~1999~

When Nigel first meets Skipper in person, his beloved little nephew has already run off to Texas to 'Find himself'. The emerald eyed spy doesn't blame him, if anything he hopes this self discovery will aid his nephew in noticing his obvious issue.

Private was a brilliant sniper, one of the best having not once missed a shot but the Lad was too detached. It unnerved the spy, his innocent little nephew saw it as nothing more then a game- one at which the younger was rather brilliant at- the younger would do anything to win; including killing his best friend.

It sickens the part of Nigel that is still Harry to know what the innocent Lad has become, it sickens Nigel to know he had done this to the younger. He blames himself for not seeing the signs sooner, for refusing to see what had obviously been there until there was a body in the morgue. Sighing heavily, the spy straightens and banishes the thought from his mind. He has to time to drown himself in guilt.

Now wasn't the time to sulk.

He was here to clean up the mess his nephew had made when he left a trail of bodies laying within the sand while playing Kidd's game.

Skipper it turns out, wasn't a miniature Rockgut like the spy originally believed. Judging from his looks the Lad was likely in his early to mid twenties. Though the younger held his Father's same sense of paranoia, damning smirk and ebony black hair. Nigel could easily see signs of his other parentage within those awe stuck ocean blue eyes instead of the crimson ones the spy had long sense grown accustomed to, his slight smile and the utter Fanboyism Rockgut wouldn't be caught dead showing. That look alone sends a shiver of dread down the spy's spine as the Brit finds himself highly tempted to run the other way.

In all of his nephew's weekly letters, Private had always described his Commanding Officer as a strong, confident, and assuring leader. Not this young Lad staring at him with an awestruck wonder as the younger tries- and fails- to pour them both a glass of tea. At this rate, the table would have to be thrown away just to get the sticky residue off. Giving a mental sigh, the elder reached out and gentle gripped the younger's wrist.

"Perhaps I should do that Lad."

Any more missing the glass and Nigel wouldn't be surprised if he fount himself with a lap full of tea instead.

"I... We... You...Yes Sir. Thank you Sir."

If the Lad gets any redder, the spy would almost mistake him for a lobster.

Good Gods what exactly had the American done to his offspring to create such a sputtering mess? Mentally Nigel made a note to have a word or two with the American the moment he stumbled across the other again.


He had heard much about the mind: Nancy Cat Nigel from his Father and Kind, Gentle, Clumsy Uncle Nigel who could never manage to get a drop of tea into a glass without his nephew's aid from Private. So when he had heard of his meeting with Nigel Tux, Skipper had honestly expected something a little... Less.

Messy hair, wild unfocused eyes, and a constant chatter about Dollies and other flowers the man would have fount interesting. Honestly, the blue eyed man had been dreading the meeting all week- he really just couldn't handle idiots well- just look at how he handled Julien. Yet when he opened the door the extact opposite of his expatiations stood waiting for him.

Nigel Tux didn't seem to fit into either his Father's or his young Private's stories. The man at the door was well dressed with a scarf around his neck and hair slicked back. His emerald eyes where sharp and focused solely on him in a way that had set Skipper's skin aflame.

He's looking at me. He's looking at me.

God it felt like the older was seeing into his soul as those unnatural eyes bore into him. "Skipper? 'Ello. I'm Nigel. Private's Uncle. I was wondering if I cou-"

The Commanding Officer felt as though he was going to explode at the silky smooth voice that left the elder's tongue. He couldn't take it. His body acted on instinct slamming the door shut in the elder's face before he even realized he did it. Once his actions registered, all Skipper could find it within himself to do was stare at the metal door in silent horror.

A moment later a knock rang out once more.

From there the meeting just seemed to go wrong no matter what he did. He just couldn't seem to find his pivot with those emerald constantly observing his every action. It wasn't until after the man left that Skipper fount enough barings to turn to the only other person in the room.

"Rico, what the Hell just happened?"