Book 1. Clockwork.

They say when someone you care about is in pain, you'll feel their suffering. Kowalski didn't. Maybe he didn't care enough.

There was a dull, grey room in an old apartment building, located in New York City, Manhattan. The building had been there for years and so have the people who reside there. In Apartment 4C, a 29 year old man sat behind a desk at exactly 0950. This was Konnor Kowalski, a man of half-Polish and half-American origin. He worked with a team of detectives who held their quarters in the same room. The door slowly opened and the man looked up from his work.

"'Ello mister Kowalski! Lovely day ainit?"

A young man walked into the dull, grey room, hanging his grey coat and hat on the stand before shaking hands with the other man. This was Eric Tuxe of 26 years, British origin and American nationality. He himself had known the boy for only three years, but had come to treat him as a brother of sorts.

The team had been formed 4 years prior to Eric's joining, solving several crimes and apprehending even more criminals, but they couldn't really imagine their small team ever operating without the boy. Konnor chuckled softly at his colleague's optimism.

"Lovely day? I beg to differ. The storms are coming in soon, and will last for around two weeks. And I heard a boa constrictor escaped from a zoo in New Jersey. The day has been anything but lovely, Eric."

"Oh, Konnor, you really should look at the glass half-full."

"Then, pray tell, what could make this day lovely?" The younger man whispered softly with a smile the news he had come to break. Konnor stood up and gave his friend a hearty hug and a congratulations.

"Does anyone else know?" He asked. Eric shook his head. "No, so be quiet! Is he in his room?"

"Yes, he came in earlier to rest." After a quick 'thank you', the Brit ran into the room on the left. As the Polish man began to sit, he glanced at the clock. It was 0953. He continued his work for about 2 minutes when he heard a scream from Stephen's bedroom. He hurriedly opened the door to find Eric kneeling on the floor next to the bed. Before him lay a horrible sight.

A man of 31 years, and full American patriot was asleep. But he wasn't. Kowalski knew he wasn't. Time seemed to stop completely as he came closer to the two. His mind was half-asleep, thinking, he wished it wasn't real, he wished he was asleep. His name was Stephen Mackenzie, he remembered. They were best friends. They were the first in their small team. He was the captain wherein Kowalski was lieutenant. Rico, their corporal and Eric, their private.

The Polish man kneeled next to Stephen and stared at the young boy. He was crying, screaming. Kowalski couldn't hear. It was all muffled, like he was submerged in water, drowning. Eric was desperately shaking him the the shoulder, clutching his cold, cold hand. How cold was he? Was he still slightly warm? Or did he turn stone cold from death? A dead man's temperature, Kowalski knew, was enough to know when a man was dead or when he was not. He didn't need pulse, or blood, or the painful sound of a last, dying breath. He needed to know if he was cold. Fearing the worst, fearing the truth, he held his superior's hand. He was right; it was cold. He couldn't make an exact time, but he figured a few minutes in the air conditioned room would've been right. But why didn't he know before? He didn't suspect his death? He had seen him only hours earlier. Why didn't he know?

He came into the room, coughing. Kowalski simply greeted him as he walked past to his room. Did he even look up from his work? No, he was much too busy. Didn't he care enough to look? To hear? They say when someone you're close to is in pain, you would feel his suffering. Didn't he care enough to know he was in pain? Kowalski cared, he cared much for his commanding officer. But to see Eric in tears before him, trying to convince himself Stephen was only sleeping. Maybe he didn't care enough.

Next to Eric, to his surprise, was Rico Alvarez, of unknown origin and American nationality. Kowalski assumed he was Spanish, but he had no parents so he couldn't be sure. Rico claimed he's never been to Spain. Only Japan, where he trained in martial arts, and once to England visiting Eric's parents. He was also fond of Stephen. They had found him in Las Vegas, alone and homeless. They took him in, fed him, trained him. Soon Rico was considered a part of their 'flock'.

The scientist looked back at Skipper. Kowalski knew. He was cold. He let go as his gaze drifted from Eric, to Rico, to Stephen's limp, lifeless form. He looked so weak, vulnerable. But even in death he was still strong. Not once did he stare helplessly at Kowalski, not once did he ask for help. Because he trusted him; and what did he do? He didn't even look at his own commanding officer as he greeted him. Helpless, he glanced at the clock. An hour had passed. How long had he been dead? Kowalski checked on him 3 hours ago. How long since his heart stopped beating? Did Kowalski fail to see the rise and fall of his chest come to a halt just 3 hours ago?

30 more minutes had passed. Rico was trying to pull Eric away. He was dead, wasn't he? Yet the young boy would not let go. What was he saying? 'No, no!' He was screaming Skipper's name, begging him to wake up. He never will, Kowalski was sure. Marlene was there. When did she arrive? She was trying to calm Eric down, but she was also in tears. He was crying on her shoulder, shaking. Rico was on the phone, but the hospital staff could not understand him, he was talking too fast. Even if he slowed down it was still incomprehensable.

Kowalski's eyes drifted to Stephen's hand. His watch. He loved that watch, never took it off in public. It always worked, it never broke in all the years. The brown leather strap never blackened over time. For some reason he always wore it on his right hand, not his left. The Polish man looked at the face again when he noticed something odd.

The watch had completely stopped.

It stopped at 0955 hours. 9:55. He checked the moving clock. It was 1200 hours exactly. 2 hours had passed since he walked into the room. 5 minutes before...Eric arrived at that time. He was in the bedroom! Was the watch stopping somehow related to the exact time of Stephen's death? It was possible, though it might just be coincidental. But what would make Eric scream if he was there just before he died? He must've seen something. Was he there for Stephen's last, dying breath? To witness his final heartbeat? Kowalski knew he had to question the boy later, when he had gathered his wits.

3 hours later, at exactly 0300 hours.

"Eric, a word, if I may?" Tuxe glanced at Kowalski, nodded once, and followed him to the corner of the now empty room. His eyes, usually a bright, icy cold but warm and loving blue were tearstained and bloodshot. He looked tired, sleepy, but his eyes widened when Kowalski spoke. "What did Skipper say?"

Skipper was Stephen's rank in the marines, and his long forgotten nickname. Only Eric called him that in the recent years; as Stephen always called him Private.

"What do you mean?"

"At exactly 0955 hours, Stephen Mackenzie stopped breathing. You arrived at 0950. 3 minutes were spent with me in the main office. You were in Stephen's room 2 minutes before his watch stopped; What did he say?"

Eric was shocked, scared, but also angry. "You're questioning me because his watch stopper? Are you completely mental? You've gone bonkers!" Kowalski kept calm.

"Maybe it was a bit of a stretch, but you've gone defensive. I would've believed you had you said nothing, but all my doubts have gone." The young Brit was dumbfounded. He let it slip. He mentally slapped himself, just like Skipper would've.

Then the most peculiar thing happened. Kowalski expected him to be angry; Eric wanted to be upset, but instead, he broke into tears once more. He hugged Kowalski, crying on his shoulder like he did with Marlene just 3 hours, 30 minutes ago. Then he cracked, spilled, told him everything. Told him how he felt, how upset, surprised, angry he was that day. But Kowalski only needed to know one thing.

"What did he tell you?"

"He told me..." Eric sniffed. "'Nunca nade solo',"

"Never Swim Alone."

"He didn't laugh at the face of danger;

He lived for it."

AN. I'm back! My first PoM fic, and it contains character death. Who woulda thunk? I'm planning on killing nearly everyone in the series here. Their deaths might take place in different continuities though. Oh, and if you want to know what Private told Kowalski in the beginning, he was getting married. Cookies if you guess who his wife's gonna be!