The Golden boy of Sargasso (Star Fox fanfic)

I'm Fox. Who are you?

A/N: I said last time that this chapter would be short. Well, oopsie. I did a lot of changes in my outline, and ended up trimming and merging three chapters into one. Hence it is exceptionally long, and the amount of chapters goes back to 15... If things go as planned. Writing is still a new exercise for me, so don't be surprised if things like that happen again.

This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence.

***

Panther's finger pads clenched around the handle. With his body's weight and his legs' strength, he hauled the massive door shut, a satisfactory slam cutting off the aggressive screech of metal against metal. Tranquillity rewarded him, as he flicked the lights on and surveyed the little workshop he only had silence to share with. He'd pulled some strings to reserve this place, and firmly intended to make good use of his slot. It wasn't as spacious as the main workshop. Equipment was more rudimentary. Several tools were missing, some lost or stolen, most mislaid in another aisle—seriously, each tool had the room's number etched on the handle, how hard was it?!

However, it had something few places shared: peace, Sargasso's commotion muffled into a distant echo. Far from unhearable, but far from unbearable either.

His gaze lingered on the broken lamps and rust creeping upon the walls, as if in an abandoned derelict—which Sargasso officially was. Yet it didn't suffer from the comparison with the rest of the station. Spared by mould and mud, shelves flaunted their content in a surprisingly orderly manner, and once one had the hang of it, utilising the workshop to its full potential was a matter of will only.

The feline dragged a large canvas bag resting on the metallic ground and, with a screw motion of his paws, twisted the straps around his wrists and heaved the load onto a nearby table, wincing and holding his breath under the effort. The clatter as the bag dropped covered his groan. He made quick work of the clamps and exposed a motley bundle of weapons, pieces of armours, and various devices yearning for his care.

His fingers intertwined and cracked. He had work to do.

Panther seized a rifle handle and gave quick shakes to dislodge the gun from the mass. Once free and out, it rotated under his careful examination, presenting its molten bolt to his upset frown. He laid it on the table, fetched a basic toolbox, and was about to begin the disassembly when familiar steps tickled his ears.

Evidently, this day would not bless him with solitude. But that furball had a special pass. A chuckle passed his wry smile. "You can come out, sneaky rascal!" he called with a playful tone, reusing Krystal's favourite nickname for him.

Two orange pointy ears peered from behind a shelf, before two hesitant glowing eyes joined them. He accentuated his grin and beckoned him with a nod, whereupon the canine scurried in a gentle pitter-patter, his tail brushing the air. He stopped, waiting for further indications.

How did he get here? Nah, doesn't matter anyway.

"Just get over here, you orange ragamuffin!" Panther tapped the side across the table.

Without a word, Fox closed the distance and hopped onto the table, standing up to his whole size and reminding the feline of how quickly children grew. Panther could swear he gained ten centimetres each time he blinked. His green eyes swept upon the work surface and locked on the black cat as he sat cross-legged, his hearty beam radiating a genuine curiosity.

"What are you doing?" he asked with his high-pitched voice.

Panther scratched his chin, pondering. "See, I planned on getting this over with." He knuckled the rifle. "But since you're here, I might use this opportunity to teach you some... Tricks."