my first name must be
"he ain't shit"
'cuz every time I'm in my car
bitches be like
"he ain't shit"

- Redman
"I'll Bee Dat"

Young Lions

((n+2)/3)

Never Say Die

The world watched Marth take Omnislash at close range. Without resistance. Cloud was in perfect form. The first swing launched Marth into the air. Cloud chased him. Above the stage, he unleashed the full technique in a tornado of violence. His signature move drove the crowd to hysteria.

The Buster Sword cut swift arcs. Marth took one hit after another. The final cut slammed him, like a training dummy, down towards the floor, in one last fall.

But when the blade struck, a burst of red exploded. The audience was stunned into a hushed silence by the sight of it.

Marth took the fall, trailing red as he went. When he hit the ground, he lay still.

Cloud landed next to him. Fragments of red fell around him. The soldier reached out with a gloved hand. He caught rose petals in his palm.

He watched the flowers drift down from overhead.

He looked at where Marth lay.

It wasn't much of a victory. Marth had thrown down his sword, refused to fight. All eyes were on Cloud now, awaiting his next move.

Glass shattered from the rafters, an alarm sounded.

Cloud looked up again. Saw glittering shards raining down. He shielded his face from the falling glass.

The announcers screamed over the roar of the crowd.

A new challenger!

In exhibition matches, it was allowed.

A hard red object clattered to the stage. A figure dropped down next to it. Black hoodie, street clothes.

He picked up the object and shot a gust of smoke at Cloud, who threw up a shield, taking no damage.

A fire extinguisher.

Cloud let down his shield just in time for Roy to lob the extinguisher like a bowling ball straight into his midsection, knocking the swordsman clear off his feet. He tumbled away to the other side of the stage.

Items are for bitches, Roy thought. But guess who's gonna be a bitch right now?

Exhibition matches were meant to be chaos. Eight way free for alls. No holds barred. The crowd loved it.

But the chants in the arena now were mostly for Cloud. Mixed in with it were a lot of boos and jeers.

Yeah, all you clowns know it. Disaster just walked in. You ungrateful assholes got no place acting all surprised.

Roy hopped back. Crouched down next to Marth.

"Hey, princess. Don't be sleeping now."

Dark eyes fluttered open. "Roy...?"

"Who else?"

He grabbed Marth by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Caught him before he fell. Rose petals scattered around them.

"Hold onto me."

"You..." Marth shoved him away, stumbling. Roy caught him again.

Marth tried to pull away. Failed. "You fucking idiot..."

"I know, I know. Yell at me later."

Roy stepped in front of Marth and turned to face Cloud. He took hold of the sword Marth had abandoned and pulled the blade from the floor where it had been lodged.

Its weight was far lighter than his own.

Well, he didn't have his own anymore.

Buster Sword came down at him. He parried and countered. A reflex. A little slow. Cloud's weapon nicked him at the cheek.

He dodged the next two hits before catching Cloud on an upswing. Roy swung into an opening, knocking Cloud back. Roy pressed forward with a combo and drove the other fighter towards the edge of the stage.

Then Cloud's heavy blade lashed out at him from the side. Roy took the hit, jumped back, rolled away, but Marth's sword had been lost over the edge. Too light. He'd never fought with it before. The feel of it had been too unfamiliar.

Though they had once been rivals, they had never swapped weapons before. They had never done well in team ups either. It was evident that their fighting styles did not complement each other at all. Their strengths could not balance out their weaknesses.

That incompatibility, Roy had always thought, might have been a warning.

He slid up next to Cloud and swept his leg. Grabbed him as he stumbled and threw him over a hip and straight down over the edge.

But Cloud jumped, flew, and took hold of the ledge. He swung himself back onto the stage, where he fell into a roll past Roy. Cloud got on his feet again, just as Roy slammed an elbow into his face.

Roy took advantage of the moment to kick that oversized meat cleaver out of Cloud's hand.

The blade crashed to the floor. Roy rained fists into his opponent's face.

Cloud staggered. But the soldier did not go down without a fight. He regained his footing and swung back.

Roy took a flurry of head and body shots. And he returned the favor.

Cloud Strife was an elite soldier. A product of training, indoctrination, genetic engineering, and the subsequent trauma that went with it.

Roy was ghetto trash. A product of late night binge drinking and chemical addictions, who somehow always found his way home after many nights of extreme self inebriation.

His nerve endings just weren't that sharp anymore. He felt little of the pain the soldier was dealing him, even as his body took the damage.

The rest was a tribute to his mother's genes.

Cloud could take a lot of abuse, but he started to buckle.

Roy headbutted him. Busted his lip. Grappled, locked, and flipped him up and over the edge.

There was no recovery from that

Bells rang. The audience screamed. One fighter down.

Roy looked back at Marth, who had dropped to his knees, one hand pressed to the floor to hold himself up.

In spite of his injuries, he seemed really fucking angry at Roy.

And that was about normal.

Roy flashed a grin. He still had Cloud's blood trailing down his face. Then, with a quick salute, he threw himself off the ledge.

The audience seemed to gasp all at once.

Final bell.

Marth's name was the only one remaining on the scoreboard.

In the locker room, Cloud was being tended to by a pretty girl with long black hair. They both glanced his way as Roy sauntered in, dripping blood and broken glass in his wake.

Roy gave them a thumbs up. "Good game, Squall."

"My name is Cloud."

"Right, sorry. My bad." Roy laughed. "Hope they've been treating you good around here."

"Yeah..."

Roy wiped at his chin with the back of his hand. It came away red. "Anyway, gotta run. Nice seeing you again, Storm."

"It's Strife."

"Oh yeah. I knew that. You're fucking famous. Ku-raudo Suto-waifu!"

The girl dropped the ice pack she was holding to Cloud's face and doubled over laughing.

Cloud just winced at Roy. Bandage strips held shut the cuts on his face.

"Uh..."

"Did I get it right?"

Cloud nodded, a placating gesture. "Sure." He tilted his head to the side. "And who are you again?"

The doors banged open. In marched the battle's sole victor. But the smoldering look in his eyes suggested that the fighting wasn't over.

Roy brightened up. "Hey, babe."

Marth grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward the exit. "We need to talk."

"Okay."

But Marth started tilting, and Roy had to hold him up again.

"Let's get you to Doc M first."

"Get me to my room."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't question me."

"Okay..." Roy pulled Marth's arm across his shoulders. "Lean on me then." He wrapped an arm around Marth's waist.

They limped toward the opposite doors.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Roy."

"Looking forward to that."

Out in the hallway, they took a wrong turn, walking straight into the media spotlight and camera flashes. Roy hustled them into an elevator.

Marth fell heavily against him.

"You sure, you're okay?"

Marth shook his head. "Shut the fuck up, Roy."

They made it to the room. Roy dragged him over to the bed and tried to set him down as carefully as possible.

Marth's fingers trembled as he started to undo his belts and armor.

Roy reached down and helped him. The sword was back in its scabbard. Roy placed it on the table.

Marth got his boots off and fell back against the bed.

Roy looked at him doubtfully. "You good?"

"You know, some days I wish we had never met."

"Sounds familiar."

"Shut up." Marth drew an arm across his eyes.

Roy knew that he did this to hide his face. Some emotion there he didn't want to let out.

Tread lightly. If Roy only knew how.

"So," he started, "you wanna tell me what that whole mess was about?"

That, he realized, was not light. Not light at all.

"If you hadn't interfered," Marth said, "you would have found out."

"Yeah, sure. But hey, I liked the roses, that was a nice touch. You, what, had them stitched to the inside of your clothes? Very cinematic. Social media is all up on that, I bet. You're probably already a trending topic."

Marth leapt off the bed. "You don't get it! You absolute idiot."

He tore off his cape and threw it at Roy. Then he fell back against the bed again, both arms crossed over his eyes.

Roy picked the cape off the floor. It was white on the outside. The inner lining was...

He held it open. Red petals fluttered down. Some of them still clung to the fabric, held there by thin threads. But most had been dislodged by Cloud's sword strikes.

The missing pieces revealed something else sewn into the lining of the cape.

It was the flag of his mother's homeland. The united federation of tribes. On paper, they no longer existed.

Roy had not seen that banner in years.

"I've met your sister," Marth said, his voice a whisper now. "The daughter of Lyndis and Rath. This is the standard she carried with her during her first confrontation with enemy forces."

Its colors had faded, bleached by the sun. Spots of it had been stained in a shade like rust.

"They took heavy losses that day," Marth continued. "I promised her I'd bring it here, to the stage, in front of a world audience. I promised her that I'd make the struggle of her country known."

Roy said nothing. He folded up the cape and laid it down on top of the sword on the table. There was a first aid kit on the chair.

Gently, Roy took Marth by the hand and pulled him to a sitting position. He wiped away blood and dabbed antiseptic to the cuts on Marth's face. He had to open the front of the uniform to assess for more damage. A lot of bruising on the chest. That would hurt later. Marth's armor had shielded him from the worst of it. Midgar steel was no joke.

Marth held still, passive, too exhausted to complain. Even when Roy stripped him down completely and pressed firm fingers over muscle and bone, testing each mark and welt, noting the wound dressing already tapped in between his shoulder blades.

Roy watched Marth's face, listened for the times when his breath would hitch to hide a noise of pain.

Roy knelt in front of him.

"Push with your foot against my hand..."

Marth complied, still silent.

"You have some swelling around your ankle. Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Can you put weight on it?"

Marth rose to his feet. But he wobbled and grabbed Roy's shoulders for support.

Roy eased him back onto the bed. "Might be a sprain. Hope it's not broken."

"It doesn't hurt."

"Do you want to ice it?"

Marth only shrugged. He pulled on his underwear.

Roy lifted the injured leg onto the bed. He shook out a cold compress and applied it to the ankle. Marth lay back against the pillows. His eyes were on Roy.

"Your face..." Marth said.

"He got me. It's just a scratch."

Marth watched him wordlessly.

Roy stood up. "I'm guessing you're gonna want a bath."

"Yes. But..."

He was probably too tired for even that, Roy figured. "Give me a minute to clean up. I'll be right back."

Marth closed his eyes.

In the bathroom, Roy leaned against the sink and scrubbed off the blood on his hands and face.

She is everything her mother would have wanted her to be, Ike had said.

They didn't need him after all, Roy thought. They probably already had their key players in place. Snake was just gassing him up for nothing.

But if he had called it right. If Altea sided with Bern. That was an ally lost to the League and the tribes.

That could affect the whole outcome.

Roy came out, found Marth curled up on his side on the bed. Taking a risk, Roy lay down next to him. Watched him sleep for a bit.

There were questions. But those would have to wait until later.

Do you still believe in justice? Freedom, honor, a fair society, all of that? This isn't even your fight to begin with.

But you carried my mother's flag as if you were one of us.

I've never... would never...

He'd never belonged to his father's country, nor his mother's. Nor the place where they had been offered sanctuary in exchange for service and loyalty.

Roy placed a hand over Marth's. He met no push back.

"You didn't have to lose to make that point," he offered.

"It's complicated, Roy."

"Yeah. I know."

"You should have stayed out of it."

"I couldn't. You... With you, it's an instinct in me."

"You should have trusted me."

"Yeah. I do. But you never tell me anything. And it's your job, I get it, some things I can't know about. But, damn, sometimes you just seem like you think your life is totally worthless."

Marth didn't answer.

"So, uh, are you still mad?" Roy tried.

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I stay here, though?"

Marth shook his head.

"Okay then." Roy dipped in, cautiously, as if he were dancing with a cobra, and kissed Marth on the forehead. "For now. Just hold off. We can both rest a little."

By that, he meant that Marth could sleep, and Roy would stay up. Someone had to, to wake him up every hour, to make sure he could still wake up. Marth most likely had sustained significant head trauma. Roy understood the precautions.

"You can get right back to hating me tomorrow," he added. "You always do."

"I don't hate you, Roy."

"Well, at least that's something."

"But you really make me want to toss you out the window."

Roy brought Marth's hand to his chest, over his heart.

This was the only home he knew.

This was the home he wanted to protect

A memory...

12 AM, alone with a gun in the motel room where he lived.

12 AM, chambering a single round.

12 AM, rock bottom was the place to be.

1201, his phone rang.

"Roy...?"

Thinking of the right words was hard.

"Do you mind if I come over?"

Yes. He was in the middle of an executive decision. But...

"I know it's been a while. I just wanted to see you for a little bit. If you're okay with that?"

Swallow down the worst of it. The things that hurt. Speak the words that'll bring him here.

"Yeah. Okay."

45 minutes later, a knock at the door. He came in with a rustle of plastic bags. Took off his shoes and hung up his coat. Brushed cobalt blue bangs out of his eyes as he took a brief look around. He was the nicest thing in Roy's apartment.

He walked to the middle of the mess of what passed for a kitchen. There was just a small counter, sink, mini-fridge, a portable plug in stovetop. He set down the bags. He'd brought beer and instant ramen, the expensive premium brand kind. Another bag contained vegetables and pre-cooked meats.

He started by boiling water.

Roy watched from the mattress on the floor. The TV tuned to a sports broadcast.

Roy's mother had taught him how to cook. Marth had never shown any inclination toward it before.

But he managed to wash the vegetables in the tiny sink. Broke them up with his hands to throw into the pot. Eventually he put together a bowl of ramen, which he brought to the small coffee table and set down in front of Roy. Handed him a spoon and chopsticks.

Then he went back and cleaned up the kitchen. And everything else besides the kitchen. He picked up the garbage, found a broom, swept the floor, put on gloves, wiped down the counters, and took a disinfectant spray to the bathroom.

Roy was halfway through the ramen. He was into his second can of beer. He tasted neither. He tried to follow the sports show. It was difficult.

In the end, Marth had several bags of garbage tied off. He headed for the door.

"Leave them outside," Roy said. "I'll put them in the dumpster later." It was well past 2 AM. His head hurt. The parking lot wasn't a good place to be.

Marth ignored him, put on shoes, and went out there anyway.

Roy stepped outside in flip flops to keep an eye on him while he threw the trash away and came back.

They ended up together on the back balcony, seated next to each other on two empty box crates. Marth said nothing while Roy lit a cigarette. He silently accepted the can of beer that Roy handed to him.

It wasn't much of a view. Just the back alley and the parking lot of the neighboring complex.

Somewhere nearby, a cat meowed.

Marth went inside to grab some leftover meat. He laid it out on a plastic lid and left it outside the front door.

Sometime later, an ugly grey cat scurried over and feasted on the plate of food.

Marth seemed delighted. He watched the animal from the window until it finished and crept off into the night.

"I hope he comes back," he said.

"Keep feeding him and he will."

Roy went back to the balcony for another cigarette. Marth followed. The air was cold.

Roy dusted off an old blanket he had hung up on the railing to dry a month ago. He threw it over Marth. It probably smelled like cigarette smoke and car exhaust. But Marth offered no objection.

The old crates were not too comfortable to sit on. It was all right, though. Roy pressed his back to the wall. He took a long drag from the cigarette.

The sky grew into a shade of night that matched Marth's hair. There was no way Roy could comment about it without getting it all wrong, so he didn't.

The smoke trailed upward on the exhale.

He did not expect Marth to fall against him and put a head on his shoulder.

Cymbals clashed inside of Roy's brain. The pounding of his own heart thundered loud in his ears.

A cold hand slipped into his. He wrapped his fingers around it. Enclosed it against his warm palm. That skin did not seem as nearly as rough as his own, even though they'd both grown calluses from years of weapons training.

He had taken apart the gun before Marth arrived. It was back in its box in the closet.

Under the blanket, their fingers interlaced.

Roy brought their clasped hands up to his lips and kissed Marth's knuckles.

Expect nothing from me, and you won't be disappointed.

A storm woke him up in the early morning. The sky was dark blue and faintly pink. Lightning flashed just outside the window. Thunder hit a few seconds later.

Roy sat up. Reached for Marth. Found nothing there.

He had woken Marth several times throughout the night. Each time, it had gone well. Or, as well as one could expect.

The door to the hotel balcony was open, curtains fluttering with a strong wind.

Roy got up. The sound of rain came down hard and heavy. He walked to the balcony.

Marth stood, wrapped in a blue cape, his arms braced against the rail, hair dampened by the rainfall.

His dark eyes watched the distant clouds. They were tall thunder clouds, and Marth sought out each flicker of lightning. Rain pounded the neighboring rooftops. It was cold, but he reached out with a hand to let the droplets run through his fingers.

Marth, Roy remembered, loved storms and turbulent skies.

So Roy did nothing to disturb him.

The storm raged on.

And then, abruptly, it ended. The clouds thinned and rolled away, dissipating over a rose hued sunrise.

Marth turned and slipped past Roy on his way inside.

Rainwater trailed after him into the bathroom.

Roy heard the sound of the shower running and went back to bed. But the unfamiliar surroundings - that and the scent of Marth on the sheets, mixed with that of blood and sweat - kept him awake.

He listened again to the sound of running water. Then he got up and lightly tapped the bathroom door. When there was no answer, he eased it open.

Marth stood under the water, one hand braced against the wall. He had torn off the dressing on his back. Something was there, between his shoulders, that Roy couldn't see clearly through the misted glass of the shower stall.

Marth threw an undecipherable look over his shoulder.

Roy grinned back. Because, according to Samus, it was harder to slap an idiot when they were smiling. So, she had advised him, he needed to smile a lot.

The bathroom had a second compartment. Roy went to the sink and rummaged through the supply of hygiene products offered by the hotel. Toothbrush in his mouth, he looked behind him and found Marth glaring at him through the glass.

Roy gave him the thumbs up. Marth rolled his eyes.

There was no point in going back to bed. So might as well get the day started. Roy figured he probably had some messages on his phone. He hadn't checked it. There had to be, at this point, some very angry people waiting to talk to him.

Oh well.

As Marth lazed through a shower, Roy cleaned up and slipped out into the main room.

He clicked on the TV and started the coffee machine. He ordered room service. He was, he decided, going to be a competent adult today. He could be considerate if he wanted to be.

Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and turned on his phone.

Every alarm sounded all at the same time. He hit the silence button.

That was a lot of missed calls.

Looked like he was in trouble with everyone.

That was a new record. Samus would be proud. She had only called him eight times.

He decided to let them simmer a bit. What had they been expecting? They were lucky he hadn't burned the stage to the ground. Who gave a sh -

Marth came out of the shower, finally. One towel around his waist, another he used to dry off his hair.

Roy shoved his phone into his pocket. "Morning, sunshine. I was thinking..."

He stopped. The mirror on the wall had caught the reflection of Marth's back. The mark between his shoulders was a tattoo, a word, a language Roy no longer spoke.

He could not read his mother tongue. He only spoke it. And only as casual conversation. He had explained that to Snake during the assignment briefing. Snake had assured him that it wasn't necessary for the job.

Roy didn't know much. But he knew his own name.

His eyes fell on Marth's face.

"You..."

Was all he got out. Marth brought one knee onto the mattress next to Roy's leg. He raised himself up and settled the other knee on the other side, straddling Roy's lap.

"Oh. Okay."

Was this really what they were doing? They'd been at a stalemate for so long. Neither could recall who had fired the first shot.

Marth wrapped arms around Roy's neck. Pressed lips to his temple.

In return, Roy held him tight around the waist. And remembered when it had been new between them. How it had crashed because they had come to accept that happiness was momentary.

Who was to blame now?

The towel was slipping.

"So," Roy ventured, "are we...?"

"Hm?"

"Like, uh, are we still fighting?"

Those arms and legs squeezed harder around him. Marth hid his face in the spot between Roy's shoulder and neck.

His sigh rolled out with a slight tremor. Roy's skin seemed to catch fire in response.

Marth's voice was the same cutting whisper it had always been.

"You said, together, or not at all. Right?"

"Yeah."

"Break me now so you can fix me later."

Roy needed no other invitation.

my middle name must be
"fuck you!"
'cuz every time I'm in the hood
n####z be like
"fuck you!"