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It just wasn't fair.

After everything they'd been through, Porco couldn't just dump her.

The plane under Fio Piccolo rumbled, its engine huffing through its fuel. They were gaining altitude, and the wind was starting to rush past so fast that it was stealing the noise of the world.

Fio dug her fingers into the smooth metal of the plane's body, and all she could think about was the unfairness of it all.

Porco was the one leaving her behind, and yet Fio was the one flying away.

She gripped the side of Miss Gina's seaplane, watching desperately as the figure of Porco Rosso shrunk smaller and smaller in the distance.

Fio felt like crying.

In the seat next to her, Miss Gina of the Hotel Adriano was watching the same distant figure. When Fio spared her a glance, Gina was staring with her face pinched, shoulder's tense.

The two of them sat side by side for a moment, the roar of the plane engine rumbling overhead.

Fio sniffed, barely audible.

Gina turned to her, and Fio couldn't keep her eyes from watering.

Gina opened her mouth to say something, and stopped. She looked at Fio's face for a moment, eyes dancing over her expression with a look of pity. Fio did not look away.

Gina sighed, and sat down heavily into her seat.

"Take us back around John," she said to the pilot, "We'll just be landing for a moment."

Fio spun to her, eyes so hopeful it lit up her face.

Gina held her gaze, smiling slightly.

"I can't stand the idea of him breaking any more hearts. Make sure he visits alright?"

"Yes Ma'am. I will." Fio nodded vigorously.
Fio stuffed the bag of bet money down into the plane's seat, and tightened her shoelaces as the plane descended. The pilot eased down on the engine, slowing it without stopping. The seaplane hit the water, and skidded along the surf for only a moment before Fio leapt out of her seat, feet hitting her water with a splash.

Fio sank down like a stone, flailing for a second before she bounced off the bottom and treaded water for a moment, catching her breath.

"Thank you!" She yelled, waving to a retreating plane. Miss Gina waved back, and then she was no longer visible, disappearing into the clouds.

To the north, the Italian army was approaching. Fio had to move fast.

She swam towards the shore, and soon she could stand up in the shallow clear water, trudging her way through to the two seaplanes still docked side by side.

As she got closer, the sound of a familiar voice's scolding reached her.

"FIO!" shouted Porco Rosso, who was stomping through the water to meet her. His face was mottled with bruises from the earlier fight, and from the distance Fio couldn't see the exact expression he was wearing. He was however, she noted, wearing her hat.

"Porco!" She shouted back, far more gleefully, picking her knees up higher to get through the shallows faster. She was soaked all the way through, and was supremely glad that she'd left the bag of bet money with Gina. Fio was sure she could collect it later.

"I told you to go with Gina!"

"We're in this together, remember?" She said, finally meeting him in water that met her thigh. Porco stabilized her when she stumbled, catching her arm. His face looked worse up close, and what was left of his glasses barely hung off his nose. She poked him right in the chest, continuing,
"And, I'm your hostage, remember? What excuse am I gonna have if you leave me behind?"

"That's why I put you with Gina, this is gonna be an actual fight, not a tour bus."

Fio huffed and stepped around Porco, who turned to follow her.

"Fio. I will be shot at, I'm not letting you come!"

She ignored him, and made her way towards the plane.

Fio ran her hand along the tail, looking for bullet holes or other damage. The rudder looked fine, the trim tab still in place, and as she hoisted herself up to look at the engine, Porco moved to the other side.

"Look kid, the trip here was a breeze, this is not gonna be, those fascists are gonna shoot to kill." Porco said, leaning across the plane to her. She could see an anger in his busted face, but more prominent was the concern.

"I told you the first time," Fio said, satisfied that the engine was in good enough order, "I can handle it."

Porco opened his mouth to retort but stopped at a shout from the plane docked next to them.

Curtis was sitting in his cockpit, pointing to his binoculars.
"We got enemies on our six, they'll be here soon!" He shouted.

Fio turned back to Porco and gave him a look.

"We don't have time to argue, now is there anything that needs fixing before we get up there?"

Both of them stared at each other a moment, Fio tightened her hands into the plane's plating, as if to anchor herself to it. Porco would have to pry her off his engine if he wanted her gone.

Porco sighed tightly, and reluctantly nodded towards his cockpit.

"There's something wrong with the gun." He said, as if admitting it caused actual pain. He snatched Fio's hat off his head and shoved it into her hands, "It's jammed or something, wouldn't fire during the fight."

Fio nodded and scooted down into the cockpit. Porco reached next to her and pulled out his box of ammo, peering through the shells and checking them over.

Fio pushed down the trigger on the shift, and frowned when it clicked, but didn't fire.

"Watch it," muttered Porco, "it's still loaded."

She reached for the jammer lever, and her hand met empty air.

Fio peaked her head under the console, looking around on the floor of the cockpit, before grumbling.

"Where's the jammer lever?" She demanded, pulling at the trigger's hardware, looking for damage.

"Ask the cowboy, he's the one I threw it at." said Porco, unhelpfully.

Fio snapped her head up to ask him what that meant, when the sound of a distant engine interrupted her.

Up above, the Italian air force was advancing, they didn't have much time to get in the air.

Fio hoisted herself out of the pilot's seat, and scooted down the plane to her front seat.

She hopped down, and kneeled to take a look at the gun.
The hardware seemed fine, and she reached behind her seat for the trigger mechanism.
Fio wasn't an expert with machine guns, but she knew the parts needed to connect one to a plane's shift stick.

And that part just broke off into her hands with one touch.

She reemerged holding what was left of the rusted piece, showing it to Porco.

He swore.

"Okay, get out," he said. He looked up into the sky, scanning for planes. "I'll have to go without a gun."

"What?" Fio cried, "you can't fight an army without weapons!"

"And I don't have time," Porco stressed, "they'll be here any second, and I've gotta be in the air before they do."

"But what about-"

"You are not coming. It's bad enough I even considered it, but I'll have to fly dangerously to lead those idiots away. Get out of the cockpit."

Fio stared at the disintegrating metal in her hand, looking for a solution. Without a working trigger, Porco would have a working gun but no way to fire while he was in the air. He'd be defenseless. He'd have to outmaneuver an entire air force, which was impossible on a good day. She looked up at his face, the black eye and bruises from a fight he'd entered for her. Porco couldn't shoot.

Fio's eyes widened.

Porco couldn't shoot, but she could.

"I'll shoot, you fly."

"What?" Porco demanded, snapping his head from the piece in her hand towards her.

"I'll be your gunner," she said, kneeling back into her cockpit. "You just fly and tell me when, and I'll hit the trigger manually, from my seat."

"Are you insane? I'm not letting you operate a machine gun against an army!"

"And I'm not letting you go up there unarmed!" She yelled back, standing her ground.

"You aren't even supposed to be here!" Porco said desperately, gesturing around them.

A loud sputter echoed over the beach and Curtis's plane started its engine, rumbling across the water.

"We don't have time." Fio said, scrambling down into her seat. "We have to go now."

She looked up to Porco, and said pleadingly, "I can handle it."

He breathed tightly.

After a moment, he reached across her to help snap her seatbelt into place.

"Stay low in your seat, kid." He muttered.

She flashed him a thumbs up.

"Oi Pig!" Curtis shouted from his cockpit, "let's go!"

Porco gave Fio one last look before he turned and hoisted himself into his seat, reaching up to crank the engine.

Fio stuffed her hat down by her feet and pulled up her flight goggles and helmet. She snapped them on quickly, shoving her hair underneath and adjusting so she could see.
She was still wearing her jeans and a button up, so the flight would be cold, but she was not going to take time to suit up properly. Porco would probably leave without her.

The engine burst into sound and life, and turned the rattling plane towards the open water.

This takeoff was much simpler than Fio's first, off the Milan canal.

In no time at all, they were up, pushing through cloud cover.

A voice to her left had Fio grabbing for the intercom, Porco's voice coming through tinny.

"These people are going to be shooting at us, and I'll have to do quick maneuvers," his voice paused for a moment as he eyed the surrounding sky. "Are you sure your seatbelt is tightened?"

"Yep!" Fio replied, tugging at it. She looked down to her right at the machine gun, and rested her hand near the push trigger. "You'll have to tell me when to fire" she spoke back through the intercom, "I don't have the best view."

Porco grunted out what she guessed was an affirmative, but before she could confirm, the sound of engines reached her ears.

The Italian air force had caught up.

#

Not many could look at the prospect of fighting an entire air force and feel only tiredness.

Porco Rosso did not count himself as one of the many.

Between the little girl in his gunner seat, the fistfight he'd gotten into ten minutes ago, and the frankly obscene amount of unwashed pirates Porco had to put up with, it was a miracle his eyes were still open.

The pirates were tolerable enough, loud and out for his head but that was no different than usual. Once Fio talked honor into them at least.

The fight was awful, he wasn't afraid of admitting to himself, and Porco knew he'd be feeling every hit, halfhearted or not later. Curtis had an advantage in combat, at least on the ground. Getting sucker-punched by the American was never on the To-Do list.

Porco would be damned if he was going to hand Fio over to some showboating hick though.

Speaking of his co-pilot, Her genius didn't stop her from being a huge pain in his ass. And she was a genius, no doubt about that. She fixed Porco's plane up better than it'd been when he found it, but she was stubborn as all hell, and kept causing trouble.

Porco's busted face was a testament to that.

Currently, the kid was strapped into the front of his plane, operating an aircraft machine gun, after she'd jumped off her only safe transport to actual proper society.

If Porco Rosso could sigh loud enough for God to hear him, he would.

Then again, between the sound of his own engine, and that of the encroaching army, he could barely hear himself think.

"Fio," he called through the intercom line connecting their seats, "I'll tell you when to fire, don't shoot until I say. I don't want you hitting a pilot."

It was one thing to be responsible for shooting down a plane's engine, another entirely to aim for someone's head.

"I know!" Her voice came back through, her head barely visible out of her seat. "Non-fatal shots only. I watched during your dogfight."

Porco huffed, and stared past the end of his plane. Of course she'd watched.

His feet were starting to go numb. He could feel a sort of cold sweat forming on his back, between his skin and the fabric of his flight suit.

When he was younger, barely older than Fio, he'd been in his first dogfight. Porco had thought for sure he'd be shot, or his engine would explode, or stop working. He'd been terrified that he'd fall out of the sky, unable to watch anything but the remains of his plane burning around him.

It was a frequent nightmare during the Great War, each of his victories in the sky adding ammunition for his terrors. The things he'd seen had changed him in ways others couldn't see. Every night Marco would fall asleep and dream of the sputtering noise of engine failure and feel the cold drop he'd sent so many to.

When it came time for that nightmare to come true, when Porco really did fall out of the sky, it was far too late for him to truly be scared of it anymore.

He'd felt worse when he awoke skimming above clouds, alone.

Since that day, he'd hesitated before every shot.

Terrible practice for a bounty hunter, and he could only overcome it by aiming for spots on planes that could take a hit.

The engine, not the propeller. The tail, never the wings. Porco would rather miss that intentionally shoot the body of a plane, or aim at the pilot.

It made for flashier moves anyway. There was a reason he was the Ace of the Adriatic.

The clap of distant gunfire woke him from his reverie. The enemy was nearly on them.

Time to focus.

Porco pulled on the stick, and his plane spun into a perfect dive, avoiding an incoming plane.

He pulled back up, and looped around the back of an Italian plane.

He aimed carefully.

"Now Fio!" Porco called.

Bullets ripped through the plane's tail, and the pilot dove out of the way far too late, spiraling to the side.

Porco couldn't focus on its path, already dodging another member of the air force. Belatedly, he registered that Fio whooped through the console, her timing perfect.

There were still six of the Italian planes left.

The American was certainly doing his part though.

He'd reloaded, and was taking out planes one by one, reaching a higher altitude and taking cover in the sun's glare, before diving down with a speed that won him races and shooting out his opponents engine. Down below, parachutes were popping open across the horizon.

Despite Curtis's efforts, the fight was still hardly fair. Two against six?

The fascists would need more than that.

"Fire!" Porco said, leaning his weight into the dive of his plane.

The staccato of gunfire rang out, and this time, both planes Porco flew over where hit, both engines sparking into flames that had the pilots veering away to land.

Curtis flew by close enough to hear, his yell of excitement like a battle cry, his engine roaring, his shots whizzing past.

If he kept shooting like that, he'd waste his ammo.

Porco pulled out of a turn, circling back to glide over his no longer secret hideout. He looked over the side of his plane down at the island. It would be swarming with the government and the air force within an hour, and wouldn't be safe to return to for at least a week, maybe longer. Porco didn't have many material items anyway, but he'd be sad to lose the secrecy of his favorite beach.

"Porco!" Fio screamed.

On reflex, Porco threw his weight into the shift, slamming the plane to the side.

Too late.

One of the last enemy planes screamed past, firing wildly.

Bullets stuttered into the body of his plane, each shot like a nail being driven into Porco's head. His teeth rattled, and his nails dug into his palms around the stick. The plane rolled nauseatingly, and Porco groaned as the controls shook. He yanked hard on the stick, and righted himself. The wings caught the wind again, and the plane rose with the wind.
He evened out the plane near the waves, and let out a breath.

Porco whipped his head up, checking the engine and propeller. Both were undamaged. He turned behind him, the tail still in one piece.

The other pilot was clearly aiming for the body of the plane, for him.

Or for his co-pilot.

"Fio!"

Porco called into the com. His hands on the controls shook.

"Kid?!"

No response. Porco's heart thudded against his rib cage painfully.

He couldn't see her. He couldn't fucking see her.

There was no way to tell how close the shots came to her while they were in the air. There was no way for him to tell how badly she'd been injured, or if she was dead. Fio was completely cut off from him, except for the intercom her grandfather installed, which Porco was gripping tightly with one hand.

"Fio! Answer me!"

God, he'd just let her come.
He'd seen her hop off Gina's plane and like a fool, he'd sped towards her instead of getting in his plane and flying away. He'd let her get into her seat, let her convince him she'd be fine, that she'd be fine shooting at an army-

"I'm alright!"

The relief knocked the wind out of him.

"I just dropped the com, I'm fine!" Fio continued, unaware that behind her, Porco had aged about fifty years in ten seconds.

"Jesus kid," He replied roughly, trying to keep the breathlessness out of his voice, "don't do that, you gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry!" She called back, sounding only mildly so. He'd have to give her a talk about prompt responses, he was getting too old for scares.

Porco breathed out heavily, blinking rapidly in his goggles. His heart still thumped violently, and the idea of clutching at his chest seemed appropriate, if too dramatic.

He let out another breath, and it registered that Fio was still speaking.

"-ey have any respect?" She was complaining loudly, "Do they know how hard it is to repair bullet holes in wood? How expensive?"

"Relax kid," Porco chuckled, some emotion still choking him, "we'll just set up another bet, and get Curtis to pay for it."

There was a moment before she replied,

"Fine," Fio huffed, "but this time, you're the one he's trying to marry."

Porco snorted, and then continued to laugh, the fear that had made its way in his chest finally dissipating.

Above them, Curtis was still in the fight, a burst of machine gun fire and then silence. When Porco looked up, the last of the Italian planes had circled back, engine smoking and metaphorical tail tucked between its legs.

"Hey Porco!"

Porco jerked in his seat, startled.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think it's a good idea to head back to your island." Fio said regretfully. Porco huffed.

"Nah," he said, pulling on the plane's stick. As they gained altitude, he continued, "We could camp out at a nearby island, we'll need repairs before this plane's ready for the trip to Milan."

"Well.." Fio started, and Porcos ears pricked. That was not a good tone. In the past weeks that tone of voice has always meant trouble. That tone usually meant Porco would be adding another expensive addition to his plane or agreeing to a dogfight for honor.

"We could go to the Hotel Adriano?" She proposed. Porco could imagine the big eyed pleading look she was sporting from the front seat.

He sighed, and went over the map in his head to Gina's place. He knew the route like the back of his hand.

"Miss Gina said there'd be free drinks!" Fio continued after his silence.

"Sure kid," Porco chuckled, adjusting the plane towards the horizon.

"I could use a drink."

##

When Miss Gina of the Hotel Adriano told the boxing match crowd that drinks would be on the hotel's tab, she expected far more common folk to pour into her restaurant.
Instead, her entire bar was filled to the top with foul smelling, albeit very polite seaplane pirates who were outpacing her poor bartender.

It seemed that all the rational and subdued drinkers had their fill, and retired home for the night after the hectic day.

Still, Gina could not force herself to retire for the night.

Sure she'd have loved to. She could imagine going upstairs to her suite, taking off her earrings and flopping into her nicely made bed, her done up makeup and hair be damned.

She told herself her hesitations were because she had one more show to do, only a few songs. She told herself she was sympathizing for her bartender and wait staff, or in distrust for the questionable clientele in her restaurant.

Deep down though, the part of her that was still a little girl flying in a seaplane for the first time, told her she was really waiting for Marco.

It was growing dark with the sun just setting, and Ferrari, Morco's friend and Gina's current Crimson Pig informant, had relayed that the Italian air force had circled back without arresting anyone.

Gina had let out a breath of relief at that, but as the second half of Ferrari's message came through the radiophone, she tensed again.

A downed Italian plane claimed it had actually hit Porcos plane, landing shots along the body.

The claim wasn't confirmed, and no one had seen any remains of his ship, but the fear for Marco remained.

So here Gina sat, two full hours later, sitting nursing far too strong of a drink, trying to inconspicuously glance at the door for a certain face.

She sighed, and took another sip.

It seemed that all her life, she waited for the sound of a returning engine, for a door to open and for one man to meet her in her garden.

Too many times she'd sat near her wireless telephone and waited for bad news.
Three times she had listened to a report of a smoking husk of a plane, about a terrible mission gone awry, or a tragedy that couldn't have been prevented. Part of Gina wanted to rush back upstairs and demand for news on her machine. The other part was stuck still in her seat, trembling and waiting for one of her beloved staff gently, they are always so gentle, gently telling her that there is a call for her. A message. One about Marco.

So. Overseeing the restaurant it is.

Gina looked over to her band, playing quietly and preparing for their upcoming set. Her poor violinist was red as a cherry, fumbling with their instrument as a drunk bolden pilot leaned across his table and flirted.
Gina stood, finishing the last of her drink and setting her glass on the bartop. She made her way slowly across the restaurant, weaving between thankful and rowdy patrons. She was almost to the center of the room when the door opened, and a loud cheer exploded across the floor.
Gina looked up, and nearly shouted along with the crowd.

Standing at the top of the stairs, blinking at the unexpected audience, was Marco.

He seemed apprehensive to even step down the stairs, unaccustomed to a hoard of pirates shouting at him with peaceful intentions. The girl, Fio was her name Gina faintly recalled, couldn't help but be swarmed by the pirates too, laughing and cheering and chattering away in stark opposite from Marco.
Someone in the crowd lifted her above their head, and she was carried down the stairs in a parade of excited drunk men.

Gina laughed at the sight, but when her eyes traveled back up, Marco was staring at her.

The world was loud and bustling, but despite that, he was only looking at her.

It was like everything else faded away, and Gina was a young woman once more, falling for Marco all over again.

She could see his expression, eyes wide and lips parted. His shoulders dropped, and as she watched, his mouth formed her name, and suddenly being too far away to hear if he said it aloud was unbearable.

She smiled up at him softly, and it shook him from his reverie. He descended the stairs at the same pace she pushed through the crowd, that is to say, with speed and a less than usual grace.
She lost his eyes for a moment as she parted through the hoard of patrons, but she met them again near the base of the stairs.

Marco looked like he could breathe again at the sight of her.

Soon they stood face to face, him looking up at her with a quiet sort of reverence. Gina was sure he'd never looked at her like that before. She was sure no one had looked at her like that, ever.
She realized belatedly that he was no longer wearing his dark glasses, and it was the first time she'd seen his actual eyes since the war.
She wondered, in the farthest corner of her mind, the part that still believed in fairytales and happy endings, that perhaps Marco had always looked at her like that, she'd never gotten to see.
Gina willed herself not to blush.

"Marco." She breathed, barely audible over the crowd.

"Hi." He responded, pulling at his white scarf. He shifted his eyes away quickly for a moment, then back. His expression looked pained, brow furrowed and lip stuck out.
Gina took far too long to realize why.

"Oh my goodness, your face!" She cried, reaching out as if to touch.

"What? What is it?" Blinked Marco, slapping a hand up to his face. His horribly bruised face.

"You look like you've been through hell!" She said, concerned, she gently pulled his hand away from his face. "We'll get you a bag of ice or something, your face is one big bruise!"

Marco grinned sheepishly, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Went seven rounds against Curtis. Eight if you count the one in the sky. I told you that American would be trouble."

"C'mon Marco, you should sit down, I'm amazed you're still standing." Gina replied, tugging at his hand.

"Oh please, the fight was a piece of cake," he nodded his head to the door, in extension, to his plane. "I'm more concerned about my plane. The Italians got a couple shots in. Just finished paying her off, honestly."

"I know," Gina said, her turn to grin, "Ferrari sent me updates on the radiophone. I heard that you'd been shot, he wasn't sure if you'd gone down."

"Oh." Marco replied, going quiet.

"Yeah." Gina whispered. She squeezed his hand ever so slightly, and he squeezed back. Gina opened her mouth to respond, unsure if she was going to scold him or cry, before Marco looked up past her.
She turned, and beside her stood a beaming smile of a teenager.

"Miss Gina?" She asked, looking up like Gina was a movie star.

"Yes?" Gina smiled back. "Are you Miss Fio Piccolo? The plane mechanic?"

"I am!" Fio nodded excitedly, "I wanted to thank you for letting me go back earlier. Porco needed a co-pilot."

Marco scoffed, and Fio turned to him, face scrunched up.

"You did!" She insisted, looking back at Gina and gesturing towards him, "He might be able to do all those fancy flips for you, but he couldn't out fly the entire air force."

Marco went bright pink, and sputtered out a scolding, "Fio!"

"What?" She asked, shrugging, "You did loops and everything, it was definitely showing off."

Gina laughed as Marco squawked Fio's name again, but composed herself as he started pushing Fio back into the crowd.

"Was it supposed to be some secret?" Fio was saying, letting herself be waved away as Marco tried to hush her up. He was getting redder by the minute, and his shoulders were hiking up to his ears in embarrassment.
When he turned back around, Gina had only the lightest of teasing laughter in her face. Marco gave her a look.

"That kid.." he muttered as Gina pulled him towards the bar.
She waved down her harried bartender and forced Marco into a seat. The poor pilot dropped into it like he'd barely been standing, shoulders drooping as he let out a sigh. In the bar's light, the bruises stood out worse.

Gina's bartender came back with a cloth wrapped ice bag, and Marco took it with a grateful nod. Gina pressed it over his eye and he winced, bringing up a hand to hold it in place.

"Keep that there," Gina said. "After the swelling goes down, we can check for any cuts that need bandages."

"I'm fine." Marco said, gesturing to the open bar seat next to him. As Gina sat down, he looked away from her and out into the crowd. He leaned backwards into the bar and Gina took a look at the rest of him.
His flight suit was crumpled and still a little damp looking, and he'd taken off his flight helmet and goggles. Aside from his missing dark glasses and the bruises, Marco looked pretty alright. Still Gina worried.

"What on earth possessed you to enter that bet?" She demanded, "A boxing match with a man a foot taller than you is idiotic, even for a seaplane pilot!"

Marco looked back at her and grinned, though without his glasses, and with an ice bag pressed to his face, it looked more like a tired smile. Gina's heart gave a pathetic thump at that look.

"It didn't start out as a boxing match, the original bet was for a dogfight." Marco pulled the bag from his face for a moment, but Gina pushed it back into place gently. He winced but kept it there. "And I had to," He continued, "the bet was that if Curtis won, Fio would marry him. If I won, he'd pay off my debt to Fios family."

Gina's expression must have given away her thoughts, because Marco let out one quiet huff of laughter.

"I know, the bet was not my idea. I tried to talk Fio out of it." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, looking back to the crowd but leaning towards Gina slightly, as if his next words were a secret.
"She's a good kid, and she was convinced that I'd win. She's only seventeen, I couldn't let that creep get near her."

Marco sighed.
"Well Curtis ran out of ammo, and my machine gun jammed. I wasn't just gonna let him win. So we took it to the ground."

"To the water you mean." Gina interjected, "When I pulled up you both were laying on the seafloor."

Marco smiled softly and then shook his head slowly.
"Probably for the best that you missed the actual fight." he said, "It was pretty pathetic."

"You won though," Gina pointed out, "you were the last man standing. Your face and that bag full of cash sitting in my suite upstairs prove that point."

Gina really did have a very large bag of cash sitting on her floor upstairs. Fio had left it behind when she jumped from Gina's plane, and the unpaid bill receipts that were stapled to the bag pointed pretty clearly to who it belonged to. No one else would be charged for 'electric red paint' on a seaplane.

Marco looked back out into the bustling crowd, most seemingly clearing out or getting settled into a table. Gina caught a glimpse of Fio sitting among the pirate captain's table, talking and laughing with them.

Marco and Gina fell into a comfortable silence, side by side, and Gina smiled and let herself relax a little further into her seat. She was relieved that everything worked out, that Marco was fine. After the day, it was a miracle that he was still whole, let alone conscious. Gina ran over his story in her mind, before she got caught on one detail.

Marco startled as she snapped up, spine rigid .

"What?" He asked, straightening as well. He was relaxed to tense in half a moment, the ice bag pulled away from his face. He was scanning the crowd, eyes jumping for a threat.

"Did you say," Gina enunciated slowly, "that your gun jammed in the dog fight with Curtis?"

"Yes?" Marco replied, looking back at her confused.

"And was it still jammed when you went to lead away and fight the Italian air force?"

Marco froze.

Gina turned to him fully.

"Marco Pagot." Gina said, and Marco made a very small noise at his full name, and at her tone.

"Did you go up against armed planes without weapons?!"

"No," he defended immediately, "Fio found the problem and just fired for me, she was my gunner."

"That child was your machine gunner?!"

"I didn't want her there either, you're the one who let her jump off your plane!"

"Marco, I cannot believe you!"

"Miss Gina?" Questioned a small voice to her left.

Gina turned harshly, biting down on an aggressive comment before she realized it was just her violinist, standing there sheepishly.

"Yes?" Gina asked, anger fading.

"Do you still want to perform our set? We're on in twenty five minutes," the violinist replied, looking between Gina and Marco. "I can always tell the band you're busy."
Gina opened her mouth to reply, but Marco beat her to it.

"That's alright Gina, I've got to check up on the kid anyway," he stood from his chair, smiling and backing away just slightly. "Plus it's always nice to hear you sing."

Gina pointed her finger right in his bruised face.

"Don't think you're getting out of this Marco, we'll talk later."

He rose one hand up placatingly, and then not so subtly retreated.

Gina sighed as she watched him go, and then followed her violinist backstage.

###

Fio Piccolo was having a wonderful time.
Her entire day had been so hectic and full of adventure, it was amazing.
Here she was, sitting in the famed Hotel Adriano, surrounded by the seaplane pirates of her grandfather's stories, and now they were the ones hanging off her every word.

"Then, right as the other plane shot up towards us, Porco turned the whole plane and dodged it, and none of the shots hit the engine or the propeller!"

"But did the plane get hit?" Asked one of the pirates sitting at her table. His eyes were wide with concern, and a few of the others nodded nearby.

"Yeah," Fio said regretfully. "But Porco and I were fine, and the plane can be repaired, especially now since Curtis paid his side of the bet."

Sure the repairs would be a hassle, but they certainly weren't impossible.
When Porco first pulled the plane into the hotel docks, Fio was first out to check the damages. All along the left side of the plane were bullet holes, in one line from the very front to just before the pilot's seat. Each of the entry points had cracked the wooden shell of the plane, and the spent bullets were probably rolling around the floor of the plane at their feet.
The wings, engine and propeller were undamaged, the tail had seen better days, but all in all, the plane was very lucky. The plane could probably make it back to Milan with a few patches if Fio thought she couldn't complete the repairs.

The biggest concern for Fio at least, was the bullet hole not a foot from Porcos seat. Eight inches to the right and he would have been shot in the shoulder or neck. No bullet had come that close to Fio. When she pointed it out and turned to make sure he was alright, he waved her off and explained that the hole wasn't from the machine gun. It was from Curtis's pistol that he'd fired at Porco in the sky during their dogfight.
When Fio expressed her desire to put her wrench to Curtis's cheating skull, Porco had simply laughed, explaining he'd already hit him with his jammer lever.
So that's where it went.

The pirates around Fio seemed placated by her answer. They all knew she was a genius, and if she said she could fix something, she meant it.

"Although," Fio continued, thinking about it for the first time, "is there a mechanic shop near the hotel? I don't have the tools for a full plane repair, but for flight adjustments."

"There's a car and boat mechanic on the mainland." Spoke up a familiar voice behind her.

Fio spun in her seat, and picking through the crowd towards her, was Porco.

"You're the only decent plane mechanic this side of the Adriatic, kid." He continued, coming to stand behind her chair. He pressed an ice bag to half his face, and the swelling had gone down.

A cheer at his arrival went up through the surrounding seaplane pirates.

"There's the Pig!" Hooted Capo, the pirate federation leader. He slapped a hand on Porco's back, nearly toppling the other pilot. "Miss Fio was just telling us how you left the government in the dust!"

There was more boisterous cheering, and Porco grinned.

"I just flew the plane," he shrugged, "Fio did all the actual firing."

"Oh that's right!" Fio said, turning to Porco, "I still have to find parts to fix the gun!"

"Relax Fio," he said, patting her shoulder. "You can do it in the morning. Besides," he nodded towards the stage. "Music's gonna start soon."

Fio blinked, and realized the lights around the bar were starting to go down. The bar had cleared mainly of regular customers, with only seaplane pirates and the occasional bounty hunter still hanging around. Everyone was quieting down and getting settled. Even the pirates were beginning to hush up. Fio noticed that Porco didn't have a seat.

"C'mon Porco," she stood, and started pushing him towards an open booth in an alcove under the stairs, "let's get a good seat!"

"Everybody's pulling me around today huh." He muttered, but he allowed Fio to push him into the seat.

The booth was towards the entrance, just under the staircase. It was farther away from the rest of the people, but still had a great view of the stage and band. Inside on the walls there were old photographs of seaplanes and of the hotel's construction. As Fio looked at each one, Porco waved down a bustling waiter and ordered himself a drink.

In one of the photographs, Fio noticed a familiar face. She squinted in the low light, and tapped Porco's arm excitedly.

"Yeah?" He hummed, lighting up a cigarette.

"This picture has Miss Gina in it!" She said, pointing to the picture.

It was a picture of Miss Gina as a younger woman, sitting in an early plane. She was surrounded by three smiling men, one sitting in the cockpit with her and two more standing next to the plane. You couldn't tell what color in the black and white tones of the picture, but Miss Gina was wearing a lovely decorated hat, with a big flower pinned to the brim.
Fio squinted again, and realized there was another man in the picture just behind her, but his face had been scribbled out in pen.
She tilted her head, trying to make his face out. He looked to be the same age, and he was standing with his arms poised on his waist. Written on the photograph was the year it was taken, 1912.

"Lotta these pictures do kid." Replied Porco, taking a drag. He gestured with his cigarette to the covered walls.

"Who are these guys with her?" Fio asked, "One of them has his face scratched out."

Porco stiffened, and turned in his seat, looking at the picture Fio was pointing to. He only looked for a moment, before he turned back and scoffed, blowing out smoke.

"That was the old aviation club Gina started. The three guys ended up being her husbands."

Fio hummed, and kept looking at the picture. She'd heard about Miss Gina's seaplane pilot husbands, each dying a death related to their planes. Fio's face scrunched, eyes downcast.
Fio looked at each face in turn, from each of the pilots, and back to a younger Miss Gina.
Fio's attention flicked back up to the man with the scribbled face.

"And him?" She asked, pointing to the last man.

Porco didn't answer.

Fio turned back to him, questioning. He stared forward resolutely, smoking his cigarette in silence.

It finally clicked.

"That's you?!" She cried, looking between Porco and the photograph. The hair was similar, and Fio had definitely seen Porco stand like that at least once.

"Sit down kid, you're gonna bounce off the seat." He grumbled, and Fio plopped herself down next to him.

"That's you?" She repeatedly, quieter, trying to read his expression.

Porco gave her a look.

"No way," she breathed. "But you looked so. So young!"

He remained deadpan. "Yeah, that was 1912. I was barely older than you are now."

Fio did some quick math in her head.

"You were in an aviation club at nineteen? That's so cool."

Porco finally looked at her, a doleful expression on his face.

"It was. Now the club is down to just me and Gina." He said.

"Oh." Fio said faintly.

There was a moment of quiet.

"Miss Gina doesn't call you Porco."

"Hm?"

"Miss Gina doesn't call you Porco," Fio repeated, "She calls you Marco."

"'Porco Rosso' is a call name kid," he said, blowing out cigarette smoke. "Marco was my name. Gina's always called me that."

Fio's brow furrowed. She fiddled with her fingers for a moment.

"Can I call you Marco?" She asked.

He made a noise, sort of like a snort, and then coughed lightly. Fio waited for his answer furtively. She nipped at her lip in the silence.

He took another drag and shrugged.

"Call me whatever you want kid, I don't care."

Fio smiled, very softly, and nodded once.

"Sure thing Marco."

####

In the future, he mused, lighting his second cigarette, no more saving school children. They bring in too much trouble.

Porco Rosso watched the rest of the bar quietly talk and drink. Beside him, Fio seemed to be placated by a lemonade and was quietly sipping away, watching the band put themselves together.

First, he'd gotten dragged into dealing with a bunch of pirates, then he got dragged into dealing with a bunch of small children, then he got dragged into dealing with an American, who forced him into dealing with a child plane mechanic, who dragged him into dealing with the same pirates and the same American, again.

So much for flying for himself.

He was definitely going soft.

The band at the front of the room started up, and Fio straightened, sitting up closer to the table. Porco had forgotten that as familiar this life to him was, to Fio, everything was straight out of her childhood stories. The Hotel Adriano itself, which Porco had seen when it was just an empty plot on a ting island, was the stuff of legends to his co-pilot.
A slow melody of violins drifted over to their seat, and Gina stepped out from behind the stage's curtain to the crowd's applause.

Fio sat up as high as she could, and waved excitedly. Porco snorted, and raised his hand in a wave too, albeit with far less enthusiasm.
Gina's eyes danced over the crowd, searching. After a moment, they struck directly to their corner. When she looked at them both, she smiled and winked, raising a hand to wave back.

Porco's heart did a little flip, and he desperately regretted taking off his glasses. Even if they only had one lense left in the frame, they would have left him a bit more to cover his face with. Porco was sure she could see right through his expression.
Whatever god above granted Porco mercy, and Gina looked away, off to spin and greet the other patrons striving for her attention.

The song started, and the rest of all the worldly sounds faded away, and everyone sat further into their seats and simply listened.

Gina had an angelic voice.

Porco had known that fact since childhood, with Gina humming along to the radio first in Italian, then in English and finally in French. She used to hum while Marco and the rest of the club would work on their first plane, the Adriano.
She would sing along to all the newest songs, and for years Marco never heard a song on the radio or in a club that he hadn't first heard from Gina's lips.
She'd always wanted to be a singer, just as Marco had always wanted to be a pilot.
The both of them lived to complete those dreams, for better or for worse.

Porco snuck a glance at Fio, and nearly laughed, wishing for a moment that the newspaper photographer was still hanging around.
Fio's mouth was open, eyes wide. Her arms were folded on the table, she was leaning as far forward into the music as physically possible, staring as Gina sang and swaying gently in step with the music.

The song slowed to a stop, and the restaurant erupted into applause. Fio damn near leapt out of her seat, clapping and whistling. Gina's eyes found him again, and this time Porco managed to smile back.

The next few songs were just as lovely, each one slowing down in pace, with longer, quieter notes. The rest of the band fell away, until it was just Gina's voice carrying the music, like a lullaby.

Next to him, Fio tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Porco let out a quiet laugh as she shot him a glare.

"You can take a nap kid," he sat further back in the booth, suddenly aware that he was at the edge of his seat. He looked over to Fio, her eyes droopy. "Don't worry, Gina won't take offense."

Porco was pretty sure Gina was singing slower songs in the evening on purpose, a subtle way to get people to pack up and leave or pay for a hotel room.

Fio made a soft, sleepy noise, and suddenly she had scooted closer and was leaning into Porco's side. He took her weight with a grunt.

"I didn't mean take a nap on me."

"You're comfortable," Fio defended, curling her feet up under her and hugging herself.
"Plus this way I make sure you're not gonna dump me on someone else the second I'm asleep." she continued, a little accusatory.

Porco huffed, and put an arm around her shoulders. She immediately snuggled closer, and Porco mourned what was left of his hardass reputation for only a moment.

"I'm not leavin kid, you still gotta fix my plane."

"Mhm." Fio replied, closing her eyes.

Porco scoffed quietly, and looked back at the crowd as Fio began to doze.

It had been a tough day.
His eye throbbed, his knuckles stung and Porco was pretty sure that if he still had a human nose, Curtis would have broken it. His back had a crick in it from the jostling in the dogfight, and whatever adrenaline that had kept him going earlier was fading.
The ice bag he had been pressing to his face had warmed, now just a slightly cool water bag. Porco reached forward and gently, carefully as to not move the teenager at his side, set it on the table.
He reached his free hand up and prodded at the swelling, satisfied with the way it'd gone down. He must have looked a real fright at first, the look on Gina's face when he'd first stepped up to her said as much.

Gina was beginning to become a problem.

Oh Gina had been one of the many things that stayed put in Porco's mind through all hours of the day. He'd never truly not been thinking of her, but after the fight, and Curtis's comments, the metaphorical pot on the back burner was overflowing.
Porco Rosso could fly into a raging hailstorm of bullets and not bat an eye. He could fight with a dying engine over the sea and come out the other side, and he could flirt with any woman that caught his fancy, like any respectable womanizer.

But he was never Porco Rosso to Gina.
To Gina he was still Marco, and the thought of that made him want to step outside, get into his plane and fly as far as it'd take him.

She knew him before the war, when he was just a scrappy kid learning how to get his wings. She knew him during the war, when he still pretended he had any humanity left. And she'd seen him after the war, after Bertinelli's funeral, as he'd lost whatever still made him Marco.

She'd seen all of it, and still, still she waited in her garden for him.

If Curtis was to be believed that is.

The pilot let out a tight breath, listening still to the music that still drifted across the bar.

No more saving school children. It only brought him trouble.

#####

Gina was glad the bar was mostly empty.

As a business owner, she recognized thinking like that was a terrible mindset, but as she looked around the quiet restaurant, she couldn't help letting its stillness be a comfort.

After her last performance, her customers stood, dusted themselves off sleepily and wished her a goodnight. Those who had no other place to camp out, made their way upstairs to rent out a hotel room. Gina helped the last of her bar staff wipe down the tables, push in the chairs and dim the lights. It was a usual sight, the singer making final rounds of the hotel just before proper closing.

Gina's hotel was a safe harbor, and she'd be damned if she didn't make it so.

She made her way around the tables of her restaurant, headed towards the stairs. She fully intended to go upstairs to her suite and sleep in until noon the next day.

As her foot touched the first step on the staircase, there was a small sound to her left.
Gina paused, turning. Her bartender and waiters had all gone to bed, there should have been no one else left in the restaurant.
She leaned over the bannister when she heard the noise again.

Gina crept along the side of the stairs, towards the sound. Surely everyone had already gone home? Had her staff missed someone?

When she made her away around the side, and peered into the alcove, what she saw made her stifle a gasp.

There, tucked away in the last booth, sat Marco and Fio.

Asleep.

Gina shoved down the urge to rub her eyes, or pinch herself in case she was dreaming.

Sitting with his head tipped back onto the back of the booth, one arm around his sleeping co-pilot, was Marco.
Her Marco.

Gina took a very careful step forward.

Sitting in her restaurant, dead asleep, was a face she hadn't seen since her first husband's funeral.

He looked the same.

Oh aged yes, and his eye was still a tad swollen and his mouth was open in- Gina nearly laughed, he was snoring. Her Marco, snoring.

He was human again. Gina wasn't sure what expression her face was doing, but whatever it was, she knew she couldn't control it.

It was clear he'd been there a while. And for one insane moment, Gina considered waking him, if just to save his neck the ache it would have in the morning.

It seemed Gina's plan to sing soft and soothing songs to clear the bar out had worked a little too well. Gina couldn't muster even the smallest bit of regret.

Gina simply watched them both breathe for a moment, filled with a quiet emotion she'd forgotten.
She remembered the last time she'd seen Marco sleep. Back before the hotel, before her third, second and first marriage, before the war, before she became a singer and before Marco even took to the skies. Back in the days of the old aviation club, when she was still a young girl, and Marco still a boy.
They'd had their first flight, Gina and Marco went first on the plane the whole club had worked on.
It was agreed that she'd be on the first flight, but there was an argument over who got to be the first to pilot. When Gina pointed out that it'd be very, very dangerous, with a high possibility of a crash, Marco pushed through and volunteered.
The flight went perfectly, and Gina still had dreams about it. The feeling of floating freely, the wind rushing by and carrying them.

Now, a lifetime later, here she was again. The both of them had changed, mourned and shifted until Gina could barely recognize herself.
Until she could barely make out Marco's face in his piggish features.

Marco snorted in his sleep, and Gina's eyes snapped into focus again.
She watched, transfixed, as his entire face shifted.
His nose squared off, back into a snout, his ears elongated, and his face melted back into that of a pig's.
Gina blinked, and the same happened in reverse.

Gina pulled away, contemplative.

When she'd spoken to Marco about his curse, he'd made no inclination that his face would make such a switch between man and pig.

He doesn't know.

Gina's breath caught, and she bit her lip.
Marco had no idea.

She stepped back, and made her way quietly to the staff closet, pulling out a blanket.
She returned, silent as a ghost, and draped it carefully around Marco and Fio.

Fio snuggled closer and Gina smiled.

She'd let them sleep. In the morning, Gina would finally get to see Marco's face during the day.

She would speak with him, once his face and plane were healed. Perhaps, Gina thought to herself as she ascended the stairs, leaving Marco and Fio sleeping.

Perhaps, one day, she might still win that bet.

One day.

######

Fin.