Ok, after a lot of infuriating writers block, I'm back. This chapter's going to be mostly introducing the tangled situation the first Kowalski and Private are going to get themselves caught up in so if it seems like not much is happening, that's why. A lot of this will also be relevant to the second half of the story as well.

A note about continuity: This is the third in a series starting with Do You Really Want to Know with the second, Like Father Like Son, set approximately one year before this one. It will be very difficult to understand One Last Dance without reading the previous two so I would recommend you read them in order beforehand. Otherwise many of the characters will seem OOC and I'll get a lot of questions about what happened to the first Skipper.

October 5th, 1976

Skipper lay across the couch staring up at the ceiling. It might be 0300 hours but as Marlene, his fiancée, would testify it wasn't at all out of the ordinary. Originally he'd sat up in bed and tried to get some extra paper work done, but that always woke up Marlene and so he'd started coming out to the living room. But after he'd started doing that he'd found he wasn't able to do the paperwork and so would just stare up at the ceiling.

Kowalski, the first one, and Rico were both well and truly dead. He'd seen the bodies and his own Kowalski had matched the fingerprints to all existing copies on file – including some he'd rather mysteriously managed to procure from Dr Blowhole – and they all matched perfectly. Last time Kowalski had been 'dead' he'd always had a strange feeling that somehow he wasn't, despite the fact he still to this day didn't know how he'd lived through the Copacabana incident. This time he didn't feel that. He wasn't coming back.

Skipper shot bolt upright at the sound of the bell, a hundred different worst case scenarios racing through his head at light speed until he realized it was only the telephone. Well, you could never be too careful with types like Francis Blowhole and the Space Squids about. He'd learned that the hard way.

"Hello?" He answered groggily despite his insomnia, holding the avocado green phone to his ear before he realized it was upside down. He quickly fixed this, "Hello?" he said into the receiver again in case whoever wasn't calling hadn't heard him the first time.

"Skipper, get the dark matter down to HQ right now!" Kowalski's voice trembled over the phone.

"It's three in the morning…" Skipper began to protest but Kowalski was too wired to remember to let the higher ranking officer finish. He sounded like he'd had fifty cups of coffee then seen a ghost.

"Skipper, Tim Jones is gone!" He elaborated, "Nigel called it in an hour ago…!"

"Damn time zones." Skipper muttered, though there was something about the scientist's tone that told him he wasn't overreacting over a small problem and that the fact England was five hours ahead was the least of his worries.

"…The last time Nigel saw him he was seeing a visitor. He came back from pruning his roses and Jones was gone! Nigel's still got friends in MI5 and he checked the train stations and airports and none of them have any report of someone of his description. The visitor didn't seem to have brought a car and Jones' tank was only half full so he wouldn't have made it far."

"So he went out for a walk." Skipper theorised.

"Nigel's got all the same security stuff round that cottage of his as we have, he'd know if he'd just gone out for a… Dammit, Skipper! Nigel says there was something off about that visitor anyway, and especially the way Jones received him."

"What was off?"

"Will, he looked just like you! A little older, but that's a child's play disguise. And do you know what Jones called him? Nigel tells me he greeted the guy: "Hello Skipper, I've been waiting for you to turn up." You know, like they say it in movies."

"Kowalski, how many days have you been in the lab?" Skipper asked sceptically.

"Rockgut's blowing his top because someone took the jet this afternoon. He thinks…"

"So that's why you want me at the HQ, so I can prove I'm in the country," Skipper finished for him, "Well I'll prove it to him then. If I really am running about the world kidnapping old mentors I couldn't be back by now."

"You've got motive and opportunity, Skipper, that's the only reason for this. Don't take the accusation too harshly." Kowalski suggested, recognizing displeased Skipper's tone, "He did try to sell you…"

"I was mad at him because he didn't go through with it, not because he tried to trade me for an entire city!"

"Well that's not how Rockgut sees it…"

"Skipper out." Skipper slammed the phone down to see Marlene watching him from the doorway with a concerned expression. He sighed, glancing at her then at the phone. He could never stay angry at Marlene, well, not unless she did something that deserved it.

"What was that?" She asked as Skipper brushed past her to throw a suit on before heading out the door.

"Jones…"

"The nice guy at HQ?"

"Yes, the one who got you released. They think I've kidnapped him." Will's hand tightened into a fist, "I told him moving to England, away from the rest of us, was dangerous!"

"No you didn't." Marlene countered.

"Fine, I didn't," he admitted.

"What about Shauna?"
Will paused, the action of hurriedly doing up his shirt paused.

"I didn't ask about her."

He grabbed his blazer and a tie he'd do up in the car along with his shoelaces and picked the hand gun he'd recovered at the end of the whole 'back from the dead Penguins' thing from the dresser and slipped it into his pocket before walking briskly across to the door.

"Call me when you find out what's happened?" She asked. Skipper nodded, his hand on the door handle.

"Will do." He replied before he hurried out the door.

June 7th, 1962

Horatio Manfredi's hands gripped the chair like his life depended on it, only removing one hand to wipe the cold sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief.

"Your son may be a friend of my Private," Kowalski stated coldly, impassively taking in the man across the desk from him, "But I'm sure he would eventually get over it if his friend were to meet with an unfortunate accident."

"You… You can't," the intimidated man stuttered, "My cousin, you guys were practically brothers… he was on your team!" his pleas seemed to have no effect on the other man, "You can't get him anyway, he's at school with Will!"

"Do you really think I would send my Private out of shooting distance of myself without adequate protection? The school is practically swarming with my operatives."

"Look, I'm sorry about the stock, really I am. I didn't realise you were tryin' to buy the company, I wouldn't have made the price jump if I had!" Kowalski merely looked at the man, saying nothing as Manfredi shrunk further and further into his seat.

"I think you've got the idea, Horatio," he stated, motioning to the door behind the paralyzed man, "Just remember your place. Otherwise, it's the kid who pays the price." Horatio Manfredi stood up from the chair mopping his brow and left as he had come, leaving Kowalski alone in his office.

Kowalski reached across the desk to his phone, picked up the receiver and started to dial the number of Department headquarters.

"Hello?" He spoke, "Yes, I'd like to speak to Director Purvis McSlade… No, I will not wait." answered, careful to keep all emotion from his tone. He'd been cultivating his new appearance a number of years, but it was still difficult, "Tell him it's Kowalski. Yes, my first name's incorrectly on your most wanted database, so don't bother asking… I'll hold, but I'm busy so make it fast."

"Sir," Sergeant Jimmy Brian burst into the room waiving a piece of paper at his superior, "I've just got a report in, it's about…"

"Don't tell me," Purvis McSlade, police commissioner, and replacement as the head of the mysterious Department following Nigel's dismissal sighed, "What's he done now?"

"Well, we've got no facts…"

"No surprise there."

"But we're sure the whole thing was caused by the Penguins, specifically Kowalski in person… Are you alright Chief?"

McSlade sighed again looking wearily up from his desk, moving his hand from his face where on which his head had previously rested. Adjusting his glasses and looking ten years older – Jimmy could almost swear he'd grown a streak or two more of grey though that was impossible since it was a hairpiece – he glanced up at the boy through pained, envious eyes. That just looked completely off compared to his usual overly chirpy demeanour.

"I'd give anything to turn back the clock," McSlade reminisced, "You might be a little young to remember the way things were, but believe me, I'd give anything to have the Rockhoppers and the Squirrels back. They were normal criminals, not guys running around with their own forensics departments – heck, theirs are better equipped than ours – and military grade weapons. I'd wonder where they get all that stuff from if I didn't know we gave it to them."

Jimmy didn't quite know what to say, opting to stare at the floor in contemplative silence. McSlade did the same, until once again he looked up at the boy.

"Son," He paused, debating whether to ask the question and just how he should phrase it, "If you had to choose between your job and duty to a city, and your family your friends and all that, etc. etc., what would you do?" Jimmy looked slightly aghast. As veiled as the question was, he knew exactly what ultimatum his boss had been given and by whom.

"What are they making you do? Hand over…?"

"It's hypothetical. It would be a complete pardon."

"Right," Jimmy chewed at his lip, "Well, for me, it's always been family. This city, like you said, since the Penguins turned up, it's been messed up. You trust 'er and she stabs you in the back. Family, y'can't mess with that."

"Ten years ago you would have fit right in m'boy," McSlade chuckled, "Well I'll think on it," McSlade's eyes developed a far off quality and he repeated: "I'll think on it."

June 8th, 1962

"You what?!" Captain Timothy Jones shouted incredulously. McSlade wasn't sure he'd ever seen the man so angry, or considered that he even had the capacity to speak harshly to someone, "you - something – something -what?!" Well, he couldn't swear, at least.

"I gave him a full pardon." Spoke McSlade, his eyes in line with the floor, before repeating the official story behind the act, "He was unaware of the fact that his activities under the late 'Skipper' were not part of an official mission."

"Oh, he knew, we all did!" Jones countered with more sarcasm than he'd ever used in his life, "And you know very well he knew," Even the pained look in McSlade's eyes wasn't enough to quell Jones' rage, "We'd almost had him on the Roberts case. Almost proved he was behind her murder, or proved he destroyed evidence pointing to Skippah, at least!"

Jones knew what was going through the man's head. His family had been threatened, or he'd been given more money than he'd seen in his wildest dreams, it was all the same in all the cases. Still, the man had messed things up for him big time.

Jones' eyes narrowed, then relaxed, showing almost sympathy, "You know, I thought I had an ally in you. I thought you were going be the one official not working for K'walski, but then everyone has a price. I suppose it's only a matter of time until he finds something for me," then once again his expression darkened as stood in the doorway of the office, "But I'm still coming after you, McSlade. I'm going to have to bring you down with the rest of them."

And with that the younger man was gone. McSlade sighed. He didn't have to take this from the little Englishman. He was his superior, but then he did deserve whatever Jones dished out to him. He deserved a hell of a lot more. But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Even as he tried to rationalize his future actions, he kind of admired the guy and his sheer determination, set in stone by his abandonment by the only family he'd ever known.

Essentially, he was on the fence about what to do. A second call, however, answered the question for him.

"Certainly, sir," he answered the other man on the telephone, this time not Kowalski, but that Archie character. He grimaced and the young Sergeant beside him knew exactly what was being asked, "If he still refuses to play ball, I'll see that he's not a problem for you within the week."

Captain Timothy Jones sat slumped at his desk his head almost touching the work surface despite the support of his fist. He was well and truly boxed in. His subordinate's priorities always deferred to K'walski's orders and now the people above him were getting bought up one by one. Kowalski didn't have the carefree way of doing business Skipper always had where he'd cut his 'private' a break or two, even though he was convinced they were bitter enemies. Kowalski was a different matter. His only goal was to win and he chased after that as methodically and unflinchingly as a robot.

"Sir?" Shauna his secretary, and oddly enough, a qualified nurse which was useful for him when he'd come back from field work poked her head into the office. Well, at least she'd stuck with him. Seeing her when he'd come into the office each morning and when they'd sit and have lunch together in the outer office was one of the few things other than duty that made him get up each day, "Mr Dale's back."

"Send him in." Jones replied.

Simon Dale limped into the office, his injured ankle dragging behind him. He walked at a snail's pace because of the injury, though Jones figured he over played it a bit, and it took him some time to sit himself down in the chair opposite the desk. He sat there, hunched over his cane with a scowl Jones could only describe as curmudgeonly, though it was unusual to see such an expression on someone around five years older than himself.

Jones really felt sorry for the man. It had only been a few weeks since the shootout between Kowalski and some of the remaining Squirrels. It had happened downtown, thankfully at 0600 so the streets had been empty, save for one man and his family. Dale, his wife and his daughter had dived for cover, but it hadn't been enough. Dale, with his ankle shot to pieces, was the only survivor.

That wasn't the problem. Unfortunately, Jones offered his condolences to people like Dale twice a month. That was probably why Dale was kicking up the media storm. He'd sold his story to the press with a few dramatic alterations and they'd lapped it up like a starved cat would milk. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem but Jones was in the middle of a case. He needed Kowalski to think things were in the clear for him and hopefully fall into his trap.

"I told you my position on the telephone." Jones spoke to the man across from him who remained motionless, "I know you're grieving. I know you feel like nothing is happening but sometimes you can't just go full frontal assault."

"I know." Dale replied, keeping his cards close to his chest. He made Jones wait for it, holding it out before adding, "I'm willing to keep quiet."

"Thank you." Jones replied, "If you watch and wait, you will see Kowalski arrested and tried. I believe he is currently being held in the building pending a charge." Yes, that was routine and relatively safe. They tried to arrest him for something at least every couple of weeks.

"There's a price."

"Name it." Jones replied. Dale scoffed.

"Your little justice system," he stopped again to give Jones a belittling look, "You've been trying for years to get him, but nothing. Hell, it was your office that gave him that pardon only yesterday, your boss even!"

"I'm fighting that right now." Jones replied calmly, but Dale wasn't satisfied.

"You people are the ones who created this nightmare with all your crazy methods. Why don't you use those crazy methods and solve this city's problem permanently. That," Dale smirked, "Or the next thing I say to the press is that you and Kowalski are actually working together."

"We most certainly aren't."

"Then why doesn't anything happen?" Dale leaned forward across the desk, clutching his cane with both hands like he intended to strike him with it, "It's my way, big shot, or the highway!"

"Highway." Jones replied curtly, "Kowalski was partially responsible for the shootout, but I know for a fact that he would never endanger an innocent citizen if he had no reason to."

"See! In league with the enemy!" Dale almost shrieked, "You know I was there. I saw him look over the whole area and when my little Betsy tried to poke her head up to see if the violence was over I saw his men shoot."

"You can tell that in the witness box." Jones replied. Dale stood up and started to make his way towards the door. Courteously, Jones walked ahead of him and opened it for him. Dale didn't seem to like that very much.

"You're going to regret this." He threatened. Jones just nodded. He didn't really have any choice in the matter. Still, he was going to have to ask Kowalski about this one. Despite his certainty when dealing with Dale, he was never quite sure just what Kowalski was capable of doing anymore.

"You're going to regret this, Private." Kowalski spoke, seated at the plain metal table and chairs that made up the interrogation room. Jones took a key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs that an overzealous agent had shackled him to the chair with though Kowalski could have easily slipped them if he wanted to. He stood up, rubbing his wrists and making it quite clear by his attitude he was not happy.

"I seem to be hearing a lot of that today," Jones muttered in reply, though immediately realized how impolite of a comment that was, "Sorry." A flicker of an amused smile crossed Kowalski's face, but it returned to his version of a scowl pretty soon afterward.

"Taking my Private was low. Even by my standards."

"Didn't you warn Horatio Manfredi that you'd kill his son if he upset you again?" Jones countered.

"Hypothetically, if I ever said something like that I wouldn't actually intend to carry out the action," Kowalski replied, "I suppose you just had my Private 'brought in for questioning' to get my attention."

"I had no other way." Jones almost apologised, "He had rather a lot of fun playing with Rogah, though." Kowalski nodded, giving no indication of whether all was forgiven or not, "I'd like to talk to you about Dale..." Kowalski nodded again as if to say "continue…", "He says you knew his family was there when you opened fire." Jones accused. He could only hope for one of two possible 'hypothetical' answers. The ex-Private could see Kowalski was disgruntled by his adopted son being brought in which was no way to get cooperative answers from him, but there was no way Jones would venture onto Kowalski's turf.

"I have never knowingly done any child harm." Kowalski replied grimly, "I don't intend to either."

"That's all I wanted to know." Jones replied sceptically, "But have you ever considered that maybe you actions might quite obviously put innocents in harm's way?"

"You could say the same thing about driving a car," Kowalski countered without missing a beat, "Do you drive a car, Private?" Jones frowned in reply, though Kowalski had long since moved on, "Two words you can either hear from me or my lawyer: habeas corpus. Otherwise, I'd like to see what you try to charge me with this time. I'm thinking of keeping a scrap book of your weekly attempts."

Sergeant Brian stood with his finger on the detonator. McSlade had told him that Tim Jones would inspect the interrogation rooms around now and that he would stop at this particular one first. Brian had wired the room as instructed hours before and had stood by since he'd been told Jones had left his office. His orders were simple, and he knew that refusing to carry them out would be in direct violation of his superior's orders which came directly from the head of the Penguins himself.

If only he knew just who was also inside that room, he might have been able to give himself a good enough excuse not to hit the button.