Disclaimer: I don't own the Biker Mice from Mars and make no money from this. I do not own any of the characters or any of their trademark quotes. I also do not own any of the recognisable names, characters or any of the other registered trademarks mentioned in this story either. It's just a story for fun and no copyright infringement is intended. This disclaimer remains throughout the story.

A/N: The story is a bit darker than the series. Limburger is a little more evil this time and less incompetent, because let's face it; if he's a fool, he makes the bros look bad for not being able to take him out earlier. And nobody makes the Biker Mice look bad. There is also some minor bad language, (please people, this is war) violence, and death (mostly of limburger's goons and plutarkian soldiers). But, you have been warned...

This story will also involve some mention of sex and adult themes. Please decide if this is appropriate for you to read.

Rating: M (This is more to cover later chapters. But, as always exercise your own discretion.)

Finally, please bear with me, the first two introductory chapters might be a little bit slower than the rest!

Very last A/N I promise! This story is dedicated to the fantastic Inuficcrzy, firstly, for all her help in answering my many questions (And I'm not kidding! You should see how many questions I had! And with the patience of a saint, she answered ALL of them!) and secondly for all her encouragement, editing suggestions and friendship. So Inuficcrzy, this is for you, you really are amazing! Thank you for everything. I really hope you like it, hon! xx Lou

The Fall of Rome: Elysian Fields

Chapter One: Broken Heart

"I'm real sorry. I know, believe me, I know, there's nothing that I can say to make this any easier, Big Fella."

The small beaten table held a small and even more beaten-looking visual communicator. The screen showed a dark brown furred mouse dressed in khaki trousers. His jacket had long since had the sleeves ripped from it and it hung open over his tight beige t-shirt as he leaned forward towards the screen with his hands clasped between his knees as he peered earnestly into the communicator. At his feet his mechanical tail clicked as it curled. His face was tired and there were lines on Stoker's face and a few greying flecks in the dark brown muzzle that hadn't been there last time Stoker had seen his friend. But war did that to a body. Constant war made the effects much worse.

Stoker leaned away from communicator's screen perched on the table in front of him, listening for any possible interruptions into a conversation he never wanted to have. No sound. Absolute silence. The room around him held only the chair he currently occupied and the dilapidated table in front of him. The stone walls behind him made the whole room seem even more oppressive despite the liberal space. The only other feature of the room was a large glass window where Mars's majestic red desert rolled on as far as the eye could see. A blur of red sand against the thick black backdrop.

The Martian Freedom Fighter's headquarters was eerily quiet that night. But this was one of the few blessings Stoker had had for quite some time. He had learned to take good luck in any form, from a quiet base, to simply seeing another nightfall. You just never knew when your luck was going to run out.

And a quiet base tonight was going to make this conversation a little easier. Marginally. Delivering bad news never got easier, no matter how much practice you got doing it. And he'd sure had the practice. But nothing prepares you to deliver the news to one of your closest friends.

He had fought his damnedest to give his friend the news in person, to be there for his friend. But it just hadn't been possible. Lack of ammo, hostile space between Mars and Earth, and the fact that he didn't have a working ship had left him with no other option but a temperamental vid com and the hope that his friend knew that Stoker wanted to be there with him.

His long dark hair fell into his eyes as Stoker watched the grey furred mouse at the Earth end of the conversation. Modo's face was drawn with shock and grief warring over his usually placid features. The new had hit the other mouse hard.

On the other end of the communicator, in the United States' city of Chicago, Modo swallowed hard, as he gazed unseeingly at the small beaten communicator on the table in front of him. His jaw was set and his one eye left unobscured by the black eye patch was fierce and no tears fell. The only sign of the grey furred mouse's suffering was the bob of the chest plate that partially covered the strong, muscular chest as it rose and fell at a rapidly. He gazed unseeingly at the Mars end where Stoker sat. His brain felt slow, like everything was passing in slow motion. The air just wouldn't get into his lungs. She couldn't just die. She just couldn't. Stoker must have had it wrong. His beautiful, compassionate, and above all, gentle, sister couldn't die. She couldn't just be another statistic, another casualty of war between Mars and rival planet, Plutark.

The yellow panel on Modo's chest plate bobbed at an increasing pace. Stoker realised that his giant friend was not going to hold up much longer. He debated briefly whether he should give the poor mouse any more details and decided to spare Modo, opting for the abridged version. The whole truth was not always the best option.

"You should know though, she wasn't alone when she passed, and she knew that you were thinking of her." Stoker continued softly, outlining the incident: that she had been caught in an ambush. Parts of bomb shrapnel had torn through her leg and torso, which had become infected and she had succumbed. He left out the horrific extent of the injury that had led to her leg being amputated, or that the dilapidated field hospital lacked even the most basic medicines and pain killers.

Or that she never stood a chance.

Stoker had meant the words to be kind and comforting, but instead they twisted like a dagger in Modo's gut. He hadn't been thinking about his sister at all. It had been ages since he had spoken to her, or any of his family for that matter. Modo and his bros were getting complacent. They were safe down here on Earth compared with the horrors facing loved ones at home on Mars. He should have been up there. He was needed up there. Guilt tore through him. Four whole years had passed since Modo and his bros had crash landed on Earth, and sure, there had been a plutarkian, Lawrence Limburger, hell bent on stripping Earth's natural resources like the plutarkians had done to Mars, but it was just the one. Just one, when there had been legions of plutarkians unleashed on Mars. And after four years shouldn't they have whipped Limburger's sorry ass by now? Maybe the Biker Mice weren't really as good as they thought, if it had been four years and counting, and still they weren't rid of that damn Limburger.

Stoker grimace in sympathy for his friend's loss. His heart was breaking for the grey mouse, whose own heart was the biggest and warmest Stoker had ever encountered. And if this pain wasn't enough, there was one more matter left for Stoker to address. But, then the pain he was inflicting on Modo could stop. "Bro, there's another matter I need to discuss with you, if you're up for it?" Modo didn't respond, so Stoker continued. "It's Rimfire. He's really not doing well. I know it's tough to lose your mother, but his grandmother, your own mama, is at her wits end. She's struggling to deal with her daughter's passing, but to deal with a loose cannon grandson is too much. I was thinking maybe of sending both Rimfire and his sister to Earth to be with you guys for a while, waddya think?"

Modo's eye met his mentor's for a moment as the grey mouse tried to pull himself together. "If you think it would help." Modo replied, trying to force some sort of emotion into his deep voice. He knew the guilt he felt right now would be nothing compared to the pain of actually seeing his niece and nephew's faces with the knowledge that he hadn't done a damn thing to try and help...

But Stoker was still talking.

"...They're on the next ship, then. Keep 'em with you as long as you need, Rimfire's cleared for... well let's just call it an 'extended holiday' shall we?" Stoker smiled slightly, hoping to coax something close to a smile out of Modo, and failing. "I think it would help get some life back into Primer too... hey she's turning into a pretty good medic, you know?" Stoker tried once again to lighten the conversation. Modo nodded once and then leaned forward and snapped off the monitor screen ending the conversation. His grey shoulders drooped and his ears sagged under the emotional onslaught; shame, guilt, grief and self-doubt. Did his sister blame him for not being there when she died? Blame him for not coming back to Mars? No answers now. He knew what it was to lose kin and friends close to him. He'd even lost girls in the past. But romantic break ups came equipped with a different sort of pain and Modo had been more philosophical about it. Always more fish in the sea, it just wasn't meant to be, or it was her loss, that sort of thing, although admittedly, that last one was his mother's perpetual retort. And he'd always had his bros to fall back on, and a tight-knit family. But losing his sister was a whole new type of pain. This was Modo thought, the very definition of heartbreak.

"Damn it." He growled. The communicator jumped with the force of his fist slamming down on the table.

Tears began to leak from his one remaining eye, tracking their way down his face and leaving tell-tale dark grey stains in his fur.

The chair scraped on the cold concrete floor as Modo pushed his chair back from the table and stumbled from the room.

"Where are you heading, bro?" Vinnie looked up from his hand of cards curiously as Modo staggered into the scoreboard's main room. Since crashlanding on earth, the Quigley Stadium scoreboard had made an impromptu hideout for the Modo and his bros. But it was small for the trio and personal space was a limited.

Modo didn't respond, just grunted on his way past before pushing the door open to the metal balcony outside. Behind him, the door slammed shut. Grasping hold of the guardrail that ran around the metal balcony, Modo clutched it like a dying man to a life raft.

All Modo could do now was wait. Wait for his niece and nephew to arrive. Wait to tell them just how sorry he was that he hadn't been there for his family when they needed him. Wait for their forgiveness because, God knows, they would forgive him far sooner than he would forgive himself. Then wait for Stoker's next call. Wait for the next catastrophe to take a loved one on Mars. Just wait, wait, and wait.

Behind him the city night light bounced off the Nubs scoreboard at Quigley Stadium.

Watching the grey furred mouse leave, Vinnie's dark red eyes swung back to his card partner's face questioningly. The tan-furred mouse opposite him shrugged one shoulder and laid down two cards. The small light in the room glinted off the tan mouse's earrings and green shades that he wore regardless of time of day. His long caramel coloured hair fell gently around his ears and red antenna, giving him a windswept-yet-dangerous look. His well-defined chest and shoulders were exposed by a tight black sleeveless leather vest that hung open to the waist. Stretching his hands back behind his head, Throttle propped his dark blue jean legs on the table crossing them at the ankles.

"Guess he'll talk when he wants." Throttle murmured in his soft husky voice, referring to their grey furred friend.

Vinnie looked doubtful, but nodded. Throttle was usually right. It was a talent that fluctuated between being one of his best qualities and one of his most annoying.

"Got any sevens?"

Vinnie shook his head, snickering "Go fish," as he laid down his own pair of sevens.

...

The sound of footfalls echoed loudly around the deserted Martian Army base. Three figures hurried down the corridor that led to one of the disused hangers. All around them, the balmy Martian night pressed closer.

"Come on you two! What are you waiting for, a written invitation from the Martian army? I promise it's not coming." Stoker barked, hurrying the two mice beside him. The three of them would have stood out as the only mice not dressed in army fatigues, in their Freedom Fighter gear. But for that to happen, there had to first be some Martian soldiers in army fatigues present. And there weren't.

Lady Luck occasionally smiled graciously on Stoker.

The main corridor branched into two different, smaller corridors. Taking the left one, the three mice headed towards the older hanger. The sounds of their footsteps reverberated off the cold stone walls and concrete flooring.

The corridor in front of them opened into a ship hanger. Stoker motioned for the two mice to wait while he braced himself into the entrance and scanned the hanger, pistol poised in case of sentries.

He didn't like the idea of having to pull a weapon on another mouse, even as an empty threat. But it was imperative that Rimfire and Primer get off planet and quickly. The good ol' Martian general was none too happy with Rimfire as it was. He had now twice attacked the Plutarkian base without orders - from the Martian general or from Stoker, and without backup. His stunts had put the plutarkian forces on hyper vigilance, destroying any chance for the Martian army to attack and catch the base unawares. This had meant huge setbacks in strategic planning for the Martian army, and a pair of constantly ringing ears for Stoker, each time General Carbine had chewed him out for his increasingly unmanageable freedom fighter.

And Rimfire had done this twice in less than five days.

Despite the tongue lashings he was copping, Stoker was still sympathetic to the poor kid's situation. After Rimfire's first attack, Stoker had cornered Rimfire and spoken sternly to the younger mouse, half out of wounded pride that Stoker hadn't even known Rimfire had gone to attack the base, and had had to find out second-hand from Carbine, and half out of pure fear that the kid could have gotten himself killed.

"...which wouldn't help anything. And now I look stupid, since Carbine has to tell me, what my freedom fighters are up to." Stoker had said arms crossed over his chest. "Come on, Rimfire, normally you'd know better than that."

Rimfire's head sagged and his antenna drooped – a mannerism so like his uncle Modo's that Stoker had to fight a smile. But this was serious. If Stoker couldn't trust the kid to follow orders, then Rimfire was no use to the Freedom Fighters or army alike.

When Rimfire finally lifted his head, his eyes were shining with the tears he wouldn't let himself cry. His face was a mixture of utter humiliation at breaking down and gut-wrenching pain. The anger left Stoker.

"Oh, kid, come here." He muttered reaching forward and hauling the fawn coloured mouse into his arms.

"Sorry, Stoke." Rimfire hiccupped as the tears he had been repressing fell. "I just miss her so m...much."

Stoker patted Rimfire's brown hair, the orange racing stripe down the centre of the kid's hair bobbed with Stoker's movement. The kid was only nineteen, after all. "I know, kid. Leave Carbine to me, just don't do it again, okay? But, next time you feel the need to pulverise plutarkian, think: that's Stoker's ass on the line."

Rimfire had nodded against Stoker's shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He muttered pulling away and wiping his eyes. "I just don't feel like me anymore."

And then the kid had gone and attacked the damn base again, not even five days later.

Stoker was running out of options. General Carbine had initially been sympathetic, but her patience was short and now she was just plain pissed off with the rebellious freedom fighter.

To be fair, Rimfire's second attack had caused a certain degree of damage to the plutarkian base, but it was nowhere near the scale of damage the army would have wrought, if the army plans hadn't been interrupted. Thus, in actual fact, all Rimfire's actions had really done was renew tension between the Martian Army and Stoker's Freedom Fighters. And now, more than ever, they really needed to be all on the same side.

In the previous couple of weeks the plutarkians had been calling for reinforcements, soldiers, supplies, weaponry, transport, you name it, they were unloading from the massive transport ships. Not that they had needed half the reinforcements they had brought. They already had the Martian mice on the back foot as it was. But now the plutarkians were going to overwhelm the mice population entirely. In the face of such overwhelming opposition and inevitable annihilation, old rivalries had to be shelved. Thus: the truce between the Martian Freedom Fighters and the Martian Army.

And now Stoker was about to test the strength of the tenuous armistice yet again by stealing an army ship. Very smooth, he had thought.

"Besides," he had said to the twins earlier that evening when he had arrived at their grandmother's apartment and outlined his plan to them, "'stealing' is such an ugly word, let's just think of it as the 'continued and permanent borrowing of someone else's ship'?" and had chuckled, envisioning the good general's face when she realised what had happened.

And it would take her no time to pin Stoker as the culprit and then she and Stoker would be back to their mutual antipathy.

Ah, let the good times roll, Stoker thought wryly.

But sometimes rocking the hypothetical boat was necessary, even if it meant the end of the fragile Freedom Fighter and Martian Army alliance. Particularly so, if it meant that Rimfire got out of hot water with the Martian Army, and General Carbine would then stop hauling Stoker's hide over hot coals. And if it meant that while Stoker couldn't be there for Modo, he could send the grey mouse something that would comfort him more that Stoker's presence possible could. The rest of his family.

Rimfire needed to be with family right now, too. And family meant a quick ride through hyperspace to Earth. The only problem was that the freedom fighters lacked spaceships, thus, the late night visit to the Martian army base to 'permanently borrow' a ship.

The long rectangular hanger was dark. Across the massive hanger from the entrance were two heavy doors large enough to allow ships to pass through and onto the runway beyond. It made obvious sense to take a ship closest to the exit. It also gave the three mice the advanced warning if anyone else entered the hanger since they would have to cross the huge room to get to them.

Small LED lights lit the floor and walls illuminating exits and vague outlines of ships. Scanning the hanger, revealed what Stoker had expected: the hanger was unguarded and they were alone. The ships in this hanger were so outdated that it was a waste of manpower to guard them. Each of the dark orange ships was a similar shape to the Earth Hercules, and similarly to the earth vessel, were transport carriers. But the Martian counterparts were infinitely faster and more advanced to adequately undertake space travel.

And at least forty years outdated. But they should still fly, albeit slowly.

"This'll do, kids." Stoker whispered and pointed at the dark orange ship closest to the great doors and runway beyond them. "In you go!"

The taller of the two mice glared at Stoker. "We aren't kids anymore, we're nearly twenty you know?"

The dark brown mouse rolled his eyes as he jimmied the door open. It made a whooshing noise as the door slid open. "You'll always be a kid to me, Rimfire."

The fawn coloured mouse laughed as he shot Stoker the bird but quickly set about checking the ship and prepping it for flight. After a minute he mouthed "all clear" to Stoker and a quick thumbs-up.

"Good. We're running outta time, and if we get caught, we're going to head rapidly up a certain creek without a paddle."

Stoker glanced again at the entrance they had come through. Fortunately it was still empty, but it was unlikely to stay that way for long, if he knew the general. And Stoker did indeed, know the general.

Rimfire grasped Stokers brown furred hand in his fawn one hand. "Thanks, Stoke." Rimfire smiled. "And, uh, thanks in advance for dealing with Carbine for me. Know that won't be pleasant." Stoker smiled lopsidedly at the younger mouse and pulled him into an embrace.

"That doesn't matter, okay? Just don't do anything stupid, understand kid?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rimfire muttered, his voice muffled. He was still caught in Stoker's embrace, his face pressed to the older mouse's shoulder. "The whole 'don't do anything I wouldn't do'."

Stoker chuckled, "No, I said don't do anything stupid. We all know I do plenty of stupid things." That won a laugh from the young mouse.

"They've got names, Stoke." Rimfire replied, his face deadpan. Stoker felt his jaw touch the ground, but couldn't help chuckling. Rimfire was laughing hard, too. "Walked right into that one, eh Coach?" he called over his shoulder as he strode towards the ship. Still chortling he climbed the first two steps that led up to the cockpit of the ship before vaulting nimbly into the ship.

Watching Rimfire board, Stoker didn't see the smaller fawn coloured hand reached for his arm. He jumped. Rimfire's twin sister smiled apologetically and murmured quietly "Thanks Stoker for doing all of this." Primer's fur was exactly the same fawn colour as her brothers, except where his hair was dark brown with an orange skunk stripe; Primer's was all a long, glorious sheet of straw blonde.

"No sweat, princess." The older mouse wrapped his arms around her willowy figure. She smiled shyly, a smile that would have stolen the hearts of many men colder than Stoker. Grasping the last bag, she too climbed up the ladder into the ship.

"Oh, and princess?" Stoker suddenly grinned, his thumbs through his belt loops. She paused halfway up the ladder and glanced down at him. "Make sure when you get to earth, you give those boys hell for me." He chuckled at the wide impish grin that spread across her face.

Rimfire's head suddenly poked back out of the ship entrance. "You going to get the door for us, Coach?"

The brown furred mouse nodded his assent. Even as he did, the overhead lights snapped on bathing the entire hanger in brilliant white light. Then a lot of things happened at once.

A cold metallic voice echoed around the hanger. "You are ordered to immediately surrender to the authority of the Martian army."

At the same time, Stoker instinctively spun on his heels and shot to the hanger door.

And Rimfire shut the ship door with a clunk. If Lady Luck was still feeling generous, their plan would work. The Martian soldiers would think that Stoker was alone in his efforts of grand theft auto: space style. Stoker would get the hanger door open and make a run for it. The Martian army would think he was alone and trying to escape and follow in hot pursuit. No one would think to scout the hanger for more freedom fighters or close the hanger door while they chased after Stoker. This meant that the twins were free to get out the minute the army turned their well-ironed and stiffly-starched backs.

Stoker quickly reached the hanger door and hit the release buttons. Thank god he had slept with the right mouse to tell him which buttons activated the quick release for the hanger doors. They whirred and squealed on their chains as they slowly began to draw back. The noise was deafening. More to the point, their extreme racket overshadowed the noise of the ship next to him as Rimfire began firing up.

Well, that wasn't part of the original plan, but it might work just as well.

"Stoker!" a harsh new female voice joined. "We know it's you. Give it up." The general sounded weary. A small group of soldiers surrounded the raven haired general. All of whom had their guns trained on the brown furred mouse.

Give up? Well that just wasn't a concept that Stoker was familiar with. By the look of it, Rimfire nearly had the ship at full capacity. Any minute now the great turbo jets at the back of the ship would burst to life and the twins would be away with little that Carbine could do about it. So why would he throw in the towel now? Especially when the soldiers hadn't realised Rimfire and Primer were inside the ship. It would seem that Lady Luck was just spoiling Stoker now.

An instant later, Rimfire had reached capacity and the dark orange ship surged forward and down the runway, narrowly missing the still opening hanger doors.

His hair swayed back with the rush of the ship, and shielding his eyes against the heat and bright burn of the engines Stoker watched as Rimfire coaxed the ship off the runway and into the inky night. He smiled. The general was going to be beside herself when she realised what had really happened and who had just made it into orbit. And Stoker made a point of never missing one of Carbine blunders.

Sure enough the general's anger was in fine form when hearing returned to his ears. It would be a long night. The good general didn't believe in abridged version of an ear blasting.

Stoker shook his head, a small smile turning the corners of his lips as he strode back towards Carbine. Time to face the music.

...

The green light of the clock glowed three nineteen.

Throttle and Vinnie had packed up their game of 'Go Fish' when Vinnie won the fifth game straight. That had been hours ago. But Modo still remained outside, in stony silence.

Inside the scoreboard Throttle lay in his hammock and watched his friend outside anxiously. The dark silhouette of the grey mouse contrasted against the glittering city lights. Without his glasses Throttle couldn't make out exact edges or fine detail. What he could see was the dark shape of his friend against the bright blur of city nightscape. And Modo hadn't moved for a long time.

Something was wrong.

"Bro, you awake? Think we should get out there?" Vinnie whispered, cutting into Throttle's thoughts. Vinnie's white fur glowed green in the reflected clock light. "I don't think the Big Fella's okay."

Yeah, something was definitely up if Vincent picked up on it. Throttle rolled over, yawning and pushing his long caramel hair out of his eyes.

"I think you're right."

Chicago's night light gleamed off the shiny metal side mask on the right half of Vinnie's face as he grinned. "I usually am. Kinda goes as part of the job of being the baddest mamma jammers this side of Betelgeuse."

Throttle rolled his eyes in the darkness, but didn't bother responding. Vinnie would be Vinnie, at any hour of the morning. Reaching for his glasses Throttle followed the smaller mouse out onto the balcony.

The night air was crisp. There would be frost tonight, and the first snow would arrive before too long. Throttle didn't notice the cold so much, but he saw Vinnie rubbing his hands together and blowing into them. Modo didn't seem to notice either. But right then Modo wouldn't have noticed a train rolling over his tail. His face held no reaction as Throttle and Vinnie stepped out, continuing to glare angrily out into the night.

Throttle leaned his forearms against the cold guardrail, matching Modo's stance. Vinnie was rubbing his arms furiously in an effort to keep to the blood flowing.

"Hey bro, it's kinda cold out here, you wanna come in for a while?" Vinnie asked hesitantly after a moment.

Modo's one un-patched eye glowed a dull red as the grey mouse fought to keep a lid on his emotion. "No. And you don't have to be out here." His eye returning to normal.

Throttle shook his head as Vinnie opened his mouth to respond. 'Let it go' he mouthed behind Modo. The white mouse opened his mouth again, but just shrugged instead.

Modo continued to stare stormily out at the city.

Throttle watched Vinnie hop from foot to foot, rubbing his arms. "Vin, get inside. You're going to freeze your tail off out here."

Vinnie looked ready to protest, but again noting Throttle's subtle shake of his head, thought better of it. "Well, if you're sure?" he muttered and trudged slowly back inside.

For a while neither tan nor grey mouse spoke. The noise of the city hummed in the background.

"City looks good by night doesn't it?" Throttle asked after a moment.

Modo shrugged, unimpressed. Somewhere nearby a car alarm pierced the night air with its banshee wail.

"You wanna talk?"

Modo sighed, his shoulders and ears slumping visibly. "Doesn't change nothing."

"Doesn't change what? Come on Big Fella, what's got your tail in a knot?"

Modo turned his one eye on Throttle, glaring hard at the caramel coloured mouse before exhaling explosively. "Tail in a knot? What's got my tail in a knot? She's dead, that's what!"

Throttle flinched and that icy cold hand of dread clutched at the back of his neck. Reaching out, he set his arm around the large grey shoulders. He hung on tight even when Modo attempted to shake him off and tighter still when Modo's grief wracked his huge frame.

"She's dead. She's gone." Modo voice broke, and he swallowed hard. "And I didn't do a damn thing."

"Who, bro?" Throttle asked softly his voice even huskier than normal, as the great grey shoulders continued to heave silently.

After a moment Modo managed to pull himself together enough to quietly recount the conversation with Stoker for Throttle. In a flat, expressionless voice, Modo rehashed the injury and his sister's death. Throttle listened in silence, wondering if that made it easier for the Big Fella to talk about without his interruption to offer sympathy which would help no one and change nothing.

"I'm real sorry, Modo."

"Yeah," Abruptly Modo shook off Throttle's arm. "There's, uh, there's something else." Modo continued, his voice raw. He briefly stated that Stoker had sent Rimfire and Primer to Earth for a while. He paused at the end, clearing his throat, and rubbing his flesh hand over his eyes and muzzle trying to pass off wiping away fresh tears as just rubbing his eyes. It didn't fool either of them, but Throttle didn't comment.

For a couple of minutes neither mouse spoke. Then, slowly, Modo turned away from the guardrail to face Throttle. His grey face looked haggard and deeply pained. And despite what Modo had said tonight, Throttle had the feeling Modo wasn't done yet, and whatever else was coming wasn't good.

Inhaling deeply and squaring his broad grey shoulders. "When," Modo began, "when Primer and Rimfire are recalled to Mars," he broke off choking a little and unable to meet the other mouse's eyes, even through the shades. Swallowing Modo tried again: "Look, I know we're bros - aint nothin' that can change that, but they're my family and they need me. I've been selfish down here. So," he swallowed again. "So, when they head back to Mars, I'm going home with them.

Now, I won't leave you and Vinnie to finish Limburger without me, so we're going to get him before Rimfire and Primer leave." Modo's voice hardened, Throttle suspected with suppressed rage and grief. "Then," Modo sighed, "Then we can all leave. But this just aint my fight down here anymore. Not while they need me at home, bro. You can understand that, cant you?"

Throttle didn't answer. He didn't really know how to respond, or how to argue. Or whether what Modo was asking for was even wrong.

Modo was still looking at Throttle, expecting a response, almost seeking approval from the caramel coloured mouse. "I... yeah," Throttle nodded hurrying to respond. "I understand bro, Rimfire and Primer need you."

"Yeah." The grey mouse rumbled as he turned away and moved back towards the scoreboard. He paused at the door, one hand clutching the doorframe. "It seems all we do down here is wait. Wait for Limburger's next attack, wait for news from home. I'm just so tired of it."

The temperature outside seemed to have dropped again, and this time it didn't have anything to do with chill in the wind.