Fan Fiction ❯ Not My Idea ❯ Part One ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

AN/Warnings: Language and graphic slash ahead.

Genre(s): Angst, romance ,drama, yiff, AUish.

Setting: one year after the war with Andross

Song Credits: Not My Idea (c) Garbage

Additional AN: Sequel to "#1 Crush." No beta. Sorry...... Forgive the grammatical/ spelling mistakes. I try to catch them all, but it's hard to edit your own work.

Dedication: (Don't normally do these.) To Kerplunk, for getting me to write it again.

PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE

*I bit my tongue and stood in line,

With not much to believe in.

I bought into what I was sold,

and ended up with nothing.*

Saturday morning, Falco and Katt's trailer, Corneria City

The first thing Fox was aware of was the screaming pain behind his eyes, as though Lylat War II was taking place between his ears. The second thing was the warmth curled at his side, and the soft, hot breath blowing across his neck. Fox yawned once, squirming closer to the warmth, waiting for his mind to reboot and tell him what he did last night, and considering the sharp agony raging in his head, it was going to be an interesting report.

But for now, it could wait.

Fox yawned, little canine fangs glinting slightly in the morning light. Squirming into a more comfortable position, Fox nestled his head against the warmth, the soft and nearly velvety body lying next to him. It responded with an almost inaudible groan, flinging an arm across his chest, and something inside Fox relaxed, the pain fading ever so slightly, replaced by a pleasant electric shiver that ran through his body. Fox smiled in a dreamy haze as sleep rushed to claim him once again, and he buried his face in a mop of blue feathers without really being conscious of it.

He awoke with a hiss, a sharp intake of breath at the climax of a nightmare, painful memories slithering atop one another inside his head. Falco had his face pressed against something soft, a warm body that vibrated in the most calming way with each breath. Under any normal circumstance, Falco would've been terrified, not knowing who he had shared a bed with, but if he remembered last night's activities correctly, it was most definitely not a normal circumstance.

He had wound up in bed with his best friend, and it wasn't Katt.

Falco slowly sat up, pulling his arm away, slumping on his right side as he ran a hand through the unruly feathers atop his head blinking the last remnants of sleep from his sharp green eyes. He stared down, knowing he'd find Fox there, yet still slightly surprised to see him.

Surprised he'd stayed? Surprised he'd hadn't slipped away in the middle of the night? Surprised he slept peacefully beside him with a smile on his face?

Falco sighed, looking away, staring as the white curtains fluttered in the filtered morning light. His mind was swimming, and he couldn't help the fear rising in his throat.

It had been so easy, to keep the world at a distance. So easy to shut everything out, to snap at those that came near. His past was full of blood and pain, of sorrow and screaming that went unheard. Falco looked away from the immaculate, unstained curtains.

Liar. Sinner.

Katt had been his first mistake.

He hadn't liked the girl at first; she'd been childish, brash, and even cockier than he. She had been damned annoying in the beginning, and he had been ready to let her throw her life away, but something had stopped him. Something he couldn't define, but it was there, that scary thing deep inside him, warm but unnerving all the same.

She'd gotten under his feathers, and he had let her.

Katt, beautiful Katt. The woman whom he loved more than anything. Beautiful, brash, reckless Katt. How she had always been there. What did she think? It was she who had told him to go after Fox, despite her obvious feelings; he had always known she had a crush on him....

But she had told him to go.

Had he betrayed her?

The curtains rippled with a loud rustle of cloth slapping against cloth, and Falco became once again fascinated with flowing of perfect white. Clean, virgin white, not like the many subtle deceiving shades of off-white that weren't really white. No, the curtains were white.

Liar.

Falco looked once again to Fox, curled up in navy sheets, fur disheveled in the most charming and sweet way, red fur stark against the almost black fabric. He looked so peaceful, head lolling off to one side, black lashes fluttering with the pass of dreamy images.

Did he dream of his father, of long-forgotten summer nights under starry skies? Or his mother, the late beautiful, elegant blue-eyed vixen? Happy times of a carefree childhood, with mother and father at an amusement park? Of Peppy and learning to play chess? Of Bill and times not so long ago at the academy?

Or did he...... Did he dream of him? Blue feathers and green eyes, a haughty smirk, a dark frown? Of times during the war, like when Fox had carefully wrapped a deep gash on his wing at the expense of his own shirt? Or the time when Falco had carried him to the hospital, just after the bomb had exploded in flying concrete....

Falco sighed again, slipping silently and gently from the bed. He padded quietly across the room, stopping at the door for one last look at Fox, a furry lump curled in his bed, form silhouetted against the bright light streaming in from the perfect white curtains.

CHAPTER TWO

*This is not my idea of a good time.

This is not my idea of a good time.

This is not my idea of a good time.

This is not my idea.*

Falco closed the door silently behind him, bare feet making small, muffled footfalls on the semi-scraggly brown carpeting of the hallway. Preoccupied with his usual dark thoughts, he nearly ran into Katt, who was shuffling out of bed as well, on her way to the kitchen. She was dressed in a simple pastel violet nightie, short white silk robe hanging from her shoulders. Her white mop of hair was a mess, pink fur in need of combing, but even her sleep-puffy eyes couldn't completely obscure her beauty.

Falco stopped, swallowing, suddenly feeling awkward, not knowing what to say, where he could possibly begin. He could see the pain in Katt's eyes, even as she smiled brightly up at him, or at least the sleepy version of an early morning smile. She was hurt, hurt bad.

And he had done it. He had hurt his Katt, beautiful Katt. Goddesses help him, he had done it.

"Katt, I..." he trailed off, knowing that whatever he said wouldn't be able to take the hurt from her eyes, the look of betrayal out of her tired face. I'm sorry Katt, I'm so sorry, I-

"Mornin' Falco," she replied to his half-sentence, her Southern drawl bright and sparkly, despite her painful, dead blue eyes. She swallowed, hiding her pain, wanting to ask questions but not wanting too, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and weird and stiff around of Falco. She didn't like it at all.

She settled for just side-stepping the matter, not wanting to make things harder than they already were. She couldn't hate Fox, not for loving Falco, and not for the way Falco felt back. How could she? It wasn't like Fox could control who he loved....

But why did it have to be Falco? Her Falco, darling Falco. Whom had helped her so many years ago. Whom had always been there. Was if fear that fluttered in her chest? Fear of not seeing Falco again? Fear of ever hating Fox? Fear of being shallow, and alone....

She realized at once that she and Falco were staring at one another, varying expression of guilt and pain on their faces. Blushing, she looked away, tying her robe tightly, feeling almost naked in front of him, although she had never minded before. Falco cleared his throat, coughed, shifting and fidgeting uncomfortably. Katt decided to take it upon herself to relieve the tension, and with a smile that both knew was fake, she spoke up.

"Want some breakfast, Fly Boy?

Falco allowed himself a slight upward curve of his beak, nodding, not quite trusting his voice. He knew it would be harsh and grating with a tremble that he hated. He didn't want to hear it. Soundlessly, he followed Katt into the tiny kitchen, unfeeling as he got out whatever ingredient she asked for, handing them to her, unpleasant shudders running over his spine whenever his fingers brushed hers. He hated it, this strained feeling. How easy it had been before.

He watched from a corner as she set about making pancakes, burnt of course, she could never cook, but he had always loved that about her, that she had always tried although it was a lost cause. Things were slowly settling between them as the morning routine fell into its familiar rhythm, the casual ease comforting as the air thinned.

A momentary respite from the storm. The subject of the boy in his bed would come up, sooner or later, and although he rather it not come at all, it would be easier to deal with if it came sooner, before Fox stumbled into the now semi-smokey kitchen to sit with them for an uneasy breakfast.

He cleared his throat again, shuddering at the sound of his own voice. "Katt? I...."

She turned around, fry-pan in her paw, spatula in the other, scraping at grease-burnt batter. She looked so innocent, so young, long, thin legs disappearing under the silky robe, feet covered in thick, fuzzy slippers with a color that matched her nightie. She stared at him, expectantly, curiosity fighting the pain held in her blue eyes.

"I... don't know what to say. I'm sorry, Katt, I....." He trailed off, looking away, not able to meet her stare. What could he possibly say, anyway? What would make a difference?

He heard the sound of her putting the pan down atop the electric burner again, the sticky clack of her slippers against the linoleum tiles, the feel of her soft warm fingers pressing under his chin, lifting it up. He couldn't look at her, but he knew she wouldn't speak until he did, pain ripping through his chest. Finally, he met her eyes, met the pain again, and shuddered gently.

"Falco, it's.....it's okay," she started, eyes closing, trying to say what was in her heart without telling him that she loved him, madly, and that she hated Fox. She didn't hate Fox. She couldn't hate Fox. Never.

"You can't help who you love, Falco." A bittersweet chuckle. "I know, believe me, I do. But I want you to be happy, okay? And if he makes you happy, well then..... then I'm happy."

She turned away. It was bullshit, they both knew it, but somehow, saying it made them both feel a little better, as if the charade was real and she was happy and Falco hadn't betrayed her. She returned to pancakes, flipping them, Falco catching sight of the blackened batter, stomach shrinking ever so slightly.

"Katt....I love you."

Her shoulders tensed slightly, and although Falco couldn't see her face, the tears were dripping in her voice. "I know, Falco. I know."

And somehow, the lie was easy to believe.

Fox awoke again, the lack of warmth being the deciding factor. That, and he had to pee. He squirmed in the sheets, not wanting to get up, the bed feeling so soft, and the sheets so silky. But consciousness was returning, the bright morning light becoming more and more apparent as he surfaced, the tingle of smoke in his nostrils and the sensation of fading heat from the bed.

And his head hurt like hell.

The night came back to him in a surge, and with a blush he realized his life was forever changed, but that it was a good thing. He toyed with the sheets, not quite ready to face reality, clinging to the fuzzy haze of last night. How easy it had been when he had been drunk. Now, with a clearer head, he was unsure of what to do.

It was unlikely, he supposed, that he could hide in the sheets for the rest of the day. He'd have to face Falco some time, face him and ask him where they went next. Their's was a strange relationship, awkward, but not unpleasant, and a smile twitched at Fox's muzzle as Falco came to his mind's eye.

Throwing the covers off his legs, Fox stretched, and yawned, giving his ears a good scratch before standing up to pop the remaining kinks out of his back. A cool breeze flittered through the curtains, the fur on the back of his neck standing up, the chill surprisingly pleasant against his sleep-sweaty skin. He shivered slightly, arms crossing his chest, looking up when the door knob rattled, Falco stepping silently into the room, closing the door behind him in the same noiseless grace.

Fox smiled shyly, and blushed again, heat rising to his face as his stomach bounced around his insides. There was a silence, not quite awkward, but not all that enjoyable either, and finally Falco cleared his throat and spoke.

"Breakfast?"

Fox's stomach churned again, not with butterflies, but this time with the alcohol he'd consumed, and although he hadn't retched last night, he was almost sure he'd do it now, especially after a meal. Fox shook his head, the room spinning as he did, and placing a paw on his stomach, he stumbled back, knees hitting the bed as he fell down onto it. He curled his tail around himself and hunched over, squeezing his eyes shut.

Falco crossed the room, sitting next to Fox, rubbing his back in soothing circles as the canine struggled to get his innards under control. His hand tensed for a second, realizing suddenly that with Fox he'd always done whatever came natural, so casual every time he'd touched him.

Fox leaned heavily against him, eyes still closed, and Falco wrapped an arm around the boy, nestling his head against the tangled mass of red fur atop the canine's head. And for a moment, nothing mattered, not the drunkenness, the morning, the past, or even his beloved Katt. It was just he and Fox, sitting together in peace.

But it ended soon enough, as Fox's stomach protested in a loud rumbling groan, and he realized at once that he was in fact hungry, and that it was only good manners to accept whatever it was that Falco and Katt had concocted. "I'm hungry," he whispered, and he felt Falco nod, the avian standing up, giving him a hand, and Fox pulled himself up as well.

They walked to the door, Fox's paw still held firm by Falco. He stopped at the door, and looked at Fox, his other hand on the knob. He swallowed once, trying to find the right words to voice what he wanted to say. What was so clear in his head yet his tongue never said properly.

"Listen, Fox.... Katt....."

Fox nodded sadly, understanding. Katt's feelings had never been a secret, and Fox realized he'd have to face her sooner or later. "I know, Falco."

Falco looked away, putting off the ensuing confrontation a little longer, trying to buy some time so he could think of the right thing to say, the right thing to do. When nothing came to mind, he sighed, nodding, and with a clammy trembling hand, he opened the door, leading Fox from the room.

The smell of acrid smoke greeted them.