Well, here is the dealio, my schmeelios- I LoZ story isn't doing terribly hot, and my current minor obsession is PoM. That said, if y'all like this better than others like the other, then I'll continue. Otherwise I'll just die sad and alone with my thirty cats :). I will warn that this is rated T for a very good reason. It'll be quite dark along the road, and we don't need any soft kiddies losing their innocence. That said, hope y'all enjoy- please review, be the word good, bad, or ugly.

Prologue: Wanting to Know

He watched the neon nibbling away at the moonlight, a slow breeze ruffling his breast feathers. He knew the traces of cold in the air meant that summer was over for good, and that the whistling leaves in the oaks and sycamores would soon yield to Nature. Already they had faded to varying shades of yellow and orange, and some had begun to fall and littered the cool sidewalks and the dewy grass. The night was peaceful enough, but quiet was too much to ask for. He was in the City That Never Sleeps, after all. Horns blared and people shouted or laughed, cars and trucks rumbled as they hopped along the busy streets in a rolling limbo. He could faintly hear music from the lemur habitat- it was Friday night, and that meant an all night dance party for the Ringtail and his 'royal subjects'.

The penguin craned his neck to see the sky, but there only hung an inky blue darkness, studded with lights from the skyscrapers and the drowning moon. Stars failed to shine. Skipper lowered his head again, and his spine prickled. For once in his life he didn't care that he was being watched, didn't care that someone was stealing up behind him. Tonight was not a night for action. He slightly turned his head, body tense and ready, and caught a glimpse of black and white. The penguin immediately relaxed, but didn't turn to face his subordinate.

The other penguin, slightly shorter and far younger, took a place beside his leader. He was pensive, unsure, and a ball of nervousness was coiled in his gut. He looked at the glimmering jewels above the trees, the lights that signaled that humans still worked and played despite the day fading away. The bright, multicolored, little lights seemed to him the glow of a million twinkling stars that got bored in their heavenly cradle and came down to visit with the earth. Private smiled, and the lights winked back at him. He would have rather been watching the actual stars, but he hadn't the power to make them shine. The youth blinked around at the twinkling lights, wondering about the people that kept them on so late at night.

Skipper cut his eyes toward Private, knowing the boy's thoughts were brighter than his own. Private didn't know the significance of this day- didn't know or couldn't remember. Maybe he didn't want to remember, and so purged the past events from his innocent little mind. The boy flirted with notions of magic and unicorns and other sentimental, romantic notions that meant nothing to the commander. He was a little dreamer, an artist who painted light on a black canvas. Skipper knew he couldn't be he same. His thoughts were a buzz of orders, strategies, of plots and plans to remain several steps ahead of their enemies in the deadly tango that was his life. While Private painted light, Skipper followed alongside to cast shadows on the subjects. In a painting of Sad Eyes' happiness and mirth, Skipper painted the crazed lust that hid behind his cuteness. To Ringtail's fun and careless gaze, Skipper wove in arrogance and obsession. Maurice was a dark soul altogether, but Skipper managed to cast him further into shadows.

But he couldn't darken Private. No one could darken Private, no matter how hard they tried.

Skipper knew this to be a lie.

"Beautiful night, isn't it sah?" Asked the boy, cutting in on his CO's dark musings.

No, his mind instantly spat. "Yes it is, Private," he replied instead. The lad didn't have to know.

Private turned to look at him, and Skipper knew he couldn't hide from the younger's probing gaze. Though he never let on, Private could see everything. He knew everything. Even Skipper's darkest secrets were tossed into the light like the subjects of one of Private's paintings. Private stared for a long while, his face expressionless.

"You don't have to hide it Skippah," the voice was strange coming out of Private, it's tone dripping with a maturity rarely shown. "I know what day it is."

Skipper sighed, shaking his head at the young soldier. Young... Private was twenty-one years old. He didn't act it. He was still young, still innocent and sweet. He never seemed to have grown up in the unit ; because he already had, before being taken in. Skipper turned his gaze to the sky again, as though the stars would have come out in the time he spent talking to Private. The English agent followed his captain's gaze, and through the smog and city lights, he managed to find one twinkling star.

"Do you remember it, Private?"

Skipper's voice was strained with the memory. He still stared up at the sky, but couldn't see the stars that he knew had made themselves visible to the boy. Private looked down at his toes, fighting through the past. After a certain point, not long before his sixteenth birthday, the memories ceased to exist. He shook his head slowly, then remembered Skipper wasn't paying attention and spoke his answer in a low voice.

Skipper's eyes were drawn to Private's at the quiet 'No.' The youth was begging for the story. The shadow looked at his light and frowned.

"Do you really want to know?"