"So glad you could make it!"

Fox waves from the seat at the bar, grinning from ear to ear. He wraps his paws around Falco in a big hug, giving his shoulder a friendly tap.

"Finally, a boys' night out… it's been forever," Fox continues, that shit-eating grin still plastered on his face.

Some things never change.

The waiter, a young retriever who looks almost underage, tosses down two menus.

"A Fichinian Ice to start," Falco says, pushing his menu away. Fox is still perusing his own, squinting down at the list of greasy pub food.

"I'll pass on the drink," Fox says. "As for food, hmm. Maybe the house Caesar salad," he ponders out loud. "Or the faux tofu ribs in Venemese sauce with fries."

"Since when were you vegetarian?" Falco scoffs.

"Oh, I don't know. Krystal's a big believer though, says it's better for the environment and stuff." Fox rubs his eyes and squints at the menu a second time. He finally settles on the faux ribs. "Man, I'm tired," he sighs.

Falco nods. Noting the dark circles under Fox's eyes, the loose skin hanging from the jowls, the graying at the muzzle. It's his buddy all right – the best friend he'll never admit to having – only a flabbier, softer version of himself.

"Of course, with Marcus in kindergarten, it's a lot easier now," Fox continues. "But he just won't stay out of trouble. The other day, he got into a fight with another kid over… oh, I don't even know what. Maybe because of a toy. I've lost count." He rubs his eyes again and yawns sheepishly. "The teacher thinks he has an attention problem. We might have to get him evaluated…"

Falco sips his drink quietly, motioning to the bartender for a second. Fox takes a slight pause to munch on some tofu ribs.

"Not half bad," he says, looking down thoughtfully at his fork. "Though Krystal makes it better."

Falco downs the second glass. He wonders how much more of this he can take. It's always the same. It takes weeks for Fox to find time to slip out of the house. And the conversation, well. It never goes anywhere.

"Remember the time," Falco interjects, "remember that time you picked off twelve Venemese soldiers near Solar? The ones that tried to ambush us?"

"Of course." Fox sighs wistfully. "Never did I think…"

"You downed them one by one, in a row."

"Almost lost my skin there," Fox laughs nervously.

"And my point – you know what my point is?"

"What?"

"How can you even stand to eat their cooking?"

Fox blinks. Then he smiles, which turns into a hearty laugh. As though it were all some kind of big, stupid joke.

"Oh, no, I've got nothing against them," Fox laughs. "Not against the Venemese, and not against their cooking either. And the war's long over, y'know." He polishes off the last of the faux gravy-soaked fries and licks his maw.

Falco stares at his third empty glass, and decides that he is done for the night.

On the way out, it is dark and rainy. Falco walks Fox back to his car – a minivan with the kid's seat back.

"Let me show you something," Fox says, just before stepping into the car. He holds out his phone, rain drops splattering over the screen.

It's a video of Marcus, running. His little arms extended, blue stump of a tail straight and at attention. "Vroom vroom! Pew pew!" he cries out, veering his body left and right. "Arwing, Arwing!"

And then the video loops, and he is back at it, forever veering towards the green grass of the playground.

"A natural," Falco manages. "A future pilot, just like his daddy."

"We'll see," Fox says, still grinning proudly like a mad fox. "But it's clear for Krystal and me – he can grow up to be whatever he wants. We'll love him no matter what he does."

With that, the car door shuts. Falco stands and watches as the car backs up, turns left, then left again, and now it is out of sight for good.