Fraternising with the Enemy (Patreon)

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Story by @mudlark.bsky.social

The frustrating thing about space is that despite the infinite amount of it that exists, there isn’t enough to put between me and my problems. I’m 9 light years away from Fox McCloud and he’s got me so steamed that the windows of my Arwing are starting to fog up. I still can't get the image of his face out of my head the moment he told me I was off the team; solemn and stoic, as if he were delivering a crushing medical diagnosis to a patient.

“You’re too important and things are too dangerous. I’m sorry.”

Even with my limited foresight, it caught me completely off guard. I was halfway into a bite of a sandwich from the cafeteria when he told me, forcing a mouthful of spongy bread and meat down my throat before choking out a “what?” Possibly the most undignified I’ve ever looked, and I used to wear a loin cloth and wraps.

The conversation went nowhere after that, even when I begged him for a better reason than that.

I checked his mind, obviously, which was a huge mistake. I was hoping there had been some kind of explanation tucked away in there. Evil psychic dominance, an alien parasite, rare fugue state. All I found was complete and utter earnestness.

He dumped me because he truly was that scared for me.

Things are dangerous. What a stupidly vague reason that encompasses nothing. Dangerous? I’m dangerous! I’ve faced Sharpclaws, Andross’ goons, and Aparoids. I’m clairvoyant. I ride dinosaurs. I can use magic. 

I remind myself to breathe, but that fogs the cockpit even more, and then I think about him more and how dumb this whole thing is and— 

They say in space, no one can hear you scream. It doesn’t stop me from trying, though.

I punch in new coordinates to the Arwing’s navigation system and punch the FTL drive to put another few light years between us.

If he doesn’t think I can handle danger, I’ll just have to show him how wrong he is.

***

The Sargasso Space Zone is rife with astral strangeness. Black holes orbiting each other. Stars that burn a sickly radioactive green. Planets cracked entirely in half by someone or something that I hope is long gone by now. The Meteo asteroid belt is another one of those anomalies. It circles nothing. Millions of pieces of rock orbiting a blank spot in the universe, attracted there by something scientists can’t even begin to explain.

I, however, have been pulled here for a reason. 

My plan is simple. Walk into Wolf’s base, extract intel, and leave. Then nobody can tell me that I can’t handle myself. Is my plan well thought out? To a certain degree. Did I stop on the way here for a few drinks and a bar fight? Maybe. That’s not important right now, though.

Star Wolf’s base of operations is nestled in the largest asteroid in the belt, surrounded by cloaking fields and shielding tech that prevents other debris from smashing it to bits. Those two things do not, however, stop the onslaught of lecherous and sinful thoughts from over 3,000 pirates residing in said base.

Or the three pirates that have me surrounded in their fighters.

Two are veterans, calm and collected and rightfully suspicious. The other is as green as they come. I push gently into his mind and glimpse about a thousand anxious thoughts running around in his head.

—thrusters cooled guns hot keep your spacing right Marvin keep that spacing tight what did Arllen mean earlier when she said he wanted to see more of me oh God did I take this security shift just to impress her what am I proving by doing something so stupid I barely know how to fly this thing—

On second thought, that’s enough of that. I hard shut myself out of Marvin’s head and try not to think about being similar to an idiot 20-something year old who thinks he needs to prove himself.

Thankfully, the holo-caller lights up, and the scruffy face of Wolf O’Donnell flickers into existence on my screen. His fur splays in every direction, clearly having rolled straight from his bed in what I’m sure was an interesting report that I was hovering outside his base. His usual ruthless demeanor is undercut by the fact that he’s clearly wearing a bath robe under his spiked jacket. His voice is low, somehow rough and smooth at the same time as he glares at me with his good eye.

“Give me one good reason not to blow a member of Star Fox halfway across the galaxy,” he growls.

I cross my arms and glare right back. “I would say you might find that difficult considering I’ve been kicked off the team.”

A rare splash of surprise overtakes him, and his eyepatch raises alongside his eyebrows before collapsing back into his usual grimace. Wolf doesn’t let up that easily, though.

“Yer lyin’,” he says. “Ain’t no way Fox’s girl would—”

“I am not Fox’s girl.” I say it before I can think about the words, and there’s more venom in them than I intended. At least it helps my ploy sound honest.

“Well, then I suggest you take your broken heart and fly it all the way back home. This place ain’t a charity.”

“I’m out of fuel. And besides, I…I don’t want to see anyone from back home right now. I’m not looking for pity, Wolf.” Even without telepathy, I can tell I’ve hit something that resonates in him. So I lean on it. “Now are you going to let me dock or am I going to rot in this ship?”

***

Things move in a blur. A hundred pairs of eyes locking onto me as I move through the loading bay. A hundred more thoughts directed at me as I walk over the cold steel floor towards the mess hall. Wolf is there, of course, relaxed but with one hand hanging off the side of his blaster. 

“Walk with me,” he says, and I do. I read his emotions, and they’re surprisingly neutral. He sees me like a manager might see a problem with shipping logs. More calculation than emotions, which is to be expected. 

It’s funny. Now that I’m inside, my heart isn’t beating as fast. It almost feels like I’m supposed to be here. There’s something comforting about being inside the enemy base, the narrowing of choices that I have to make. It’s nice to have that after two weeks of aimlessly puttering around space.

The psychic chatter I pick up is full of information. Mostly minor operation plans, territory expansions, and contracts. There are a few nuggets here and there, though. I’m sure to get more the longer I can extend my stay. It’s not a secret that I’ve been trained in the mystic arts, but the fact that I’m able to read thoughts is only known by a select few.

The plan seems to be working so far.

Wolf takes the communicator off his belt. “Leon, get off your scaly ass and open up interrogation room three.”

Ah.

Shit.

***

Interrogation room three is fittingly the size of a prison cell and furnished like one, too. One desk, two chairs, bland white walls, a toilet in the corner. It reeks of sterilization and the drain in the middle of the floor makes me think that my plan wasn’t exactly well thought out. They keep me waiting long enough to sweat, which while I know is interrogation 101, it still does little to calm my nerves.

I try to pick out Wolf’s thoughts, but finding them might as well be like picking one fish out of an entire ocean. I’m so focused on finding him that when the door clicks open I almost fall out of my chair.

Wolf slouches against the doorway, leaning casually as he watches me right myself. There’s no hiding the blush on my face, so I opt to pretend the last few seconds never happened to make myself feel better. I’m busy staring into the corner of the room when he plunks two glasses in the middle of the table and a bottle of whiskey.

“Let’s talk,” he says. His pour is healthy and he moves it slowly over the table towards me.

I let him sip his first. His thoughts are steady and focused. Annoyed, yes, but even after a thorough rummaging, I don’t find any malice. I can use that. Play up the bitter ex bit and see if that plucks any heartstrings, wait for something to slide to the surface of his mind, and bring it back to Fox and the others. Not like I have to do much pretending to make it sound convincing, though.

I take the glass and down half of it. He might think he’s got me in the palm of his hand. The interrogator is about to become the interrogated.

***

“Falco,” I say, leaning hard on the table, “preens himself in his Arwing and stuffs the feathers down the side of his seat. Leaves them there for months. And when I asked him about it? Oh my gods, he said ‘I’m nesting! It’s an avian thing!’ Total bullshit.”

Wolf snickers, then starts to laugh for real. We both do. Three quarters of a bottle of whiskey will do that to you.

“That’s foul,” Wolf says.

“Literally,” I say, and that keeps us rolling for another ten seconds.

It’s weird. Even though I’m locked in a 7 by 12 room, I feel incredibly free right now. The booze is probably helping with that, but it’s been nice to just…talk with someone. Let things out that I didn’t know I had bottled up, pun intended.

What am I doing here? Did I really fly halfway across the galaxy to prove myself to a guy who doesn’t want me around? I know I have feelings for him, still, but that fact is bumping up against the realization that for the first time since I was released from the crystal cage, I’m in charge of what happens in my life. No team to follow into imminent danger, no planets to save. I can do what I want.

And what I want is to get hammered and talk shit.

Wolf’s jacket is off, resting on the chair behind him. My flight suit is zipped low to let everything breathe. I’m sure I look like a mess and I don’t care. I don’t know how long we’ve been here. The whiskey is almost empty by now. At the rate we’ve been drinking, though, that doesn’t mean much.

He puts a claw through the neck of the bottle, tilting it precariously as it slowly starts to spin, the last dregs sliding up the side of the glass. We both stare at it, then each other.

“So,” he says, “what got you kicked off the team?”

“Pour me that last finger and I’ll tell you,” I say, holding up my glass. The room feels small again.

“This stuff ain’t cheap, princess. You better savor it.”

“Trust me. I am.” I keep my eyes on his as he pours, neither of us budging to look away. I feel flush, suddenly. I take a sip and let it roll around in my mouth. It’s smooth and smokey and goes down easy.

“Well, out with it, missy,” he says. There’s a bit of a smile in his words, though, which I appreciate.

“Things got ‘too dangerous’, apparently,” I say, snorting.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

We’re quiet. The lights hum a bland choir above us.

“What?”

“He said that he cared too much and that it was affecting his decisions during missions.”

“Bullshit.”

“You would think, right?” I know I’m scowling. I can’t help it.

“You’ve saved his sorry tail more times than I can count, and that was just when we were fighting the Aparoids!” he says.

I drain the whiskey, lean back in the chair, and spread my arms. “It’s just too dangerous,” I repeat. The glass comes down harder on the table than I want it to, landing with a sharp crack. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“Krystal,” he says.

“What?”

“Why are you here?” he asks.

For the first time I get to answer that question honestly. “Because I needed to get away from it all, Wolf. Otherwise, it’s going to suck me into something I don’t think I’ll be able to get out of.”

We’re silent after that. Psychically, though, sympathy and empathy roll off him in waves. Before I know it, I’m reaching my hand across the table to grab his. He freezes for a moment, only to grip me gently. He’s warm in a way that I can’t help but begin to crave more of.

“You know, I really was debating whether or not to blow you up when you parked yourself outside my base,” he says with a rueful grin.

“Bullshit,” I repeat back.

“You’re right.” He shrugs. One of his thumbs rubs over my knuckles. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Panther would start a mutiny if I ordered him to shoot down the most beautiful woman on this side of the galaxy.”

I pull him in and kiss him. The empty bottle topples over, but our hands are too busy with each other to care. He shoves the table aside and suddenly I’m up against his body, devouring his warmth and breathing in the scent of him, clean and rugged and everything I want right now.

For a brief moment, I think about Fox, considering how this might change things in the future, but I remind myself that, at least right now, I don’t have a place in that mess. I’m free to make my own choices, and I’m free to chase what I want.

And the last thing I want right now is to be treated like something delicate.

I grab one of Wolf’s hands and place it on my ass, encouraging him to squeeze. He pulls me in tight and I can feel him through his pants.

“You do like dangerous things, don’t you?” he says. “I think we’re going to have a good bit of fun together.”

Why stop there, though? I think. I pull out of the kiss and hook my hands around the back of his neck. “We?” I ask him innocently. “Who says it has to be just us?”

Wolf rips the communicator from his belt. “Leon, meet me in the captain’s quarters on the double. And bring Panther, would you? He’s not going to want to miss this.”