Dedication: To my loving great-grandfather. I love you so very much. I can't wait to see you again.

With love,

Sabrina

(Because, for some reason, that's what you always called me.)

Private's feet dangled over the edge of the clock tower as he looked out at the beautiful landscape before him, complete with the luscious trees of Central Park outlined by the cityscape of New York City's skyline. The sun was slowly sinking to the west, casting gorgeous, streaking rays of purples, peaches, pinks and mahoganies across the dreamscape. It was almost like one of his many daydreams, where he could spend hours inside his own little paracosm – who needed reality? All it did was hurt, anyway.

Although, he had to admit, no invented sunset in his own fictional universe could compare with some of the ones reality had created. He was a genius in the arts of colors and textures, but none, not even his own, could beat the one he was witnessing at that moment. Yes, of all the places he's been in his life, Private could say, almost without a doubt, that Manhattan was probably the best; be it the sunsets or the friends, he wasn't sure, but he had to admit it was a pretty place when there wasn't bumper to bumper traffic.

Yet, it felt wrong. Why such a beautiful sunset? Didn't God look at the calender? Didn't the world know what day it was?

It was like a never ending spiral inside him. His conflicted insides, wanting to be happy but feeling it was wrong. He shouldn't be happy; not today. Yet, his nature was to be happy anyway – would he have wanted Private to be upset? Crying? Stifling his naturally jovial personality for the sake of... what, exactly?

Unbeknownst to him thus far, tears had begun to fall, and he wiped them away with slight scorn. He stared out at the fiery red, bright yellow and sparkling orange of Central Park's trees, with branches swaying in a sweet September zephyr – unending, like his inner spiral. How poetry-worthy the Park looked right then, that if he could write, he probably would have written such a poem. Maybe something like...

Sparling orange, I see you in the trees,

Bright and lovely yellow, do you see me?

Fiery red, I call your name,

I am permeated with sorrow – hide my shame!

For he is gone, and I am irradiated,

Into a universe of pain, incarnated.

You flew to the sky on the wings of an eagle;

I wish I could have seen you off, my dear-

"Private?"

The youth was startled out of his poetic vein by the speaker. He turned, coming face to face with... "Kowalski? What are you doing here?"

The scientist shuffled his feet, but replaced it with a cool facade and strode over to the cadet, sitting next to him. "Checking up on you," he replied when he'd settled. "You looked pretty upset when you left – considering nothing happened." Private didn't reply, instead opting to ignore the lieutenant and gaze at the near-sunken sun. Kowalski also said nothing for a long time, taking in the ball of fire along with the youth; but after awhile, he said, "It's the anniversary, isn't it?"

No reply.

"Private?"

Silence.

"Look, if you want to me to g-" That's when he heard it – the barely audible sniffle. He turned to look next to him in mild disbelief. "Are you crying?"

"Yes, it's the anniversary, Kowalski!" Private cried, wiping away tears. "He's gone... I still can't believe it..."

Kowalski would have been telling a terrible lie if he said he had never lost someone close to him – he would also be lying if he said it didn't sting anymore. It's hard to lose people you love; Kowalski had long ago accepted that, and that realization had dominoed into him being an emotionless cyborg for a few years – mostly the years they spent in Monte Carlo and Madagascar. But he knew Private was much softer than himself. To Kowalski, turning off his emotions for a day or a week or a month or even a year was almost nothing; but to Private, it was nearly impossible to do such a thing, unless emotions of anger and bitterness merely benumbed the caring part of his heart (which was most of it) – and even then, it didn't last long at all.

Kowalski was faintly aware of Private crying again, but decided, for the time being, to say nothing. He looked up, taking in the stars that had started twinkling overhead sometime during their conversation. The moon eclipsed the skyline, making Manhattan nothing like more than an inky stain on the crystalline perfection of the diamond-studded expanse of sky. When was the last time he had just... looked at the stars, without imagining the chemicals and formulas that made them up? Ugh. Must be the crisp autumn air messing with his brain.

"Kowalski?"

The lieutenant looked at the trainee out of the corner of his eye, face still upward, only turning his head slightly in the required direction so as to let Private know his attentions had been snagged.

"Did you really come up here to see if I was okay? Or did Skipper send you?"

The lieutenant didn't answer for a couple moments, but, finally, he spoke: "Of course I came out of will, Private. You're part of the team; teams stick together."

The younger bird wiped away yet another tear and wrapped his flippers around the taller penguin gratefully. "You know, it's been awhile since someone thought of me so completely. Not since..."

Kowalski frowned. "Since Uncle Nigel..."

"... Left." The cadet nodded. "You know, it's been two years to the day?"

"September thirtieth. Yes, I remember."

A pause. During that time, Private released the poor scientist, and the sun had disappeared completely, making the sky the same color as their feathers. "You know, I miss him. A lot."

"I know you do."

"Do we even know why he died?"

"I was never able to find out."

"I still can't believe he was a spy..."

"You and me both."

"Kowalski?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

The elder turned a questioning gaze to the younger, who smiled up at him in slight lionization. "Just... for caring. I know that kind of stuff can be hard for you."

Kowalski gave a small shrug. "Anything for a friend." He noticed Private's expression change, ever so slightly, becoming troubled once again. "He wouldn't want you upset, no more than I, Rico or Skipper do."

"I know. But it's hard."

The scientist smiled and draped a fin around Private's shoulders. "How about I teach you some constellations and the stories behind them? Did you know that most of the constellations have Greek myth stories tied to them?"

The young bird shook his head in mystification. "No, I didn't know that!"

"Lean back," Kowalski instructed, lowering himself onto the cool concrete of the clock tower, so he was lying on his back and staring at the stars above. After Private had done so as well, Kowalski pointed to the sky. "You see the Big Dipper? I'm sure you know its handle's tip is the North Star." A nod, so Kowalski continued: "Its real name is Ursa Major, or the Great Bear."

"Really? Why a bear?"

"I'm not really sure," he admitted. "But in Greek mythology, the god of the sky, Zeus, lusts after a young woman named Callisto, a nymph of Artemis..."

Sparling orange, I see you in the trees,

Bright and lovely yellow, do you see me?

Fiery red, I call your name,

I am permeated with sorrow – hide my shame!

For he is gone, and I am irradiated,

Into a universe of pain, incarnated.

You flew to the sky on the wings of an eagle;

I wish I could have seen you off, my dear Uncle Nigel.

But Kowalski is here to make me smile,

Like I haven't in quite awhile.

He teaches me things I never knew,

And when it comes to caring, there's only a few

Who could ever compare with his kindest,

Even if he doesn't think he's the nicest.

I miss you a lot as I'm sure you know,

But I'll see you again over the rainbow.

I love you.

Love, Private.