Chapter One: Skipper and Hans
Experience over a period of years will escalate into an unchallenged wisdom of humanity. Infinitely, there is the discovery that life will go on, no matter what happens, no matter the twists and turns that it may take, no matter how convoluted it may become. In the end, only one thing was true: people will do anything for the sake of love.
Skipper was stressed beyond all compare as he looked over several sheets of paper. They crumpled slightly under his shaking hands as he set them down. Bills. His monetary situation was far from ideal; it wouldn't be long before he and his brothers would lose their office (which also had a dual function as their home) and be out on the streets. Even though they all collectively worked as private investigators for their self-made company - Penguin Eyes - they were basically flat out broke.
Ever since Skipper had left the CIA, he and his surrogate family had been struggling to keep their hands on meager funds. He was still adjusting to a normal life; the CIA had been his world in every sense of the meaning. Everything he did, he did with his job in mind. Life away from that was… Staggering.
Kowalski and Rico had never been nearly so invested in their work as he; while Kowalski was a well known scientist and useful in technology, Rico was his foil in the sense that he had an entirely erratic thought process that could not be tracked (Kowalski had tried). He had served as a demolition expert. Meanwhile, there was Private… Who really mainly functioned as the Penguin Eyes secretary. He was, in truth, nephew to Skipper's previous superior, Nigel. Nigel had made sure, when Skipper left, that he would take good care of Private.
The four of them considered each other adoptive brothers. After having left the agency, they scraped together some resources and managed to bring up Penguin Eyes. It wasn't particularly well known, but it was respected from those who did know of it. It didn't, however, earn them much money, of course, when Skipper refused almost every single job he was offered. Mostly it was just stressful to work on a commission basis; his world, now, was an unsettling hurricane of hues and shapes that he could not decipher. Every job he took on only added to his stress.
He sighed dramatically as he set the bills aside and raked a hand through his ebony hair. Life these days was difficult beyond all compare; he longed for the good old days. Skipper glanced over to the picture frame on his desk and picked it up, thumbing over the glass. He had kept it, even though it was outdated by eleven years.
Kowalski had left the CIA because he realized that his work would never be recognized, which was something that didn't sit well with him. Rico had left because he felt that there were far too many regulations; he liked leaving big messes behind, and the CIA didn't. Skipper hadn't left because of anything like that.
He was designated a partner whom he'd grown close to over a period of years. The two of them were practically inseparable; Hans and Skipper, the duo that could take on any mission. It wasn't a mission that separated them, though; it was waves upon waves of ocean as their ship plunged beneath the surface of endless water. Skipper made it. Hans didn't.
Ever since then, he'd never been able to work in a partnership again, struggled to pick up a gun without thinking about how Hans had learned to shoot with him, couldn't set foot on a boat without getting anxiety. He had dedicated years of his life to learning how to command a ship, and all his knowledge was swept away in exchange for dizziness and short breath in a matter of one night. He was only damaging to the CIA by that point in time.
Skipper set down the picture of Hans, reluctantly. He knew that reminiscing about their partnership, what was and what could have been, would only result in him experiencing nostalgia again. He didn't need that, not when he needed to focus on the bills and finding some way to pay them. Still, he couldn't resist allowing his mind to wander, even if only for a second or so...
"Skippar, your arm!"
Hans was fretting over him as Skipper waltzed into sick bay, a large gash marring his arm. Hans had been on medic duty that day, whereas Skipper had taken the time to go through the obstacle course several times. It hadn't gone without mistake, unfortunately.
"It's just a scratch." Skipper shrugged with a weak chuckle, collapsing onto one of the beds.
Hans was not amused. "Tsk, Skippar. You need to be more careful on these trainings, ja?" He shook his head, gathering several bandages and some disinfectant.
"Yeah, maybe." He muttered back. In truth, he'd more or less needed an excuse to come see Hans.
Skipper hissed as Hans dabbed his cut, but Hans only hummed to himself. Skipper fell silent as he listened to Hans humming the quiet melody to a song he didn't know. He was so distracted, he didn't even register right away when Hans had finished. Hans smiled at him delicately, his fingers brushing down past the bandaged cut and over his forearm, before shying away altogether. Skipper smiled back.
"Your arm is gonna be ze good as new," Hans relayed to him in his endearing broken English. "So long as you treat it vell."
Skipper shifted so that he was turned to face Hans, his smile softening into something tender. No one else ever saw him with that expression. "Well, it's easy to get distracted when you're not around."
Hans sent him a wry, humored glance. "Are you saying zat you need me, Skippar?"
Skipper's face flushed and he shrugged. It was often that he and Hans jokingly flirted, but as of late it had taken a slightly more serious turn. "Maybe I am."
Hans looked down at his hands, as though there was something he wanted to say. Taking note of this, Skipper silently prompted him to speak, blinking up at him and drawing his hands to his own. Hans looked at him, and his smile became altogether timid as he drew his nerve together.
"Skippar..."
"Skipper?"
His head shot up from his desk and he set down the picture of Hans, again. Clearing his throat, he gestured for Kowalski to enter, who had been peeking in through his door. Kowalski shut the door quietly behind him, his face slightly bleak as he'd known that Skipper had been recalling the past; an activity he berated as unhealthy. The fact that he didn't say anything about it told Skipper that Kowalski had reason to stay on his good side that morning. He offered a forced smile, which Skipper returned.
"Something you have to tell me, soldier?" Skipper jokingly questioned.
Kowalski coughed out a laugh. "Ah… Well, we just received an email concerning a new job, Skipper."
Skipper's brow fell as his face became mirthless and he nodded, silently urging Kowalski to continue. Kowalski frowned in response, allowing his facade of pleasantry to drop, knowing that he'd just ruined what could have been the beginning of a good mood.
"I know you've been apprehensive about taking jobs lately, but this one should be easy! All we have to do is investigate a recent shooting." Kowalski paused, and when Skipper didn't prod him for more information, he continued anyway. "The owner of the club Park Zoo, Clemson Gidro, was recently shot by a man who goes by the name of Parker."
Skipper waved his hand, looking down at his desk as though there was something more important for him to attend to. Kowalski knew the routine, but this time, he wasn't about to let the case go so easy.
He stepped forth, determined. "...They're offering to pay the four of us fifty thousand dollars*. Each."
Skipper's head snapped back up and his eyes widened. "Fifty thousand! Why?"
Kowalski shrugged almost sheepishly. "I don't know; it seems like an easy enough case. But, what I do know is that the one hiring us was… Romantically involved with Clemson, so that's probably why."
Skipper shut his gaping mouth, swallowing as he mulled over this. Fifty thousand, each? That would certainly be able to get them out of debt, and then some. His eyes wandered over to the stack of bills that had accumulated. A case like this, and they wouldn't have to worry about working again for awhile. He then found himself looking at the picture of Hans; if his partner were alive with him then, he certainly would have wanted Skipper to take the case.
He sighed and stood, his chair sliding backwards as he did so. He turned and looked out the window behind his desk, watching the cars buzz by as he contemplated this. Two hundred thousand dollars for a measly case? It sounded too good to be true… But why should he look a gift horse in the mouth?
"Is it really going to be as easy as you say it will be?" Skipper muttered. "There isn't any more to it than just… Investigating a shooting?"
Kowalski nodded, though Skipper couldn't see. "Most definitely, sir."
Skipper turned around, and his eyes caught the picture of Hans once more, before he looked directly at Kowalski. "...Right. So, this hirer of ours is Clemson Gidro's lover? Email her back and tell her that we'll take the case. We'll meet with her tomorrow at her preferred location."
Kowalski practically jumped in excitement, his face lighting up. "Great, great!" He cheered, before he paused and fidgeted awkwardly, as though there was something more he wanted to say.
"Anything else?" Skipper rose a brow.
"No sir." Kowalski denied, before he sniffed loudly and nodded. "Well! I'm going to tell Private to send - an uh, email, then."
He departed skittishly, and before his footsteps completely faded, Skipper called after him. "Tell me when lunch is ready!"
Alone once more, Skipper sat back down in his chair and reclined. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, puffing as he mulled over what he'd just tied himself down to. Two hundred thousand dollars. His mind was still turning over that; though he knew each fifty was given to them individually, his brothers knew the importance of their monetary situation and would no doubt dedicate the bulk of it to getting them back up on their feet. After that, there would still be plenty of spending money for each of them…
He smiled at the thought. Rico would finally be able to buy that new knife he was always looking at, Private would finally get some pants that fit him, and Kowalski could get that telescope he drooled over. Skipper himself was mostly interested in getting a nice bottle of scotch to drink when it was just him and his memories of Hans, alone in the office.
Blowing out some thick smoke, Skipper took the picture of Hans into his hand once more and looked at it. Hans was smiling, so youthful and full of life, so generous and kind. Skipper pushed away the negative thoughts and focused on the happiness they'd shared, closing his eyes as his thumb brushed over the frame.
"Skippar..."
"What is it, Hans?" Skipper's voice was accepting and calm. It wasn't often that Hans wanted to speak of something serious like this, so he was all ears. His thumb brushed over Hans' knuckles.
Hans sat down beside him on the bed, not making eye contact as he squeezed Skipper's hand. When his words came out, they were achingly soft and sincere. "...I vant to let you know zat you are ze most important person in my life."
Skipper felt his face warm again and for a moment, he resisted the urge to embrace Hans, before giving in and pulling him into a warm hug. Hans returned it immediately, inhaling deeply. Skipper squeezed his arms around Hans' frame and shut his eyes. If there was a heaven, this was it.
"You're the most important in mine, too." Skipper whispered back.
The two of them stayed like that, indulging in the warmth of the other, until they heard footsteps approaching. Nigel, their superior, could be heard speaking with another commanding officer. Reluctantly, the two of them pulled apart, knowing that their intimacy was somewhat frowned upon by the agency. Still, the two of them shared a secret smile, the unspoken feelings they had for each other seeping into the open, if only for a moment or so.
*$50,000 at the time would equate to about $100,000 today.
This is only my second noir-esque story (the first being Across a Sea), so please excuse the tedium of my writing. I assure you, it is full of twists. It's also heavily influenced by the popular Barry Manilow song, Copacabana.
This story is more or less a love letter to Batmanskipper, an author with captivating and thrilling stories who unintentionally acted as my mentor throughout the writing of not only this story but also The Throne of Flame.
I will update once every other week. Enjoy!