"I'm afraid there's no other alternative, McCloud. The General has requested all hands on this assignment, whether contractor or military."
James breathed a heavy sigh. No doubt the assignment officer on the line heard it, too. The lousy government suck-up probably reveled in going home to his family for the holidays while denying it for every member of the armed forces. There wasn't any getting out of this as a mercenary either; Pepper had already paid his retainer fee for the next few years.
"We'll see you tomorrow morning for briefing at 0500 CCT. Enjoy the rest of your day."
"Fine," James muttered, snapping the phone shut and shoving it back into his pocket. "Asshole."
The vulpine rested his elbows on the balcony overlooking the Papetoonian backcountry, watching the sunset cast rays along the red rocks and sparsely-wooded, snow-topped mountains. Vixy wasn't going to let him hear the end of it if he missed Christmas for a job. But jobs paid the bills and grew the retirement fund– and he couldn't risk prison for deserting his employer. He felt worse about having to bail on his ten-year-old son; something he swore to both himself and his wife time and time again that he'd stop doing.
He reached into one of the pockets of his cargo jacket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. He drew one and lit it, taking a long, much-needed drag on the cancer stick. If the smokes didn't kill him, the stress and frustration of dealing with the Cornerian government probably would. The nicotine slowly began to work its magic, calming his nerves like it always did.
The door behind him quietly slid open.
"I thought you were trying to quit," Vixy teased him.
James turned and removed his sunglasses, shooting her a flat smirk.
"Seems I say that about a lot of things nowadays," he replied. "How's our little pilot doing?"
Vixy came up behind him, resting her chin on his head and her arms around his neck. "You two wrestling earlier finally managed to tire him out. He's been asleep since you got on the phone."
'Right,' James thought. 'The phone call.'
He set what was left of his cigarette in a small ashtray, then gave his wife's hand a squeeze. His gaze remained on the sparse bushes along the crude footpath leading from their home into the mountains.
"The Cornerians called again," he said solemnly.
He felt the disappointment in his other half, as good as she was at hiding it. "Let me guess," she said, running her fingers through the white mohawk atop his head. "Some sleazy old dog working for the government finally got a hold of you and wants you to spend Christmas away from your family."
James cracked a grin at that spicy attitude he knew and loved. "Something of that nature, yes."
Some part of him would be happy to let her march up to the administrative building and raise hell. Actually, most of him would probably do it with her. He took pride in the thought of watching her sock a few government employees in the snout.
Stepping inside the quaint ranch-style home, the foxes felt the heat wash away the wintry air from outside. A small wooden bed painted in white stood in the corner of its own room. James stared at the child that lay in its blanketed folds, observing the spitting image of himself. He purred as he ran a finger across his mohawk.
"He really is a copy of you," Vixy smiled, leaning on his shoulder.
"Mhmm."
James sighed as he continued to watch his son sleep. Was this going to be a recurring theme for their child? A father nearly-absent just to pay the bills; a mother having to handle everything while he was away?
What kind of child deserved that?
James decided that before he'd leave, he'd make a promise to himself. Retire early, and sell the PMC. Spend the rest of his life caring for the wife that loved him, and raise the son given to him. There was no greater gift he could offer than any of the boxes wrapped and bowed under the decorated tree in the living room. The family bearing his name deserved nothing less.
"I can only imagine the trouble we'll be dealing with once he's a teenager," he replied.
Vixy rolled her emerald eyes. "If he ends up as much of a lady killer as you are."
James quieted his gentle laughter, wrapping an arm around his wife and hugging her. She planted a kiss on his cheek, drawing him towards the door of the room. If the dogs were dragging her husband away tomorrow, then she was going to make the most of it before he left.
His husky whisper echoed in her ears as they shared another kiss.
"Merry Christmas, hon."
When the morning came, Vixy rolled over with a deep sigh. Sleep wasn't giving her the same rejuvenation as it used to.
A few errant rays of sunlight peeked in through the bedroom blinds and illuminated the house. The home had certainly aged since that memory took place. A few cracks in the drywall from a shifting foundation split the paint; a couple peeling spots of wallpaper; a frail cobweb clinging to a corner of the ceiling.
It had been almost ten years since her husband's disappearance.
She pulled the covers away and climbed out of bed, her claws tapping across the hardwood. The events of the last night she saw him still remained fresh in her mind, even if she'd made peace with James' absence. Downstairs, she found the son she'd raised sitting at the kitchen table. Fox sipped on a steaming cup of coffee, swiping his thumb across a data tablet. His fluffy white mohawk dried in the sunlight, its damp fibers indicative of a recent shower.
Vixy's mind echoed the same thoughts as a decade ago. He really was a copy of James.
Her son's vivid, emerald gaze then looked up and met hers. Almost an exact copy, but she still left her mark.
"Hey, mom," He yawned. "Something wrong? You've kinda got that look."
She smiled, shaking her head with a sigh.
"No, you're just reminding me of your father again."
Fox glanced around, standing up to meet her. He still had trouble reading his mother sometimes.
"Is that good or bad?"
He quickly found himself being trapped in a hug, so he assumed that was a good thing.
"I remember when you still fit in that little crib– even then you were almost an exact copy of him," she mused. "And just like him, you're gonna ace this exam."
In the week leading up to the holidays, Fox was facing the final examinations at the flight academy. Just one more hurdle to jump over, and he'd earn his independent wings for the stars. What he'd yet to figure out, however, was what he actually wanted to do with them. There was an unmistakable allure to flying, but the sheer number of options left him with little direction.
"Thanks, mom."
He'd heard plenty of stories about his father by now. Highly revered hero, equally feared fighter. Started his own PMC with a couple of friends and contracted for the Cornerians. Disappeared around ten years ago and had been missing for about half of his life by now. An eternal flame in a memorial garden somewhere on Corneria burned for him. At this point, he knew his father was probably dead in a foreign prison camp, or blown to pieces in interstellar space. Yet, some part of him burned to know what really happened.
Fox glanced at his watch, noting the time. "I need to head to the spaceport. I'll be back in time for dinner."
Dinner with family was always important; today doubly so. Fox knew today was harder on his mother, whether she showed it or not. The need for gifts had been replaced with only a need for time with one another; to heal the wound they both endured.
Vixy nodded, hugging her son again. There were certainly some mixed feelings when it came to watching her son become a pilot. Some wished he wouldn't, out of fear of losing the only family she had left, but the unconditional love and support for her son stood fast.
"Good luck Fox," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "No matter what happens, remember that I'm proud of you."
The vulpine returned the embrace, eyes shifting in thought. That was another thing that made him want to discover the reason for his father's disappearance. For how much his mother did to raise him, he at least owed her the closure. Before he left through the front door, Fox turned and faced Vixy fully.
"Mom," he said, gaze unwavering. "I'm going to find dad."
The hairs on Fox's neck stood on end in the deafening silence. She almost seemed to flinch at the idea. Backpedaling was out the window by this point too, as the cat had long since left the proverbial bag. So, he waited, internally reeling for the stern reaction this was bound to receive.
After the passage of an agonizing few moments. Vixy just nodded. Fox could tell there were tears she was holding back, as exceptional as she was at it.
"And before I leave home for good, I want you to know that."
Fox just stood there, being wrapped into a much tighter hug than earlier. His mother began to weep into his shoulder, finally understanding why her son's longing for the stars had grown so much.
"I love you," was all she could muster.
There truly was no greater gift than family.
This is my entry for the Foxhole's Christmas one-shot contest. It also turned out to be a nice little prologue to Space Song, which I'm pretty happy about.
Merry Christmas and happy new year to all!