A/N: Apologies in advance for the poor quality use of Spanish.
Both of us being strangers here,
Both of us stranded;
Does it matter that we've just met,
If our hearts understand?
- Tattoo print from "Oriental Tattoo Art" (edited by Du Ying, Shan Shan)
Wolves in Winter
The way he talked made it seem like Southtown was a paradise. Beaches, parks, downtown restaurants, theaters, that sort of thing. Falcon imagined it as a place always under the sun. Probably had palm trees and casinos and legal dispensaries.
Falcon usually liked cities because he spent most of his time between them. He'd been out hiking maybe once in his life for something other than a training exercise. Hadn't cared for it too much. Snake could keep Alaska. And Samus could have all of Mars.
Of the entire world's cities though, Southtown wasn't really on the map. Not even in the top hundred. Or thousand. Or hundred thousand. But he wasn't about to tell Terry that.
Terry Bogard cherished his friends and family more than he was willing to admit out loud. So he talked up the place they were from like it was something big.
Falcon let him do it because Falcon didn't have many friends left. He had business partners and rivals. And a few enemies still living.
There was no time, really, in the space of his schedule to linger on that too much. It only came to him in strangely quiet moments like these, when he stood buttoning up a shirt in front of the half drawn curtain of a hotel window, overlooking another blue and grey city with a name Falcon would soon forget on his way out through another airport. On to the next and the next and the next.
He'd arranged for his vehicles to be shipped.
The tournament was over. Smashville would close shop, like a traveling circus, not to materialize again until next season. Falcon already had another job lined up.
He checked the time on his watch. Checked his flight schedule and the weather forecast and the local police scanner.
On the bed, on his phone, Terry was mostly dressed, long legs stretch out in tight denim, his face lit up by the phone screen against the darkness brought on by the hotel's heavy drapes, which blocked off the morning sun. The side of his face that Falcon could see was well and intact. But the other side was marred with fresh bruises and half healed cuts.
Ryu, traditional martial artist, wandering street warrior, whatever the fuck, had a heavy left hand. He also had a heavy right, which he had driven over and over again into Terry's side during their fight in the arena. The swelling that had resulted had been less pronounced, less obvious, than the damage he wore on his face but apparently still very painful.
A trap, waiting for Falcon's hand to grab and fumble too roughly in the dark.
It had not been the kind of screaming Falcon had hoped to draw out that night.
It made him less sorry about planting a knee to Ryu's chest and kicking him off the top platform during their last match.
"I've got a flight to catch," he said.
Terry's head snapped up. "Oh. Alright."
"When are you flying out?" Falcon asked.
"I took the bus."
Falcon raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Terry just shrugged. "It was easier."
"If you say so."
Falcon grabbed his overnight bag. "Are you ready?"
Terry slid the phone into a pocket and eased himself off the bed. He moved with care. Last night had been rough.
Falcon watched him with calm satisfaction.
Terry had brought with him only one duffle bag. A few personal items. One change of clothes. He'd made use of the laundry services during his time at the hotel. Now he wore the same white shirt and pair of jeans he'd come in with. The red sleeveless vest he pulled on matched his sneakers and left his arms bare.
The weather report on Falcon's watch gave him the real time outdoor temperature reading. He grabbed his own jacket off a nearby chair and tossed it to the other man.
"You're gonna freeze to death," he said in response to Terry's confused look.
"Do you want it back later?"
"Don't worry about it."
The jacket had been an impulse buy at an airport on the way over. Falcon couldn't recall how much it had cost. Either way, he had no personal attachment to it.
Terry put his arms through the sleeves and slipped it over his shoulders. It seemed to fit.
On the dresser, Terry's signature red trucker hat rested over a set of keys and his wallet. He found pockets for those things and fixed the hat over his hair, pulling the brim down low.
Falcon hid his eyes behind shades. Time to go.
He left a tip for housekeeping.
The hallways were empty. They rode the elevator alone.
The silence between them seemed natural. They had left their stage personas behind.
In the quiet hum of the elevator, there was an audible click. Falcon noticed the device clipped to Terry's belt. A cord ran from it up to his ear. It had large buttons on the side. Through a small clear window, Falcon could see its ancient mechanisms whirling.
Faint music drifted into the space between them.
A fucking cassette player. Falcon raised another eyebrow.
He thought about asking what Terry was listening to but decided against it. In a few minutes, they'd be saying their last goodbyes. And then Falcon would be on to another assignment, another city, another purpose.
But Southtown's MVP was worth one more look. He liked to hide under the brim of that hat. Falcon had figured out that much. For all his on stage bravado, Terry Bogard seemed to shy away from certain confrontations. At least the ones that couldn't be handled with his fists.
That had been an interesting twist to the whole thing.
As a fighter, Bogard had built himself physically into the extremes of mixed martial arts. His body, conditioned for both speed and power, maintained enough flexibility for grappling and wrestling. It might have given him an edge over Ryu, if only the karate master's strength hadn't been so overwhelming.
Comparatively, others fighters were far less physically intimidating. Marth, a former champion, was built like a cross between an acrobat and a dancer. He would most likely lose an arm wrestling match to Zelda, especially given the strength of the bow she was known to carry into battle. Marth was so light on stage that he almost seemed to float. He was most dangerous on the fall between platforms when other fighters were usually vulnerable.
He was actually, in Falcon's opinion, most dangerous off the stage, on a different arena, in the dark of hotel rooms, where he'd meet Falcon move for move. Whatever Falcon dealt him, Marth took it in ways that made sure the Captain would remember him. In ways that would probably send that idiot Roy on a suicide mission with a baseball bat and a stick of dynamite if he ever did learn the full extent of it.
(Too bad that was all in the past now. At least until Roy fucked up again.)
Terry Bogard, however, was different. On stage, he'd run straight into Ryu's Dragon Punch without hesitation. Off stage, he was less sure of himself. When he couldn't hide under his hat, he was prone to blushing and looking away. He didn't move with the same confidence, not in the dark.
It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, from Falcon's standpoint. Just unexpected.
Terry seemed to know he was being watched. He looked up. Blue eyes came into view once the bill of the hat lifted, one normal, the other circled by purple bruising.
It was an opening that Falcon had to exploit.
He surged through the gap between them, shoved Terry back into the wall, pushed that damn hat out of the way, and grabbed a fistful of blond hair. He caught Terry's sharp note of surprise inside the kiss, rough with Falcon's frustrations and hungers. Falcon ran his free hand up under the back of that thin t-shirt. Felt two sets of fingers come up against his chest, not pushing him away, but not pulling him in either.
Remembered how Terry had answered his question the night before ("Do you want this?") not with a "yes," but with a silent nod.
The music drifting from the cassette player rose to a crescendo. A female vocalist at war with the world.
The elevator bell went off with a ding.
Falcon let go and turned away. Left Bogard as he was, pressed up against the wall with nothing to hold onto.
The doors open to the lobby, Falcon picked up his bag and strode out toward the exit.
The morning sun was bright. The air was cold.
From behind him, a voice called out, "Wait!"
Falcon didn't slow down. But Terry caught up. They fell quietly into step with each other.
The bus station was a short walk away. It was early enough that the crowds were sparse on the streets. No one recognized the Captain in casual clothes.
It must have rained overnight. The early sunlight reflected off the sidewalk. But the city was still dirt and grey underneath it all.
When they reached the transit station, Falcon stopped. Terry seemed to hesitate before the metal gates.
Falcon turned to him. "You don't wanna miss your ride."
"Yeah..."
Whatever Terry wanted to say next was lost when something small and yellow careened into his legs with a gleeful scream.
"Pichuuuuuu!"
Terry almost fell over, but he recovered. "Hey, little guy. Are we headed the same way?" He scooped up the rat. "We can go together if you want."
Pichu nodded vigorously and leaped onto his shoulders.
"They don't call you the blond Pokemon trainer for nothin'," Falcon noted.
"What?" Terry didn't catch on to the joke. "I don't train Pokemon."
"You're wearing his uniform."
"I am?"
"It's the stupid hat. And the damn vest."
"Hey, Captain, not everyone gets away with wearing spandex."
"That started as a fan request, believe it or not."
Terry grinned wide. He looked more at ease than he had all morning. "I believe it."
"Okay then." Falcon tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't keep your girlfriend waiting."
A blank stare came across Terry's face. "I don't have a girlfriend."
"I'm kidding."
"Oh."
Falcon moved away first, but felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Here." Terry held up a folded slip of paper.
Falcon took it. Opened it. Found an address written down.
"I know you're probably busy. But if you're ever in the area. Look me up?"
That smile was genuine. Hopeful.
Falcon nodded. "I'll do that."
"Thanks. See ya around."
Terry spun through the gate without looking back. But Pichu, perched on his shoulders, turned around and blew Falcon a raspberry.
Damn rodent.
Falcon shook his head. Watched the sway of a long thin blond ponytail as it moved out of sight, vanishing into the crowd.
You're too fucking cute, Bogard.
Falcon carried the note with him for another city block before he dropped it into a trash bin.
But you really don't wanna get caught up with a guy like me.
He settled into an airport bar an hour before his flight. Checked his messages. Called Samus.
"I'll send you info after you touchdown," she told him. They had a briefing to attend in about two week's time.
Falcon settled into a drink next. He was still thinking about Southtown, and an address he had unintentionally memorized, when the announcer called the boarding of his flight.
He slept on the plane. Half dreamt and half remembered the last night of the tournament. On a curb in the parking lot. Roy had found him there. Under a dull street light after everyone else had already turned in.
"Hola Capitán. ¿Cómo estás?"
Roy, with that cringe worthy accent.
"You gotta work on that delivery," Falcon told him.
"¿Ah sí? Estoy haciendo mi mejor esfuerzo."
"Stop."
"You're such a damn hater."
He looked different. Falcon couldn't deny that. Roy's hair was cropped shorter than usual. His jacket was plain black, the same as his boots.
"Did you come out here to drink, Roy?"
"Nah. I'm done with that."
"So I heard."
"You heard right."
"So what now?"
The tournament was over. Everyone would now all split apart, go their separate ways.
In the past, Roy had been aimless in these moments. Sullen and angry. Crossfaded in a hotel room.
Falcon had despised that type of emptiness, especially when it came out of his own training camp. Roy had once been a student of his, and Falcon bore some of the responsibility for what Roy had become.
"Where do you go from here?" he pressed.
Roy's eyes were dark, and now they were sharper than they had ever been. Falcon had never seen that edge in him before.
"Got a new job lined up," Roy said.
"Yeah? What kind of job?"
"Business in the home country."
"Better not be that mess I keep hearing about on the news."
"You got an opinion on it?"
"No. Not really."
"We weren't meant for this, Captain. Your nine to fives. Your welfare. Your prisons. Your asylum. We can't live like this."
"Don't let that sappy over glorified 'power to the people' nonsense get to your head. Don't get into anything you can't get out of."
"Heh. They say you only live once, right?"
"Yeah. So don't throw it away for nothing."
From somewhere overhead, thunder hit and rolled. Falcon searched the distance with his eyes. He had missed the lightning. He usually didn't.
But Roy must have glimpsed it. He looked as young as Falcon had once been.
He nodded at the Captain.
"Cuando un hombre se enfrenta a la muerte luchará por vivir."
Then he turned his eyes toward a foreign horizon.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Hm?"
"She wants a kid," Samus said.
"Who?"
"The wife."
"Give her a kid then."
"It's not that easy."
"Well. No one said you had to get married in the first place."
"Wrong. She said exactly that. And now she's the one who calls the shots in my life." On the laptop screen, the other bounty hunter's image pixelated and flickered for a second. "Sorry about that," she said, "just checking something."
"No problem."
Aran's line had never been hacked before. Falcon had long since learned to base his protocols off of hers.
"You're lucky you're single," she told him, eyes darting off screen as her fingers moved on the keyboard. Her background was a faint grey wall. Looked real enough that it might have been her actual office for the day. Her pale blond ponytail telegraphed the motions of her head, something Falcon had trained himself to watch for in the arena whenever they were matched against each other.
Didn't always change the outcome of the fight, but sometimes it made him think he could predict her next move, even if he was dead wrong.
"I guess I can't complain," he said. He set his background to something dull and inconspicuous. He was in a rented office space, but it was one he tended to use a lot. No use exposing it unnecessarily.
"I heard you have a thing for blondes now."
"Ha." Word got around quickly in their circle.
"You sure do know how to pick 'em, don't you?"
"I have my talents."
"But something tells me you're not ready to settle down yet."
"It was just a one-off."
"Oh yeah?"
"The tournament wasn't that interesting this year. I had to make do, Sam."
"Well, at least you had fun."
An alert flashed at the bottom of his screen.
"Here we go," Aran said.
The meeting started as soon as Robin signed on, Chrom following right after.
On Falcon's screen, other squares came alive on the grid.
Most were faces that he knew. A few were strangers.
Chrom started, "Good morning, gentlemen. And...uh, ladies too. Sorry." He flustered a bit. A few chuckles came over the audio.
Chrom let out an easy smile and did the roll call.
Falcon had heard that, compared to other ops managers, Chrom came across as more relatable, due much in part to his natural mannerisms. Falcon didn't care either way. But it was different than what he was used to.
Robin, however, was all business. Wide eyed and young, but with a razor sharp focus. After a brief introduction, he launched into an overview of company objectives and current field operations. He gave a short synopsis on regional history and the events leading up to the present day conflict that they were taking part in.
Falcon had done his own research beforehand. It was still surprising how much of a country's history could be lost in the translation when converted into convenient bullet points on a slide show.
Robin saved the most important information for the end.
"In terms of the goals of this task force, we've drawn up a list of high profile targets. I've made assignments based on your own individual qualifications and skill sets. Each of you will be working in teams of two. Refer to your attachments."
A blurry image came up on the side of the screen. Falcon picked up the features of a long haired teenaged girl. She wore animal furs and wilderness clothing pulled from a past long gone era.
"Sue Rath, codename Green Doe for our operations, is the current tribal faction leader of Sacae. Daughter of Queen Nomad and Red Wolf. Granddaughter of Silver Wolf. Of the three, Queen Nomad and Silver Wolf are both confirmed KIA. Red Wolf is believed to be alive but retired from the field. As of now, he is not a significant target unless he can be used to lure in Green Doe. His current whereabouts are unknown, however.
"Green Doe is proficient in guerilla tactics and has some renown as a marksman. She sometimes travels via horseback to avoid main roads. She is skilled with rifles and with bows and arrows. As archaic as that may seem to most of you, I guarantee you that she has used these tools to full lethal capacity. This photo is outdated by a couple years. She is believed to have recently lost an eye in close range combat. Though she has some skill at close quarters, her greatest strength lies in distance kills.
"The tribal forces lack high tech weaponry, for the most part. And that has factored heavily into our handling of this assignment.
"Based on my assessment, I'm giving her to Team Halo. Any objections?"
"Negative," Aran said.
Something nudged at his subconscious, but Falcon shook his head. "None."
The eyes staring out from that hazy photo just seemed so haunted.
Then the image disappeared. And Robin moved on to the next.
The next picture was clear, most likely a government photo ID.
"Ike Greil, codenamed Black Knight for us, is the commander of the Greil Mercenaries, allies to Sacae and to Lycia. I believe his background is known to most of you, but I'll go over it again for those of you that need to hear it. The Greil Mercenaries are an A-ranked PMC based in Tellius but operating worldwide. Included among their members are seasoned ex-soldiers who have been recruited from various regions of conflict around the globe. Just a few years ago, they were a much smaller C-ranked company, but now they have expanded to become a much more formidable force.
"Much of this expansion is attributed to the new commander and his sibling, who heads the business administration side of their operations. His sibling is a designated civilian non-combatant, and we are not considering her as a potential target at this time due to legal reasons.
"Unlike Green Doe, Black Knight has had a considerable amount of both formal and informal training. He started his career in the infantry and moved on to the national specialized forces before transitioning to paramilitary work. The Greil Mercenaries is a company started by his parents, and he took command following his father's death in an incident commonly known as the Outer Heaven Uprising. His mother is also deceased.
"Unlike the tribal forces, the Greil Mercenaries do have significant financial reserves of their own, as well as government alliances, which allow them access to modern equipment and weapons. Black Knight is considered to be a well rounded combatant, and he has few vulnerabilities. However, he is more dangerous up close than he is from a distance. We have also determined that he is susceptible to psionic attacks.
"All of that, I have decided, makes his assignment advantageous to Team Stella. Objections?"
"I think we've got this, love," Bayonetta answered with a wink.
Cloud Strife, stone faced, merely shook his head. "No objection."
Other names and profiles followed. Falcon listened carefully. But part of his mind was stuck on the first two. He wasn't responsible for anything other than his own assignment, but there was an understanding, should any team fail, another may be asked to step forward to complete the task.
So he listened. And he waited until the end to interrupt Robin.
"I've noticed," he spoke up, "that all of our assignments are two on one matchups. Is there a reason?"
Robin nodded. "Yes. Our plan is to overwhelm each target. Two against one has a better chance of succeeding than one on one. Ideally we'd have more than two, but our resources are limited."
"I see."
"Do you have any issue with this approach?"
"No. But it does seem like overkill."
"I don't understand."
"Either me or Sam alone would be more than enough to take care of Green Doe. Ike is another story."
"I assure you, Mr. Blood Hawk, I've done my research on the tactical realities of these matchups. Each of these targets are a part of larger organizations. The idea is to ambush them when they are alone. Outnumbering them is the only way to absolutely guarantee success. One on one matchups all have a certain degree of possible failure, the risks of which outweigh the gains."
In this arena, there was no such thing as a fair fight. Falcon knew.
But someone had to bring it up. Because no one else was going to address the obvious question of how it was going to be, taking out someone close to you. Falcon and Samus had both known Ike for much longer than Cloud or Bayonetta. Ike had only met the latter pair once before, and he had even failed to show up for the last tournament. So the choice made sense.
Separate business from your personal life, that was the old saying.
Chrom seemed to understand the situation. His voice was neutral and free of judgement when he asked, "Is there anything else?"
"No."
The meeting ended.
They all had a month to get all their affairs in order.
"Any plans?" Samus asked him on the private line after the others had signed off.
"Not really. You?"
"I have to go house hunting with my other half. Maybe I'll take her out shopping afterward. Might make her less mad at me for accepting this job. You should take some time for yourself too."
"Hm."
"Call up that blonde of yours. I'm sure he's not busy."
"We'll see."
"A couple weeks is enough time to make some memories, Captain."
He spent most of that down time getting ready for his role in the operation. These types of things took a lot of prep work. He also had to arrange some personal affairs. Only when he had everything organized and set, did he start to consider what to do with the remainder of the blank space on his schedule.
Eventually he decided to take the Blue Falcon for a drive along the coast.
He headed south.
The road twisted and curved with the terrain. Falcon took the turns at a comfortable cruising speed, a little over 100.
He reached his destination in the early evening, just as the sun was going down.
Southtown did have palm trees. It was several degrees warmer than where Falcon had come from. A little quiet as cities go. Nothing worth bragging about, to be honest.
The location his navigation had brought him to was, oddly enough, a car dealership across from a trailer park. Falcon pulled onto the lot. The on site mechanic shop was just closing up. The full service car wash station seemed to be working through one last customer.
Falcon pulled up closer. Among the uniformed employees, he spotted a recognizable ponytail hanging out of a cap, trailing down a familiar backside. He had somehow already learned the shape of those shoulders and waistline, which he could pick out even through a standard work shirt.
He pulled up to the entrance. His windows were tinted.
Blue eyes looked up from under the bill of a hat, navy blue instead of red, marked with the company logo. There was a new bruise starting to heal on that face, on the left cheek.
Terry's voice came through, apologetic in tone, the "customer service" voice. "Hey, sorry, we're closing. We'll be open again tomorrow morning."
Falcon rolled down his window. "I heard you'd be open all night."
Terry jumped back as if he'd been struck by Thunderbolt. "What the hell?!"
"You said, 'Look me up.' So I did."
Terry flushed red in the face. "I...thought you'd call first or something. Did you...have some business in the area?"
"I came to get my car washed."
"What? Uh, yeah, sorry, we're closed."
"According to that sign you don't close for another five minutes."
"Well, I can't really do your car in five minutes."
"What can you do in five minutes?"
"Uh..."
A harsh voice called from the building entrance. "Bogard! Quit making small talk and get back to work!"
"We're closing!" Terry shouted back.
"Not for another five minutes! You can do one more!"
Falcon stared at the short round figure shaking a fist in their general direction from the open doorway of an office. "So, you work for Wario?"
"It's a long story."
"Tough break, kid."
"You're telling me."
"I'll pay cash."
"Yeah, he likes that."
"Well, if you do a good job, I'll leave you a tip."
"How much?"
"Do you have plans later?"
Here, Terry seemed to hesitate. "I don't," he said finally.
"You do now."
Falcon spent the next twenty minutes leaning against a wall with Wario, watching Terry work.
"You've got a good employee over there," Falcon said. But Wario just made an ambivalent motion with his hands.
"Not really. He is a little bit lazy. Always complain about his break time. Always ask for the paycheck. Always on the phone, texting everybody, playing the games. But what can I do? I fire him, then everybody's mad at me. Girls like to come and look at him. He is really only good for that. And, eh, sometimes, no girls. Sometimes, it's just old perverted men. Like you. Dirty old men. Like you. But it's fine. You all pay me, so I let you. Next time, I make him wear white t shirt and very small shorts for you, eh? Heh heh heh..."
"Is that even legal?"
"Legal? Wahahahaha! Welcome to Southtown, Sergeant Pigeon! No one cares!"
With that Wario waddled off across the yard, laughing at his own joke. "Bogard! Nice work. You can go home a little early today."
"Actually my shift ended about twenty mi-"
Wario spun around and slapped Terry so hard on the ass that Terry fell forward over the hood of Falcon's car, spilling soap and water. Wario waved him off without even looking back. "See you on Monday! Don't be late! Ahahaha!"
"Pretty sure that was sexual harassment," Falcon said.
"Pretty sure he doesn't give a shit."
"Have you thought of quitting?"
"It's complicated."
"Do you want me to go out there and break his teeth?"
"Is that a serious question?"
"I have good lawyers."
"You... nevermind. I need to go home and change."
"I can give you a ride."
He seemed a little embarassed. "It's the place just across the street."
Falcon had seen worse places. He'd lived in a few too.
Terry's unit was one of the nicer ones. It had a small porch with a string of lights decorating the ledge of the overhang.
Falcon waited in his car, engine idling but silent.
The narrow lanes of the community were partially blocked by rusted pickup trucks and ancient campers. A few passersby, out walking their dogs, or pushing old shopping carts piled high with recyclables, stopped to stare at the foreign car in their midst.
Eventually the front door swung open, Terry emerged, having swapped out his work uniform for street clothes. He carried a gym bag over his shoulder. He said goodbye to someone inside, then let the door close behind him.
As he came down the steps, the door opened again. Falcon saw lights on inside, the movements of other occupants, the noise of a television and music blaring. A tall figure stood in the door frame, face only partially visible in the shadow.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Terry slid into the passenger seat and pulled the car door shut.
"You got roommates?"
"My brother."
"That him? In the doorway."
"Oh. Yeah. It's game night. We've got some friends over."
"Am I keeping you from anything?"
"Don't worry about it. They'll be back tomorrow. We always do this."
"Okay." Falcon peeled out. Hit the main road at full speed. "He's got the tough guy face on."
"Who? My brother?"
"Yeah."
"That's just how he looks. He doesn't mean anything by it."
"Looked like he wanted to fight me."
"He...yeah, he just doesn't know you. I said you were someone I knew from the tournament."
"Hm. Is he gonna be mad if you're out late?"
"He usually is."
"I'll try to have you back before midnight."
"You're kidding, right?"
"That depends. Is there anything to do in this town?"
Terry turned toward the window. "There is." He was suddenly quiet. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Nothing too over the top."
"If you get on the freeway, heading north, there's a place I know. It's kind of a long drive though."
"Am I taking you out of town?"
"Yeah. They kind of know me around here. And I'm not looking for a lot of attention right now."
"You like getting into fights, don't you?"
Terry offered a weak smile. "Honestly? I don't. I don't think anyone does. The arena is one thing. But out here it's different."
"I haven't seen you in action out here."
Terry gave him a look. "It may be different than what you're used to."
"What's the fight scene like in Southtown?"
"Do you really wanna know?"
"I kinda do."
"Have you ever been in a street fight?"
Falcon wanted to laugh. There'd been rumors for years that he had a clone that fought in the underground.
"Like you," he said, "I don't like fighting. But, since I'm in town, I wouldn't mind seeing something different."
There was a pause before Terry answered. "Okay. I'll show you."
They were near the water. Abandoned railroad tracks guided the way to what looked like an old shipyard.
Falcon parked by a dumpster and set the security system on his car.
Terry led him to a derelict building under the overpass, its entrance lit by a single bulb.
The doorman let them in with a nod.
Cigarette smoke clouded the inner halls. The corridor opened into a main room with a high ceiling, dark at the corners. Vibrant neon lit up the center stage, where the audience had gathered. It was a packed house.
Behind walls of chain link fencing lay the fighter's pit.
Over the noise of the spectators, Falcon heard the distinct sound of fists landing against hardened bodies.
Terry stayed at the edge of the crowd, back to the wall, arms crossed, the brim of his hat down low over his face. Falcon joined him.
Inside the cage, a muscle bound boxer was trading hits with a martial artist in a traditional uniform.
Falcon watched the fighters circle around each other. "They're pretty good," he said.
Terry nodded but said nothing.
Something had happened since they'd last met. Falcon could see the change in him. But whatever had started between them was still too new and unnamed, and Falcon hadn't earned the right to ask difficult questions yet. So he didn't.
The boxer landed a hit that brought his opponent down to one knee. The crowd screamed, thinking the match was over. But the other fighter managed to recover, blocking the follow up strikes, and answered with a standing kick to the boxer's midsection.
Both men bled from the face. The mat at their feet was stained red.
This was, Falcon thought, a very raw form of the sport. It had none of the extravagance that he was used to seeing. It was a distillation of that other spectacle, potent and relentless and entirely honest in its infancy. Professional commercialized fighting had long become bloated, meaningless. Here, the fight still lived on as it was meant to. Made him wish he could bring the Blood Hawk on stage one more time.
A tall, broad-shouldered man emerged from the crowd. Black shirt, dyed blond hair. Falcon spotted him on the approach. His eyes were locked on Terry.
He was within arm's reach when Falcon put himself between them. Falcon didn't flinch when gem-like black eyes sized him up. The look was followed with a sneer.
"Does the Legendary Wolf need a bodyguard?"
Terry was unfazed by the comment. "Nice to see you, Yamazaki."
"I heard you were done with this."
"I am."
"If you were, you wouldn't be here."
"My friend's from out of town. He came to do a little sightseeing."
Yamazaki's eyes shifted to Falcon again, then back to Terry.
"You move on pretty fast, don't you?"
Terry stared back at him in silence.
The spectators around them erupted with shouts and cheers. In the cage, the boxer went down. The other martial artist leaned over him and swung, pummeling the downed man with one hit after another. The boxer went limp. But his opponent didn't stop.
Two fists hammered down over and over again onto a man's already ruined face. Blood soaked the canvas.
There was no referee to stop the match.
The mauling went on. Unchallenged.
Falcon noticed then that Terry had launched himself off the wall, shooting past both him and Yamazaki, cutting through the crowd, headed for the stage.
Yamazaki watched him go. Then he cursed and followed.
Falcon was already moving.
Terry scaled the fence in a matter of seconds. He landed in the pit, next to the ongoing bloodbath. He grabbed the other fighter, who was still swinging, and pulled the man off of his defeated opponent.
For his trouble, Terry caught an elbow to the chin. He let go of the man. Then he fell back as an explosive flurry of punches and kicks came right at him.
Falcon saw it unfold a few steps away from the cage.
True to his training, Terry raised his guard and deflected each hit that came his way. He obviously wasn't about to beat down a man already worn out by a previous bout. But things went bad when the other fighter threw a kick to his side. It landed, Falcon realized, in the same spot where Ryu had dealt the most damage during the last tournament.
And like that, Terry folded. He fell to the mat on his knees, arms cradling his injured side. Looked like he was fighting hard not to scream.
Yamazaki opened the door into the cage for a group of other guys dressed similarly in black. They were what had to have passed for security at the place, and Falcon slipped in behind them. While they went to carry out the unconscious boxer, Falcon went after the apparent winner of the fight, who was now coming down on Terry.
Falcon grabbed the man mid-kick, got him around the middle, lifted him into the air, and body slammed him into the canvas. They both went down hard.
That seemed to do it. The man lay motionless, stunned.
Falcon reeled and punched him in the face anyway, heard a bone crack, and pulled back with bloodied knuckles.
The crowd roared, thrilled by the show of renewed violence.
"Hey, idiots!" Yamazaki shouted. "You don't get to barge into other people's fights. You wanna fight, you better get in line."
Falcon rose up to face Yamazaki. Behind him, he could hear Terry taking ragged breaths.
On his knees, head bowed, Terry tried to speak through half clenched teeth. "You should have stopped the fight," he managed. It was an accusation.
His voice was steady, but a trail of tears had spilled down to his chin. The pain must have been bad, Falcon thought.
"You don't make the rules around here," Yamazaki said, remorseless.
Terry couldn't even raise his head. He screamed his frustrations to the ground. "Are you trying to get people killed?!"
Yamazaki looked over at the man that Falcon had left sprawled on the mat. "This is why we do it," he said. "This is what we live for. To test ourselves. To test our limits. To know our worth. Dying is just another risk that comes with living. If you're scared, you don't belong here. That's it."
Yamazaki let his eyes fall to Terry, still crouched on the floor. Those black eyes remained cool and calm. "I used to think that you at least understood," he said to the wounded fighter. "But now I think that it was only because of him that you ever made it to the top. He gave you your edge. Without him, you don't have it anymore. Your drive. Your hunger.
"When you killed him, you killed your own fire.
"I don't envy you at all, Lone Wolf Bogard."
"I'm fine," he said again, to Falcon's repeated question.
"You don't want to go home?"
"Keep driving. We're almost there."
They ended up at a small roadside inn, by the coast. The red neon sign out front read "vacancy."
Terry got out of the car without help, but he moved slow.
Inside the dim lobby, at the front desk, Falcon instinctively reached for his wallet.
But Terry was already pushing a card across the counter. "It's okay. I got it."
"Are you sure?" It went against Falcon's personal code.
"Yeah. Really. Just this once"
Falcon let it go.
The clerk slid the card through the register and handed it back with a set of room keys. "Thank you, Mr. Howard. Enjoy your stay."
Terry led the way down the hall.
The room had two beds.
Terry collapsed onto one of them.
Falcon locked the door. He eased himself onto the edge of the bed.
"You sure you're okay?"
Terry took Falcon's hand and guided it to his injured side, sliding it under the white t-shirt. "See? Nothing broken."
Falcon pressed down with his fingers. No signs of swelling or tenderness. He could feel the rib cage underneath. No instability consistent with a fracture. But the skin was creased there in an unusual way. Last time, they had kept the lights off in the hotel room (Terry's request, not Falcon's).
Now, Falcon slid his hand all the way up, taking the fabric of the shirt with him. The scar revealed was deep and ugly. It ran up at a diagonal, from the ribs to the sternum. Looked like an old wound. There were newer marks on that torso, fresh cuts and bruises from more recent fights.
Terry lay back, let the exam continue without resistance. Falcon leaned over him, searched his face for answers, and when he looked away, snatched the hat off his head and tossed it to the side. Uncovered blue eyes and a neutral mouth on a half-healed face, a cold burning fire somewhere underneath all that.
Falcon dove down, suicide move, and felt those strong legs wrap tightly around him the moment their lips met. A defensive maneuver, against him, he figured, as he came down with greater force, one hand roughly grabbing a fistful of blond hair again.
The air in the room was cold. But the body under him was warm.
A hand came to rest at the back of his neck. Another was at his shoulder.
Falcon traced a jawline with his mouth, heard and felt a small intake of breath before Terry said, in a whisper, "We can go harder this time, if you want."
"Hm." Falcon found the scar with his fingers again. He applied some pressure to it. Saw a grimace flicker across Terry's face. "What happened here?"
"It's an old injury."
"How old?"
"Just...old."
"Did you win that one?"
Terry stared back, eyes hard. "I killed him, Falcon."
"Any regrets?"
Terry froze. He turned away. "Don't ask."
Falcon leaned down and kissed his temple. "Didn't mean to bring up anything bad. My mistake."
"You remind me of him."
"Hm? In a good way or a bad way?"
Terry's hands came up to Falcon's face. They glided up until the fingertips grazed one of Falcon's oldest injuries, the cut over his left eye.
"I don't know," he said.
"Was it a personal grudge?"
A small laugh, without humor. "Something like that."
"Any legal trouble afterward?"
"No."
"Were you two involved?"
Terry let his hands drop.
"Don't..."
"Okay."
Terry took a breath, staring at the ceiling above them both. Then, after a moment, he rested his fingers over Falcon's hand, the one still covering his scar.
"He wasn't a good person. But, without him here, things have gotten worse. He kept all the smaller criminals in check. Now that he's gone, every small time crime boss wants to come up. They've been out fighting for control of the city. By settling my score with him, I just made things worse for everybody else."
"That's a lot to blame yourself for."
"There's no one else to blame."
"Did you mean to kill him or did he force you?"
Terry shook his head. "I'll never know that."
"You don't look like the type to do it on purpose."
Now Terry let out a tiny smile. "We just met. You don't know me well enough to say that."
"I'm pretty good at rush character judgements."
"So was he."
"You want advice?"
"Sure."
"Let go of that nightmare before it takes over your life. If you keep carrying his ghost, this wound won't heal. It's a phantom pain. All it's gonna do is drag you down."
"Are you gonna help me forget?"
"I'm only in town for one night, sweetheart."
"I'll take what I can get."
Falcon moved his hand to the top of the jeans. Undid the button and yanked at the zipper. Pulled it open. Pressed his face to the other man's neck. "One rule though. The lights stay on this time."
One night actually turned into three days. They checked out in the early morning.
Terry was the one who lingered to watch the sun come up over the water. Even Falcon had to admit it was a nice view.
"You said you'd be gone for a while?" Terry asked.
"Yeah."
"For your work?"
"Yeah." Falcon liked to keep the details of his job on a strict need to know basis. The less said of it, the better.
"Whatever it is," Terry said, "I hope you're doing the right thing. There's enough pain in the world right now. I think you're one of the people who can make it better."
"Ha. I'll try."
"I'm going to try to fight less. Revenge didn't give me the satisfaction I thought it would. Maybe I'll be able to find peace another way."
They drove through quiet streets. Falcon pulled up to the trailer park, to the unit with the string of lights on the porch. Someone had left the lamp on by the door.
Terry glanced around through the windows, as if to see if anyone else was around. No one was.
"Whenever you're back," Terry said, "you can call me anytime."
"Sure."
"Stay alive, Captain."
Before Falcon could come up with some smart-ass reply, Terry leaned across and kissed him quick on the side of his face. Then he was out of the car and gone. Falcon watched him disappear through the front door. The porch light switched off.
Falcon turned his car back onto the main road. Headed north.
There was another airport waiting. Another flight to catch. Another job to do. The warmth of the hearth was behind him now.
Snow fell light as his flight landed. He had prepared for that. He was dressed appropriately.
A black unmarked company vehicle brought him from the main city airport to a smaller airfield on the outskirts of town.
A familiar face greeted him there.
"You're looking well."
"Morning, Sam."
"Enjoy your R&R?"
"I was getting restless."
"We've all been there."
Samus wore a grey fleece poncho with a fur-lined hood over her tactical suit. She carried a compact bag over her shoulder. Thick gloves and boots. The cold didn't seem to bother her, even as it turned her breath into clouds of white.
"How's your other half?" he asked.
From the field, they heard the sounds of a waiting helicopter.
"She's always real nice to me before I leave. She even cries a little the night before. And threatens to kill me if I die. It's the best part of our marriage, honestly."
"Sounds like a good woman."
"She really is."
Chrom emerged from the hangar with a couple aides. Robin wasn't with them this time.
"Are capes in fashion or something?" Falcon asked. Chrom's was long and white, heavy with fur, buckled up in the front, all the way up to his chin.
Samus shrugged. "When you roll with the Shepherds, they are."
"Sorry, I left mine at home."
"I'll have them order up one for you."
"No thanks."
"Good morning," Chrom said to both of them. "We'll be ready to leave in a minute."
"Good," Falcon said. "It's only a little below freezing out here."
"It'll be snowing over where we're going too."
"Huh."
"But it looks like you're well prepared."
"Sure."
"It's starting to come down harder," Samus noted.
"We'll be gone before it gets much worse," Chrom said. "We anticipated this type of weather."
Falcon scanned the distant skyline. Remembered Roy, their little talk, the thunder without rain. Wondered where the kid was. That dumbass. Hoped they weren't headed to the same battlefield. Hoped they'd never meet like that.
He spotted something in the distance. Solid black against the white.
"A wolf," Samus said, eyes cast in the same direction as his.
Chrom also turned to look. "Didn't expect one to be this close to town."
"Probably came from the woods over there."
The animal paid them no attention. It stopped, head tilted as if listening for something. Then it turned and trotted back towards the trees.
Samus watched it go. "Well, do you gentlemen want to call that a good omen or a bad one?"
"Doesn't have to be either," Falcon pointed out.
"It doesn't. But every shepherd has a paradoxical relationship with the wolf. A shepherd's role is antithetical to wolves. And yet, if there are no wolves, a shepherd has no use."
"That isn't really deep, Sam."
"Or maybe you just haven't been there yet, Captain." Her eyes looked past him. "One day, there may be no more wolves left. After you've hunted them all, what will you do then?"
Something about her tone suggested that she knew exactly what she was talking about.
"Retire," he said. "Buy a houseboat. Dock it in international waters. Somewhere in the tropics. And never deal with this bullshit again."
"Be sure to invite that blonde of yours."
"I'm working on it, Sam."
"Even if there are no more wolves left," Chrom said, "we'll find a new purpose. But for now, we are Shepherds. And we'll keep hunting wolves to protect our flock."
Samus looked at Chrom the way a teacher might look at a student who wasn't the brightest but who was for sure trying his best. Falcon decided to keep his mouth shut.
They got the go-ahead to board. Falcon followed behind Samus and Chrom as they crossed the tarmac. He stopped before climbing into the helicopter and looked back one more time.
Through the line of trees, he saw it again, the large black wolf, standing, watching them. The animal held completely still. Its gaze never wavered.
Falcon dipped his head slightly. Somehow, it felt appropriate to bow to nature. He should have learned to respect it sooner.
He boarded his ride. Strapped himself in next to Sam.
Up until this moment, he had been Falcon. But now, as they took off, he began the process of dissolving that self. He would no longer be Falcon after this point. He was to become Blood Hawk. And with that change came the loss of everything that gave heart to a man.
He watched the ground fall farther away. Said goodbye to the wolf, to Southtown, the coast-side inn, blue eyes and the hope of lasting peace. Goodbye to himself, a human being with weaknesses and attachment to comfort.
Sacrificed it all to become a machine that could survive the cold and fire and the death of friends and the brutality of the new winter.
Too bad, carino. You did look good underneath me.
End notes:
1] It's been a rule among Falcon mains to change their language settings to Spanish, even if they aren't native speakers. According to one online comment, an activist group once used the likeness of Captain Falcon to draw attention to their cause of advocacy on behalf of Mexican immigrants in the U.S. Falcón is a Hispanic surname.
2] Stella Nox Fleuret was the name of a prototype character meant to appear in FFXV but was eventually cut from the game, despite having appeared in the promo trailer. Her name translates to "Star of the Night Sky."
3] Terry Bogard is commonly regarded as a heavyweight in Smash. But in real world MMA terms, at 6'0" and 170-183 lbs, he falls somewhere between a welterweight and a middleweight, far from the heavyweight class. Falcon's stats are harder to find. One site puts him at a height of 6'8" and a weight of 310 lbs (they may have been referencing numbers from Death Battle), which would put him above the heavyweight limit.
4] There is a sequence in the Fatal Fury 2 anime movie in which Master Jubei grabs Mai Shiranui's chest, and she responds by slapping him to the ground with her fan. Wario's treatment of Terry is a parallel of that. The movie scene was played off as humor, but it should be understood that sexual harassment isn't funny in real life.
5] The background geo-politics in this fic is the same background geo-politics that appears in "Young Lions."
6] Falcon's worst match up in Ultimate is considered to be Pikachu or Pichu.
7] "Fatal Cutie" is the nickname given to Terry Bogard's genderbent version in SNK Heroines, and it sounds like the sort of ridiculous pet name Falcon would come up with. And your author is filled with deep regret for being unable to find use for that anywhere in the fic.
Edit: [8] Captain Falcon and Geese Howard both have scars on or over their left eyes. Captain Falcon's scar is revealed at the end of F-Zero X when he takes off his helmet. Geese Howard's scar only appears in the Fatal Fury animated series, where it's explained that he was scarred by his half-brother Wolfgang Krauser when Geese attempted to kill their father. The backstory behind Falcon's scar is unknown.