Chapter 2.

Fox McCloud came to the porch of his home and slid his coat from his arms, his eyes trailing the abbreviation CDA knitted into the maroon fabric. After a moment, he paused and stared up at the night sky, his slender whiskers tossed by a moist breeze. A few stray clouds, the harbingers of a towering thunderstorm, drifted on high. Without making a sound, Fox watched the lightning leap across the sky above the city and tried to distract himself from the storm within.

"Falco, just listen-"

"McCloud, don't start with me. You've been hounding me for the past week and a half-everybody has!-and I'm tired of it!"

"We're worried about you, Falco. You don't even say anything to us anymore. We've wanted to get out and play softball with you, but you never show up."

"I say stuff to you! We relay information during our missions!"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, and I'm not gonna waste my time talking about it. You're about to start up your whole psychoanalysis again, and I'm fed up with it."

"Falco, I just want to help you!"

"I don't need your help!"

"I know about what happened to you last week-that huge office bombing in Oberon. You saw a fifty-story building explode right in front of you in a ball of fire. It's almost impossible to-"

"I don't want to hear it!" said Falco, pointing a thumb back at himself. "Let me deal with it!"

"You're not dealing with it. You're stuffing it inside."

"Yeah, just like you stuffing your own pain."

"What pain? God's taken it away from me!"

"Really? Well, He didn't do shit for me. So why don't you actually help me instead of giving me all your religious crap? I've heard all this garbage about the fires of hell for those who are wicked, but I see it for what it is, McCloud, and it's all lies. You're just taking drugs for your brain, that's all you're doing."

"How can you say that?" Fox said. "You know how much it's changed me. You know what it's done for me since my dad died."

"Yeah, McCloud: It's turned you into a self-righteous prick. You might think God did you a favor, but you just got lucky. Luck doesn't happen to me when I was on Oberon, or when my dad beat up my little sisters in front of me, or when my mom got the goddamn stroke!"

Fox's mouth fell open, and all the air fell out of his lungs. "I…I didn't know…"

"Yeah, you didn't know. So where was God when all this happened? Where's God to help my mom so she doesn't die? Huh? You tell me."

Fox stood in the dark, his elbows propped up against the counter. He felt his face sagging under the burden of his thoughts. He's a heathen. That's all he is. How dare he accuse me of being a fake. He doesn't have a damn clue what You've done for me.

A heathen.

The word tossed Fox's stomach like a ship in a tempest. All along that's what he felt about Falco. Of course he had every right to feel that way. I was a heathen myself, he thought. It takes one to know one. That's what Falco was, anyway—

But his stomach tossed again in protest. Something lurked in Fox's mind, something terrible, something no Christian would ever dare to say aloud.

Where was God?

Fox rolled his eyes. Don't be a dope, Fox. He's all around us. And if Falco would stop being such an arrogant ass, he would know that.

But the thought he wouldn't dare to say aloud—it made his face sag even more. Now, it ran circles inside his mind, and he couldn't get it to leave.

God, why didn't You stop it? Fox groaned as if someone had landed a fist in his bowels. Why didn't You stop his dad from abusing his sisters? Why didn't You stop the stroke?

Now Fox's jaw had hung open; his mouth had grasped words to say, but none came out. Saying them aloud was worse than thinking them, and thinking them was bad enough.

I can't help Falco, God. He's right—I did get lucky. Krys and I…we did get off easy. But why won't Falco, God? Why won't You break through for him?

There was no answer. Just a nudge…a strong nudge. "Call him."

Fox twitched his ears. He didn't hear anything except the growling thunder, but the voice was too much unlike his own for him to mistake. He opened up his phone, calling speed dial one.

OK, God. I'll call him. Just…help me not to blow it.

"Hey…Falco, it's me. Look, I'm not gonna pretend that I understand you or that everything's just going to be OK. OK?" He let out a sigh. "My pain hasn't gone away, Falco. I still have regrets about that night Krys was in the hospital. I'm getting over that a little. But there's one thing I haven't ever gotten over…and it's my dad. I haven't done a good job lately of telling you how much it hurts. All I've done is what I accused you of doing: stuffing it inside. Because when the chips are down, my friend, I…" Fox sniffled and swallowed a sob. "I don't know how to deal with it. I don't have answers for it, or for anything you're going through. All I can tell you is…God cares about my pain…and that's enough for me. Please, Falco, just call me. We don't have to talk about any of this. Just please tell me we're still friends, OK? Just…tell me that you're all right."

Fox paused, thinking of whatever he could say, second-guessing all he did say…and he closed up the phone. OK, God…I did it. Just please don't let my words be in vain.

After Fox closed up his cellphone once more, he pushed himself away from the counter and sat in a chair, folding his arms over his chest. His thoughts became words, which came as whispers from his mouth.

I need to get on with my life.

A familiar melody snapped Fox out of his trance. The cellphone screen flashed in the corner of his eye. Fox flinched and, in less than the blink of an eye, snatched his cellphone out of his pocket.

"Falco?"

"Whoa, that was fast," piped the voice on the other end of the line. "Glad you're not the only one on standby."

"Slippy, what are you doing?"

"I found something in Falco's locker you need to see."

Fox's lower jaw dangled open. "OK, what are you doing in Falco's locker?"

"I was getting my laptop and his locker was open." There was a pause. "It's a bottle, Fox—90 proof."

Any thought of Slippy being a busybody flew from his mind, and Fox slumped against the wall and shook his head.

"No wonder," he breathed. "He's pretty hooked on it, I'll bet."

"What makes you say that?"

"Mood swings, constant stomach bugs, looking more out of shape than he has in years—he's hidden it well, but it's catching up with him this year."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Have you told Peppy about this?"

"Yeah…" After a sigh, Slippy continued, with a more burdened tone of voice, "Falco was dishonorably discharged. He's not with the team anymore."

"What? Why?"

"Public intoxication. He got drunk and beat up a guy in the common room, and pulled a phaser on another guy."

Fox let out a sigh. "Man, you're nothing but bad news today."

"Fox, we've got to find him, but Peppy refuses to give us any manpower."

"Like he'd use the resources of the Cornerian government to find a pilot who keeps to himself, Slip."

"No, no, I mean, I've got a lead. Jerome Robinson."

Fox's eyebrows flicked upward. "Bulldog squadron?"

"Right. He plays poker with Falco every Friday night. I'll give you his number."

Fox sighed and rolled his eyes. "Slip, why don't you just call him?"

"You're the team captain. It'll mean more coming from you. Besides, if Falco's in some kind of trouble, you have the authority to get him out of there."

"You're overreacting. Falco will just have to learn he can't get away with this. If he doesn't learn the lesson now, then he's an even bigger fool than we ever thought. Just let it go, all right? We'll deal with it later."

"But I want to help!"

"You want to help? Do something about it instead of pawning it off on the rest of us. I've got to pick up Marcus from the babysitter. I'll see you later."

"Fox, I—"

Fox clapped his phone shut, lowering his phone into his jacket pocket.