out, and Corneria's forces. That damnable ship, the Great Fox, and its crew were cutting a swath through his forces like a knife through butter. Why the hell were they so hard to take out? He huffed, setting the mug down. Apparently, bring James over to his side hadn't been enough. It had been a gamble, and he had admittedly totally forgot that James had even had a son—let alone that said son was a fucking pilot ace! He had spent the hour of hacking, and had the flight records for all four pilots on one of the screens. Great, two aces, Peppy Hare, an ace in his own right, and a wild card—a mechanic flying forward, who was alternately good or bad, beginner's luck.
Maybe he should have just killed James and done away with that damnable fast-attack cruiser. That would have probably solved the problem much more efficiently…
But you can't do that, can you old man? He sighed, shaking his head. As pissed as he was, killing James didn't seem like a viable option. Oh, he could do it pretty easily. It'd take less then five minutes. Hell he'd to it himself: wouldn't be very hard to glance at James and psychically smash his heart, making the slightly younger man drop dead. But he couldn't really bring himself to consider it. He'd already caused James' family a lot of pain, and Marisa would never forgive him.
Yes, there was always that.
He glanced up when the door to his lab opened, and almost moaned when James was standing in the doorway. Then Marisa joined him, and they walked over, fingers laced together, a comfortable union. Andross sighed to himself and sat back in his chair, watching them approach with a kind of resignation.
"Morning." He said blandly, gesturing at the hologram with his coffee cup. "It would seem that my attempt at disarming your little band of hooligans was largely ineffective, James." James shrugged, eyes narrowed, eyeing him as if suspicious of something. Great, now what? "Ok. Pleasantries aside then. What's your problem?"
"And we have a question for you. Or rather, Marisa does."
Andross pivoted his chair slightly, taking another drink. "Go ahead." He kept his voice bland, though he still smiled, unable to help it.
"James told me everything."
He almost dropped his mug in his lap, but recovered well. "Oh really? About?"
"Stop it. You know what I'm talking about. Stop lying to me." She glared, shivering, hands balled into fists.
"I didn't." He replied, voice not bland, just irritated, and he stood, walking across the lab.
"What the fuck do you…" She started, and he wheeled to look at her.
"What did I tell you?"
"That… that I had been asleep. A coma. That I was someone dear to you."
"Ergo. I didn't lie to you. You had been in a coma: clones always seem to be when they first come to life. It took you about 18 hours to come out of it. And you are someone dear to me, Marisa."
She blinked, staring at him in blank shock. He put his hand out to the side, and a test tube full of liquid, pale blue, came to his hand, and walked back over to her, holding it up inches from her face. She stared at it, confused, then looked at him. "What…?"
"Meet yourself."
"WHAT?"
"This is a genespin. My own lingo: a substance you can use to clone someone, extracted from blood, mixed with a few liquids. Put this in one of these…" He nodded at the tubes of what seemed to be water around the lab, huge capsules, easily big enough to fit a person. Heal tanks, is what she heard them slanged as: severely injured soldiers could be rehabilitated in them. Apparently Andross had found a different use for them. "And the machines I've built do the rest. Bone up reconstruction. Mental rehabilitation. Everything in that head of yours…" He lifted a finger, tapping between her eyes. "Is what I put there. What I remembered. What I liked. Your savvy. Your business knowledge. Your kindness."
"That… that isn't what I was going to ask." She licked her lips, struggling to keep herself calm. "I'm ok. I'm ok with the fact that I'm a clone." She met his eyes. "I'm all right with who I am. What I don't understand, what we don't understand, is why you'd have a sample of Vixy Reinard's blood in the first place."
There was a long frozen moment, and he turned his back and walked away, setting the tube back in the rack, struggling with himself. He could feel James staring at him, that cold fire. James was a flaring mental presence to him, always was, he supposed James was probably a latent—but probably ten percent of Lylat was. No big deal. He finally turned back, looking at both of them, and said blandly. "Desperation. Hope. Insanity. Grief."
"Some detail would be nice." James rumbled.
"Do you think you were the only one that loved her?"
They looked at each other, and comprehension suddenly clicked in James' eyes, and rage blazed, screaming rage as his stance changed, sweeping a foot back silently. Ready for whatever was going to happen now. "You…"
"I loved her. Christ, McCloud. Don't you get it? Why she'd be in a coffee shop half a block from my labs? Her family funded me. Her mother was diabetic. I was working on a DNA-up solution to diabetes, retroactive. They donated thousands hoping I'd find it. I found some good therapy tools but never finished the work. I'm pretty sure she's still on that therapy too. If she's still alive." He shrugged neutrally. "They came, monthly, twice monthly. Toured the labs. Visited me. I didn't mind, it was a good distraction from all the other shit going on. And sometimes… sometimes Vixy came along. She was nice to me, McCloud. Over any other girl I'd really known… she was nice to me. And she understood what I was doing, what I was going through with my government funding. We'd have coffee sometimes, or lunch, and we'd talk. Don't you remember, James? That you ran into me at the door the same day you met her? I was on my way out."
"Then how…"
"I took her blood because I'm the one that killed her. McCloud. I knew that someday I'd be able to fix it. Totally selfish goal: you'd had your time. I wanted mine."
He saw it coming and blocked mindlessly, wind exploded, and the two were standing, Andross still blocking, James glaring into his eyes, borderline mad with anger. Marisa cried out, hand reached forward, unsure who to stop.
"Back down. McCloud. I will kill you. I just have to think hard about it."
"Then why haven't you?"
"Because I failed the first time I tried to. It would seem someone's looking out for your battlescarred ass." James stood down, taking a step back, and Andross shook off sharply, cracking his knuckles absently. "Can I continue now?" He asked pointedly. James held up his hands silently—he'd keep control of himself for now. "Yes, James. I killed your wife. I was aiming for you. I've been in and out of insanity for fifteen years, a side effect of the fact that I've always been psychic. You know, as well as I do, how that works. And I loved her. And you got her. And I fell into insanity, bit by bit, and in my moments of madness I decided to take you out of the picture. Why not? I had money, at the time. A lot of it. I was still a friend of the family. I'd be at the funeral."
"The silent comforting hand. Letting her cry on your shoulder. Taking my place, perhaps." James said, voice cold.
"Well, that never happened did it? You weren't the one that got in the car. And the reason I asked about your own suicide attempts is because I nearly did that day. When I heard I'd killed her. Most of the doctors in town knew me, so I dropped by the morgue and asked to see her body. Explained I'd known her, just wanted to know if it was true. They left me alone a few minutes. Enough to get a small sample of her blood. Cloning blood is easy."
There was a long silence, and James hands fell out of the fists they'd become, anger melting away very slowly. There was no point to it now. It'd happened a long, long time ago. He didn't really want to believe it, but it made sense, bitterly.
"Even after I got into cloning and genetic research, I never had time to bring her back. The government, on my back, everything else going on. My eventual exile. Only when I was far away, building my armada, did it click with me I could rebuild my lab and bring her back. So I created the genespins for it." He nodded at the tubes of blue fluid. "And then, it was decided you'd be a problem, in the war. And I had an immediate solution."
"You really are a bastard, Mathias."
"Fuck off, James. I did what I did. I'm not really proud."
"Mathias?" Marisa frowned, and both men jumped, having nearly forgot she was standing there watching this happen.
"Yes. Dr. Mathias Andross, PHD." Andross smiled at her wearily. "My first name, hun."
"I'd never heard it before."
"That's not surprising. All through my youth it was 'Dr. Andross.' Eventually it just dissolved to 'Andross.'" He shrugged, feeling tired. "Leave me. I need some peace."
They looked at him, and Marisa turned to leave. James stood there a moment, then wordlessly picked up a chair. Andross watched him cross the room, and made no move to stop him as he swung, and the tubes shattered, fluid and broken glass flying through the air. James dropped the chair, looking at him, the message clear. Then they left, hand in hand, leaving Andross standing there, alone in the lab.