Disclaimer: For everything I did not create, to their respective owners.
Everything comes with a price.
That was a fact, and he learned it quite early on. Others his age still live in fluffy fantasyland when he found out that reality was quite different from the world their parents constructed for them. But then, he had always been more mature than he should be.
It was a curse, in some ways.
When he was young, this maturity had put him apart from other chicks, and they would often stare up at him, almost fearfully, as if he was some higher force. He didn't mind the attention; he liked others listening to him, but it always felt as if something was missing.
He didn't know what at that time.
Whenever he waddled past, the conversation usually stops, or lowers to a whisper, and eyes would follow him. Whenever he asks for something, it would be done right away, normally with a smart salute. Whenever he speaks to someone, they would pay full attention and nod.
It's still like this.
When he walks past Private, he would feel the young penguin's gaze and the automatic stiffening in his countenance. When he asks Kowalski for inventions, the scientist would drop everything and immediately start planning the creation. When he speaks to Rico, the psychopath would stare at him and incline his head.
From the start, he was the powerful one.
The adults all knew him, and he would often hear his name floating in their conversations. He often got the first pick of fish amongst the chicks and he was taught how to swim and fish as soon as his down feathers were gone, when other chicks were told to wait a few days. He was often asked to demonstrate to the others how things were done. But most of all, his father was often proud of him.
Proud of his reputation, proud of his maturity. Proud of how special he was. And for the first part of his life, he lived for that pride.
But he forgot there was a price tag.
Many times, he would stare longingly as his fellow fledglings chattered on aimlessly, laughing and playing games. He would hide behind blocks of ice, listening as their carefree laughter danced on the chilly winds. He would watch as they huddled together when the temperature dropped, in their own fluffy cluster. He would memorize their jokes, their opinions. Sometimes, he would even try to approach them, just as a friend, just as an equal. But then, just as he was about to step into sight, he would remember his father's pride, and he would draw himself up and march on without a second glance.
Because in all his early maturity, he was so unbelievably foolish.
His father lavished attention on him, and would often call him 'his smart little leader'. He would feed him extra fish and praise him for every accomplishment. Smart little leader. When he caught his first fish, when he told the other fledglings to let the smaller ones stay in the middle of the warm huddle, when he was obeyed… Smart little leader. The spotlight was all on him, and although his father was not always there, he treated him as if he was the only penguin he ever knew.
And he believed it all.
He remembered that night, waking up to find the spot where his father should be empty and cold. He remembered the confusion, the distant footsteps, the tracking. He remembered following the sound until it stopped, quite a long way from the colony. He remembered hiding behind a rock, and peeping out to see the dark stout outline of his father. And there had been someone else too. He never knew who. Taller and thinner. Hushed voices.
"You came."
"I said I would."
"Yes, you did. But you don't always do as you say."
There was a pause, filled by his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears. What was all this about? Why was his father meeting a stranger in the middle of the night?
"I'm here now, and that's all you should be concerned about."
Silence. Then…
"Here's the chick. His name is Captain."
Chick? Captain?
"Captain, is it now? Similar to Skipper, but better. He would be a fine boy. Smart little leader, eh?"
Smart little… leader? The blow came down upon him, hard. For a while, he just stared at the dark shapes, stunned as he watched a small bundle slide across the ice, from the stranger to his father. His father patted the small fledgling affectionally. Smart little leader. The new chick. The stranger. His father calling someone else 'smart little leader'. 'Similar to Skipper, but better.' Who was the chick? Then his father hugged the chick. That was when it all registered and he stumbled back and fell to the ground with a muffled thump.
Time froze.
"Did you hear something?"
"Yes, it was from…" There was a shifting and footsteps approached his hiding place, slow and wary, but he was too shocked to even move. Some tiny part in his brain screamed for him to run, to flee. There was still time. But he could only sit there, paralyzed. It had all been a lie. His father. He never loved him. His praises were just to keep him going. They were thrown around like confetti, meaningless and shallow. He would call a fledgling he never even knew those names. And that pride. It was just because he was an exceptional chick, and not because he was his exceptional chick.
It was all a lie.
There was a flick as a light turned on and blinded him. He could only stare lifelessly as the cold beam shone into his eyes, and a sharp inhale sounded from the source of the light.
"Skipper?"
It was all a lie.
His short life ran in front of his eyes. The first hazy memories of his father's warm feathers. His flippers around him in a protective circle. His encouraging words. The first time he called him 'a smart little leader'. The warmth within him as his father smiled at him. The happiness.
It was all a lie.
"What are you doing here, Skipper?"
Young Skipper only gazed at the glaring arctic torchlight, silent. He was numb to the world.
The voice hardened.
"I said, what are you doing here?"
Like rocks, each word was hurled at him, each syllable sharp and frosty. Icicles rained down, but he couldn't feel them.
It was all a lie.
"Skipper."
Something in him flared up at the mention of his name, and his mind flew to the flame, the only heat in his dead soul. By sudden impulse (he doesn't know if it's anger or hurt or hate), he leapt up and lunged at the light, feeling his flipper slapping metal. The torch spun around, the light whirling wildly, and clattered onto the ice. He immediately snatched it up and shone it in his father's face.
"Skipper?"
His father held his wings in front of his eyes. Somewhere far away, he heard a lonely high-pitched cry. It sounded eerily familiar (so familiar, yet he never heard it before).
He doesn't know why he's doing this. But there's nothing else he can do. The rest of him is still dead.
"Skipper… Look, I can explain why…"
"Freeze." His own voice sliced through the air, icy and deadly. It was not the voice of a penguin addressing another penguin. And it is definitely not the voice of a son addressing his father.
"This is no…"
"I said, freeze."
Skipper's father glared at him.
"Look here, Skipper. You cannot…"
Whack.
Skipper swung the torch with all his might and heard it slam against his father's head with a loud crack. His father crumpled to the ground. Skipper started backing away, holding the torch in front of him like a sword. He didn't even look at the stranger his father had been talking to mere seconds ago, or the chick they had been talking about. All he could see was his father, unconscious on the ice, and his words.
His fake, fake words.
There was a sound, a strangled wild snarl. He couldn't feel anything. He felt dead as he watched his father's chest fall with a faint breath.
Then he realized.
He nearly killed his own father.
Suddenly he couldn't breathe, and he turned tail and fled. Away from his knocked out father, away from the chick, away from where his life was flipped around (and he was falling, falling, falling).
The last thing he saw as he slid away was a streak of blood red in the sky, marking the end of night.
He is fighting.
For days, he had been wandering blindly, lost in the frozen whiteness. He hardly fished, he rarely ate. He seemed to travel in a daze, as if he hadn't quite recovered from the blow. Which he hadn't. He was still falling.
(And he wondered just when he'll crash down and feel the pain of it all.)
Days blended into nights, but all he saw was black and white (and always that ribbon of blood, blood red).
He doesn't know how long he had been out there. (Alone.)
He remembers waking up to voices. Penguins. For the first time for a long while (days, weeks, a month?), he was warm. He opened his eyes and saw two figures. One of them turned around as he shifted his head, eyes serious yet friendly.
And the offer he is given turns his life around. (Again.)
He is now a soldier.
He has made a few friends. Here, amongst the strict discipline and hard work, he found friendship. He found what he had been missing in his childhood.
It was ironic.
It felt so much better with friends, knowing there's someone out there who has your back, who is there for you when you need them. To know you are not alone. That someone is there for you when you fall, someone to catch you and to walk back up with you. That there is a promise of forever. He felt himself slipping into the lifestyle (so different from his old one that he wonders if it was another life altogether), and being content. The same routine every day. The casual greetings. The grins. The conversations at night. The happiness.
Again, he forgot the price.
He climbs higher and higher in rank, from a rookie to a private to a lieutenant. He is noticed by the captain, he is skilled in this. He feels comfortable with army life. He can take down almost everyone he is practicing with, and he finds himself training more and more often with the captain. His friends congratulate him on his rapid progress, but they remain close friends, no matter what rank. His commandeering personality is joked about playfully, but they also listen to him. And as an equal, not as an inferior. He never knew what he had missed out on, but now that he does, he can't help but cling onto it.
He has a goal. He has friends. He has a life of his own.
And then, it falls apart. (Again.)
One thing he has learnt out of all this, is to never get close to anyone.
Never.
Some calls it paranoia, but he is just cautious. He had enough of being rash, of making careless decisions. He had enough of his life being yanked at the base and tumbling down just when he built it again. He had enough of his own mistakes.
He is not going to get close to anyone.
He has his own team now. A lieutenant, a weapons specialist, and a young rookie. And he leads them all. He is proud of them, and sometimes, he starts to think of them as teammates, friends. But then, he remembers.
He is not going to get close to anyone.
It is difficult, like trying to balance on the edge of a cliff in mist, knowing it is so much easier to just let go and hope that he will land on something soft. But he remembers how futile that hope is.
It's a hatchling's hope.
There was only one way, and he knows he's alone. All alone. Struggling forever to cling on to his position, to avoid another crash-down. Struggling alone, knowing that his trust could easily be betrayed, knowing his companions could easily be killed. Knowing how fragile it is if you depend wholly on someone else. Knowing how easily the pillar can be broken down, by the creature itself or by fate. However much he wishes there's some other option, some other way, he has learned through bitter experience that he's dangling by one thread, his own thread. Cut that thread, and you're gone. Bye-bye.
So, in the end, it boils down to one thing. You have to fight forever. Forever and alone.
So he leads his team, the strong fearless immovable head. He has learnt to put on a mask of stoicism, has learnt to turn his heart to stone, has learnt to protect himself from more than just a few swords and punches.
Has learnt that emotion is powerful and destructive.
It is a weapon he has become familiar with, one he knows he has to dodge and block constantly, one that he knows could stab you in the back at any given moment. He is constantly on tiptoe, wary, knowing once he lets down his guard, it will overwhelm him and shove him down again. He is forever stamping out the fires.
He is forever distancing himself.
Even when Private smiles at him (which is more often than not), he doesn't react other than a curt nod. When Rico excitedly shows him a new explosive, he tells him to get back to work. When Kowalski gives him options, he either takes it without a word or snaps that it doesn't work. He is trying to maintain the team, but he won't allow any of them to get close. He offers them adrenaline and military training, but he tries his hardest to make them see him as a leader and nothing else. Not a friend, not a companion. Just a leader. It will make everything much easier. But he can't hold back one single subtle warning:
"Learn to defend yourself, because you can really only trust yourself."
For a while, it works. He doesn't like the cold loneliness, but it works. And that's all that matters. Kowalski withdrew first, although he had never been an extrovert. He talks little, and when he found his words are often rejected or scorned at, he spoke even less. Rico soon realized that his interest is met with contempt, and that it will be easier to keep it to himself. So he did. Private was the most persistent. He smiled, laughed, joked and seemed unfazed by Skipper's cold responses. It seemed as if he was unable to be anything but cheerful and friendly. He manages to turn everything into something optimistic. And Skipper can't help but be slightly affected by it.
But he is still stamping out the fires.
That is, until that night.
Night, again. Always night. The worst thing happen in darkness. The bombshell is always dropped in shadows. And his life is always blown up, leaving him to pick up the pieces when day comes.
It had been a thief in the zoo. Human thief (since when did humans ever do anything good?). Private saw it on recon duty, and immediately started screaming, effectively waking up the three sleeping penguins (no, not sleeping, dozing. Penguins never sleep). Skipper had leapt up and grabbed the infrared binoculars from the young penguin, slapping him in the process.
"If it is a thief, he's just going to run when he hears you."
Private only nodded, blue eyes wide and terrified. (And Skipper just can't hold back that one fleeting thought of concern at the fear in his eyes, but of course, he ignores it.) Skipper peered around, and saw the dark shape, eyes flickering around warily. It was approaching the zookeeper's office.
"It's a thief, alright. Move out!"
Skipper flashed out of the base and out of the habitat, landing behind a tall oak tree. He heard the swishes in the air as his team darted out behind him. It was the first real mission he had ever lead. The first time they might be in risk. The first time he can prove that he is an effective leader. He casted a swift glance at the habitat. Whoever came last remembered to shift the fishbowl back into place. His gaze switched back to the thief. Closer to the office.
"Private, go around and distract him. Don't show yourself. Rico, backup. Kowalski, you're coming with me for direct attack. Go!"
His hushed orders are carried out at once. Private and Rico disappeared. Kowalski stayed behind him. He slid to a tree nearer to their target, one that was overshadowing the zookeeper's office. His lieutenant followed him closely.
He didn't know that, in a different way from the past times, this night and this decision would turn his life around.
There was a rustle in the bushes opposite from the tree he was in. The thief's head instantly snapped up. There was no breeze. He was nervous.
The bushes rustled again, this time moving perceptibly. The thief stiffened.
"Attack!"
Skipper sprung off the branch and aimed a hard kick on the back of the thief's neck. He fell to the ground and Skipper backflipped off and landed safely a foot away. Unfortunately, the thief was still conscious. He tried to get up and run, but Skipper pinned his right shoulder down while Kowalski landed on his left. A hard knock on the head, and a kick at the spine. He couldn't help notice a broken-off branch nearby. He decided to grab it as soon as the thief was distracted by Kowalski.
However, the thief had more fighting skill than Skipper gave him credit for. He rolled over and Skipper instinctively jumped off. But Kowalski wasn't as well-trained. Skipper could only watch in mid-air as the scientist was crushed underneath the heavy weight of the human.
"No!"
A growl ripped out of his throat, savage and wild (and his subconscious mind recognizes it from a past time). A blazing fury fills his mind and burns every fibre in his body. He barely has time to realize he is angry before he leaps back onto the thief's body and slaps him so hard his head snaps back. And without thinking about it, he snatches up the broken branch and aims it at the thief's head.
Whack.
And suddenly, he sees his father, limp on the ground. He feels the torch heavy in his small flippers. He hears the wind howling in his ears. He sees the dark, dark sky, the streak of blood, blood red. He is standing on ice, he is backing away, and he is numb.
You nearly killed your own father.
Then, he sees the thief. He feels the rough branch. He hears the distant roar of traffic. He sees the starless sky, the heavy smog. He sees the tip of a black flipper sticking out from underneath the unconscious human.
And he springs back to life.
He rips the thief off Kowalski, dragging the deadweight across the pavement and dumping him on the concrete. Heart in his throat, he flashes to Kowalski's side. He doesn't remember ever being so frightened.
His lieutenant's eyes is squeezed shut, his right shoulder bent in an odd angle. Broken. Skipper places both flippers on his chest, feeling the heartbeat beating against his skin. He doesn't remember ever being so relieved either. He shakes Kowalski, trying to be gentle with all the emotions raging within him.
"Kowalski!"
The scientist's eyelids flickers, a subtle movement. Then they stretch open, and Kowalski's disorientated blue eyes stares up at Skipper. Thank God.
"Kowalski, you alright?"
Kowalski only blinks once, before his face morphs into confusion. His voice is hoarse as he murmurs in surprise:
"Skipper?"
That was when Skipper knew he, in a blaze of unleashed emotion, had fallen off the cliff. Without realizing it, he had stopped stamping out the fires.
This is not going to end well.
All the times he had fallen passed in front of his eyes. His blind trust in his father. The realization that lies can be so believable. His close friendship to his comrades. The knowledge that death can sneak up and attack without prior notice. And both times, the empty chill within him in the aftermath, the deadening loneliness. The haunting feeling of isolation.
And eventually, the hard determination to keep himself isolated.
"Is… is that you?" Kowalski's faint rasp brought Skipper back to the present. The penguin was still gazing at him, but the look in his eyes had changed. The confusion had melted into a sympathetic understanding, and as Skipper looked down at his lieutenant, he could see a deep empathy, and the unspoken words.
I know.
Skipper stiffened. He must… He can't… He can't fall down again. Get back up. Kowalski will think it's all in his head.
But for some reason, he felt reluctant to go back to his safe isolation. As he looks at his lieutenant, no, teammate, lying injured and defenseless, he suddenly doesn't want to stamp out the fires.
Let them burn.
"Yes, it's me. You alright, Kowalski?"
Kowalski winced slightly.
"Other than having been previously crushed under 165 pounds of flesh and bones, I am fine. In fact, I'm better than usual." He managed a small smile.
"How come?"
Kowalski seemed to forget the pain for a moment. He contemplated his leader, almost sadly.
"Skipper, I'm… we're not blind. We know you haven't been through the best of times. You aren't really that emotionless. It hurts sometimes when you act the way you do and there's many times when we wished you didn't feel like you have to act this way, but we understand. Your behaviour is typical of those suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder…" Kowalski trailed off as he realized his words weren't as appropriate as they can be, and that syllables were rushing out of him in a mad torrent. "Forget it." He paused to think, before he said simply:
"We know you care."
Skipper went perfectly still. How is that possible? He made sure that no one knew, made sure everything's buried deep inside of him. He even tried to forget it himself. Forget his past. How could Kowalski… how could his team find out so easily?
He wasn't aware that Kowalski had been regarding him silently all the time he was frozen in his racing thoughts.
"Skipper, it's natural. It's the way your brain reacts to trauma. But I think… I think you have to stop pushing us all out. We're here to help you."
The scientist's voice was calmer this time; reasoned. Skipper's eyes focused again and he saw that Kowalski's eyes were burning with the truth.
You have to stop pushing us all out.
He couldn't reply, his tongue couldn't move. He had so many things he wanted to say, he wanted to explain, but his mind was blank. Utterly blank.
He couldn't believe it.
"Kowalski!"
Private slid into sight, his anxious cry echoing in the quiet (not silent, never silent) night. Rico was close behind. They screeched to a halt next to Kowalski and Skipper.
"What happened?"
Skipper turned his gaze to the young penguin, but he couldn't speak. Those concerned pale blue eyes only made him feel guiltier at his own coldness. It was Kowalski who answered the rookie.
"Just a little… accident while fighting."
Private frowned. "What's wrong with your wing?"
"Dislocated, I think. There might be internal bleeding." If anything, it made Private more puzzled.
"What does that mean?"
"I'm sorry, boys." Skipper suddenly spoke up. Three pairs of blue eyes turned to him. All different shades, all different penguins.
"Wha…" Private began, his brow furrowed, but he caught sight of the look on Kowalski's face. Comprehension dawned on him.
"Oh."
Rico only looked confused. "Eh?"
"I'm not talking about Kowalski's wing. I'm talking about the way I treated you." Skipper stared at the gray patterns on the pavement. Never had he laid his heart out like this. Not for a long, long time.
There was a brief silence amongst the penguins.
"It's okay, Skippah. We all love you." Private. Of course. Always Private. Cheerful, forgiving, emotional Private. The first to give anything and everything.
"Like I said…" Kowalski seemed to struggle with clarifying his own feelings. He finally settled with: "It's understandable."
"Uh-huh!" Came the enthusiastic reply from Rico.
Skipper finally looked up at his teammates. They were smiling. Private's grin threatened to take over his face.
How can they forgive so easily?
"Really?" The wary part of him shrieked at him for acting so vulnerable, but it was more like an irritating mumble than a real voice.
"Yes."
"Affirmative."
"Uh-huh!"
However, old habits die hard; he had to check to make sure. But the only expression on his teammates' faces were total honesty and forgiveness.
He found it difficult to believe. Everything was rushing along so quickly.
Just then, to prove it, Private ran forward. He wrapped his flippers around Skipper, and pressed his cheek against his leader's feathers. His throat constricted.
His father hugging him, protecting him. His father hugging the chick.
No, this wasn't his father. It's Private; sweet, innocent, little Private. Private is trying to comfort him.
But Skipper can't react (a frequent recurrence that evening), and his flippers stayed stubbornly frozen at his sides. It feels strange. So strange.
Then Private pulls away, and smiled again up at Skipper.
So strange.
But after a moment of hesitation and shock, Skipper smiles back. This is Private; this is his team. He cannot let his past interfere with the present.
Then the natural practical side of him kicks in. He whips around to look at Kowalski, and instructions start flying again, slicing through the emotional atmosphere.
"Mission's not over yet, boys. Rico, guard the body. Make sure he stays unconscious, and then let the humans deal with him after they get up. Private, help me get Kowalski up. We need to get his injuries treated."
Rico nodded, grinning maniacally, and turns to the limp thief. Private moves forward to help Kowalski, but the scientist was struggling to get up on his own.
"I… can…" He tried to use his flipper to support himself, but ended up collapsing back onto the concrete.
"…not do it."
Skipper pushed his lieutenant up to a sitting position, before grabbing Kowalski's uninjured wing and placing it around his neck.
"We're here to help you." He echoed Kowalski's words.
Skipper glanced up at the night sky. There was a streak of red against the darkness.
But this time, it wasn't mocking him. It wasn't reminding him of what had happened. It meant a new day. A dawn.
A new beginning.
Everything comes with a price.
And he's willing to pay it.