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"All I ever wanted was a chance to catch my breath; to see the world go by and lay my ghosts to rest." Dirty Vegas, Ghosts

Chapter 2: Fox

"You… you're Fox McCloud?"

"Yeah."

I felt my heart drop into my stomach. I couldn't say anything, couldn't move. I just kind of stood there helplessly.

It seemed impossible to reconcile the two images in my head. Before me stood a Vulpine, yes, and I had the right address… but surely, there had to be some mistake. He was only maybe 15 or 16 years old, and he was the nicest guy I'd met on the planet so far. This friendly kid was the terrifying McCloud from the stories? He just couldn't be.

"You seem a little surprised," Fox said, leaning down a bit to get a better look at me. I instinctively scooted backwards a few inches.

"It's just… j-j-just that, you're the one I was here t-t-to talk to," I managed. I had the bad habit of stuttering when I got nervous.

Fox blinked.

"Well, that's good. You wanna come inside and sit down?"

"NO, no, I'm f-f-fine," I glanced over his shoulder into the dark apartment, "c-c-can we just talk in the hall?"

He raised one eyebrow.

I realized right about then that I was definitely the more suspicious character of the two of us. I silently prayed that I wouldn't trigger him do anything crazy by setting such a good precedent.

"In the hall?" Fox said, looking around, "Sure, I guess. What did you want to talk about?"

"I, it's that… w-w-well…"

I had no idea where to begin. Should I ask about the rumors first, or explain my situation? I was still holding the bag of coffee nervously and crunching it around in my hands as I searched for a place to start explaining myself.

This simply wasn't going to work, I decided, not this way.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes down, carefully focusing on the pattern in the carpet. Calm down, Slippy. This is your last chance. Try to make the most of it.

But no matter how I tried, I couldn't stop shaking. It was more than just meeting McCloud – more than rumors and last chances – it was all of this, the whole situation, running away to a different system, desperately trying to achieve a dream that was farther away than I could have imagined when I struck out, and now being hunted by my father. It was all starting to bear down on me at last. I was cornered, now, I realized – if McCloud wouldn't take me on, I could only give up.

A hand settled on my shoulder. I looked up to see Fox's reassuring smile, kind and unassuming, as he looked at me with concern.

"Calm down, Slippy," he said, echoing the words in my own mind, "Whatever the problem is, everything's gonna be fine. Come inside and sit down; I promise I don't bite."

That did it. I'm not sure how, but in those few seconds, Fox gave me confidence like I'd never felt before. It was something in his voice; something in his face. I started trusting him then and there – it's been that way ever since.

I nodded to Fox and straightened myself up.

Letting go of my shoulder, he hopped back into his boot and picked up the bag of groceries from it's place on the hallway floor. He shuffled into the apartment and I followed him.

The door closed behind us.

The lights flicked on, and I was further relieved to see that we were in a normal apartment. There was a plain TV, a couch, and a few chairs, a small table on a blue-tiled section of the main room's floor, and a little kitchen off to the right of the doorway. I'm not sure what I'd been expecting, maybe a dungeon or something, but this definitely was better than the vision in my head.

"Have a seat," Fox said, nodding towards the main room, "just chill out for a minute. I'll set up some coffee and put things away, and then we can talk about whatever you'd like."

I nodded politely.

Fox vanished into the kitchen. His coat was off now, and I could see his tail swish around the corner as he disappeared from sight. It was the same bright orange-brown color as the rest of him, and it sort of curled around in the air, trailing his motions. Different from Cornerian tails, I thought.

I took a seat at the small table and tried to refocus my mind by making a list of everything relevant to the situation.

First off, I was now sitting in Fox McCloud's apartment. He wasn't violent, but he had a unique way of opening the door.

Secondly, he was a lot younger than I'd imagined. That threw me off a little, and I wasn't sure if it would help matters or make them worse. If we were closer in age, maybe he'd understand me a little better? Then again, maybe he wouldn't be as willing to risk getting in trouble, like the other younger grads I had spoken to…

"D-do, do you live alone, here?" I asked, trying to make small talk.

"Technically," he said, speaking from around the corner, "although I'm not home much. Just use this place for the couch and the kitchen, really. Peppy spends more time here than I do."

"Peppy?"

"Friend of mine. Stick around long enough and you'll see him," Fox replied.

I made a mental note of the name – it sounded odd, and I wondered what species Peppy might be. (Then again, "Slippy" wasn't exactly a standard moniker either.)

"You… you seem awfully young," I tried again. I was feeling a little bolder now, and my curiosity about those rumors drove me to ask more questions.

"Heh, sure seems that way sometimes. I feel pretty old, though. How old are you?"

"Eleven years, Lylatian standard time," I answered. I'd already made up my mind not to lie to Fox, even if I did risk him turning me down for being a child.

"Cool. Take my luck, and make it another eleven."

I couldn't help but smile; it was a traditional response on many of the planets in the Key System. Both the Vulpinian and Amphiboid homeworlds circled the center star there. So did Dad's workshop.

Dishes clinked in the kitchen and the paper bag rustled.

"So… uh," I stalled, discovering that I wasn't very good at making conversation. Damn that isolated workshop and my lack of social skills.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you open the door with your feet?" I blurted out, not thinking long enough before I let it slip.

"That's… well, lemme sit down before I try to explain that one, okay?" Fox chuckled, "I'll admit, it's kinda weird. Hope I didn't freak you out."

"Oh, no," I lied, "just curious."

Fox had the sink running, and I could just catch the smell of coffee drifting into the room. I was waiting to pitch my request for training, but the longer I waited, the harder it seemed to get.

Hell, might as well just go for it. I didn't want to wait until we were face-to-face across the table. I cleared my throat and centered myself in the chair.

"Alright, listen. I'm here because I need a tutor."

That got a laugh out of Fox. "A tutor in what, mopping? Washing blackboards?"

I didn't understand what he meant, but I was so focused on what I had to say that I didn't give it any serious thought.

"For pilot training," I said, locking my eyes on the false wood-grain pattern in the tabletop, "I want to learn to fly fighter craft."

I waited for a few seconds. There was no response.

I looked up to see Fox leaning out of the kitchen and staring at me blankly. His smile was gone. He seemed very serious all of a sudden, as though thinking about something he'd rather not be thinking about.

I wasn't sure if I'd said something wrong, but I couldn't think of any way to back down now. I just watched him, trying to look as mature and steady as I could. No doubt he was pondering the age question.

He suddenly vanished into the kitchen again, then returned with a teapot full of coffee and two mismatched cups. He sat down in the chair directly opposite me, still wordless.

I squirmed a little.

He poured a cup for me and scooted it across the table. I took a sip and examined the side of the cup while he poured a second shot for himself: it said "persimmons" on it.

Fox leaned back against the chair, cup held loosely in one hand.

"Why did you come to me?" he asked, quietly.

"Eh? Ah, you… well," the question had caught me a little off guard, "I asked people around the base about program graduates in the Corneria City area, and your name came up."

"Really," Fox muttered, almost to himself. He glanced out the window on the far wall behind me, eyes settling on the cityscape outside. I noticed that his eyes were the sort of bright green that people always had on TV.

…then I realized that I was staring, and quickly took a swig of my coffee to hide the fact.

I'd had coffee before, but never black. It was actually pretty good. I took a few more sips and let Fox take his time to think, whatever he was thinking about. I wasn't worried about his mental state anymore, but I didn't want to annoy him into refusing me.

Fox finally set his cup down and crossed his arms with a huff.

"Listen, kid… Slippy," Fox began, "I've been out of the cockpit for a while now. It's probably best for you to get someone from a newer class."

"I've tried, it's no good. Everyone's going to the frontier."

"Well, yeah… there're a few guys around here, though. I mean… you just gotta keep asking around, and-…"

"Four. There are exactly four guys around here. And a girl; she's the fifth. I've talked to all of them."

Fox blinked.

"Oh."

"They won't train me because I'm eleven years old."

"I see."

"And you're the only other graduate in the area."

Fox rubbed his nose in thought, then tried again.

"Back up a second. You're eleven years old."

"Yes."

"Why do you want to fly fighter craft?"

"It's my dream. I design and build them, and now I want to fly them."

Fox scratched his head. I was expecting him to challenge my claim about being a designer and mechie, but strangely enough, he didn't. He must have believed me from the start.

"Well, damn," he said, crossing his arms, "I thought I'd taken care of this."

We both sat there for a few seconds. Fox didn't give any indication that he was about to explain himself.

"…what do you mean by that?" I ventured.

Fox suddenly leaned forward and gave me a wry grin.

"Bet you heard some interesting things about me at the base."

I put my coffee down to keep from right-out dropping it. Fox knew about his scary reputation? In the back of my mind, a few lingering fears started to crop up again.

"Uh… yes, actually. They weren't very kind."

"Lemme hear it," Fox said, still grinning. He did look a little crazy when he did that…

"Well, ah," I searched for the words to put things delicately, but they just didn't come. There isn't a very direct way of telling somebody he's purported to be insane without paraphrasing the life out of it.

"They all think you're a psychopath," I said, finally.

"Thought so," Fox said, leaning back again and taking a drink, "Anything more specific than that?"

"There's some confusion over where you live, now," I answered, "someone said you'd been recruited by Cornerian black-ops when you graduated, and that you're stationed somewhere in the Key system as a spy. A few officers said you were a recluse here, in your family's apartment."

"There is no Cornerian black-ops section anymore," Fox said with a shrug, "and I guess I am kind of a hermit, huh?"

"…they also said that you killed somebody once in training, and didn't even bat an eye."

"Wow, that one's still going around, huh?"

"It is just a rumor, right?"

There was brief pause as we looked at each other.

Fox suddenly narrowed his eyes and started to smile, slowly, showing all his teeth.

I froze. Surely he didn't mean…. I was sure once I'd started talking to him that this last rumor would be the most ridiculous of them all.

I inched backwards in my chair uncomfortably and shot a look at the door, ready to run if I had to.

Fox just started laughing – normally, not manically – and tapped the bottom of his cup on the table a few times.

"Ah, that was great. Sorry to freak you out again," he said, "I thought that might have been the line that had you worried. Now I feel kinda bad."

"So it IS a rumor?" I fought down the squeak in my voice, "right?"

Fox sighed and looked at me apologetically.

"The truth is, Slippy, I started most of those rumors myself, or just let 'em go once other people started them. I never killed anybody, I don't have a torture chamber in my apartment, I'm not in the mafia, or whatever the hell else people have come up with in the past two years. None of it's true," he said, and then with a smile, "and I'd like to think I'm mostly sane."

Started these rumors himself? It didn't make any sense.

"But now everyone thinks you're a terrible person! They're downright frightened of you! Why the hell would you do that?"

"Why, do you suppose?" Fox calmly finished his coffee. He wasn't looking at me now.

And then it hit me. As I looked around the simple apartment, tucked away high on the ninth floor, and considered what I'd heard, everything fell into place. A valedictorian pilot missing from the base for two years was strange enough to get some attention from former classmates and curious brass. Fox must have been trying to avoid all that by throwing up barriers. Rumors of violence and madness were definitely effective in that vein. But why make such a monster out of himself to avoid other pilots and soldiers?

"You're deliberately warding people off," I said, staring at him.

Fox nodded.

"That still doesn't answer why, though," I frowned, setting down my cup with a clunk, "you shouldn't be hiding from people."

"Hey, I'm not hiding from anybody," Fox huffed, matching my frown, "just staying clear of a situation that I don't approve of. It's actually pretty complicated and-..."

"It's not complicated at all," I fired back, "you're avoiding something by letting people believe lies."

I was more than a little angry at the injustice of people thinking Fox could be anything other than the honest, open guy I was sitting here talking to. It didn't seem fair that everyone said such horrible things about him, even if it was something Fox had started himself.

I might not have met many people beyond the workshop in my life, but I could tell that Fox was a rare sort of person – the sort of person that the world couldn't afford to be without.

"You don't understand, kid," Fox stood up and took his cup to the kitchen, "and it's too complex to interest you."

"You're talking to someone who calculates all the statistics of stress fractures in an eight-hundred and four component custom-built jet engine while he's waiting for the microwave to ring. Nothing is 'too complex' – start explaining."

"For god's sake, no. Just drop it, will you?"

Fox was annoyed with me now, but I didn't care.

"Everyone I talked to, no matter what else they told me, said that you were a great pilot," I muttered, "and the way they said it, I know that's not just a rumor."

He didn't say anything.

"That's why I want to learn from you. I won't accept training from anyone else."

Two dishes clinked together, but Fox stayed quiet and hidden around the corner.

I settled back in my chair and finished my coffee. I'd had my say, and I might have just lost my chance, but it was worth it. Somebody was going to have to push Fox back into the mainstream; back onto the base. If there was nobody else close enough to him to do it, I decided, I was going to do it myself.

Our uneasy silence was cut short by a knock at the door.

next chapter: Peppy