~1985~
The years have flown by all too quickly, it seemed only yesterday he was aiding Agent Nigel gather intelligence within the British Wizarding World. It seems only yesterday that Devil Spawn of a nephew of his finally decided he was old enough to move out.
Hard to believe it had already been five years.
In the terms of a squirrel, today is his twenty-six birthday though in human terms he's already sixty-six. God he's getting old though a part of him is grateful to still be around to get old seeing as most squirrel didn't even live to see eighteen. He supposes he's lucky or as Nigel would 'oh so kindly' put it stubborn. Most people on days like this would probably be celebrating, going out with friends or even staying home to party but not Red. Work is never done; a birthday is just another day.
Throwing his covers off, the rouge squirrel climbed out of bed; his bushy tail flickering back and forth behind him. Grabbing his watch from his nightstand, the russain finds himself stumbling blindly towards the kitchen in desperate need for coffee. Its too early for anything else.
Someone out there hates him of that the rouge is certain. His watch has a minor malfunction -he really shouldn't have let his nephew borrow it. Why he ever did was beyond him- so it was impossible to take human form at the moment. The rouge doesn't mind though, being human would have left traces behind, something this mission couldn't allow- Still it would have been nice to have another option available.
Taking a slow breath, the rouge glanced through the riffle's scope.
Assassinations wasn't his specialty- he was a scientist first and foremost- but he was fully capable of completing even if it meant spending a good six hours laying in the Edinburgh snow. The target is male, ranging between the ages thirty to forty with brown hair and earthy eyes. Really its nothing personal, The rouge honestly didn't' care if the other lived or died but...
Well he prefers a clear mission record and someone else desired that throne enough to hire him.
Carefully, the rouge followed the target, observing his every move as he greeted everyone at the party with a smile and his wife by his side. It would be so easy to end it now- just a single twitch of his finger and the obviously good natured man would be no more. The Royal Guard and those blasted Penguins acting as security would never have a chance to save the man yet he hesitated as a small child- probably no more then six- rushed up to the man. He still held a clear line of shot for the target, it would be all too easy to make the shot and splatter the man's blood upon his wife and offspring.
The rouge might have done so to, had the kit been just a little bit older. Yet instead he choose to wait patiently for the two to part ways.
He should have just taken the damn shot when he had the chance but as it was by time the chance came by again, just before the rouge could pull the trigger, the barrel of a handgun pressed to the back of his head.
"Fancy seeing you here, Love. "
Someone really hated him up there.
"I'm going to have to ask you to hand that over."
"And If I refuse?"
He doesn't bother looking away from the target, a small twitch is all it would take. Something both he and Nigel are all too aware of.
"Then I'll make you."
For a brief moment, Gold meets emerald right before the butt of the riffle slams into the spy's gut.
Nigel knew something was bound to go wrong the moment he accepted the mission.
When it came to royalty things where never as simple as they appeared; especially when one was about to inherit a crown and throne everyone wanted your head wither to take your place, out of sheer greed or even religion. So really it shouldn't have surprised him to locate the mad Russian half hidden within the snow with a sniper's riffle- he wouldn't put it past them to hire someone like the squirrel to see the job done instead of doing it theirselves.
Its annoying really.
Five years. Five bloody damn years of the rouge disappearing off the face of the Earth and this is what he catches the younger doing. All he needed now was the bloody American to pop up out of whatever hole he was in and it could be considered a reunion.
He's unable to help but take a step back as the butt of the riffle slams into his gut, knocking all the air out of his lungs only moments before his legs are swept out from beneath him. For a moment, the elder just laid within the snow before emerald eyes narrowed at the sky above. Reflexively the spy pushes himself out of the way right before the butt of the riffle slams into the snow where his face once was.
It would appear the younger desired to do things the hard way. For a moment, a sparkle of pleased excitement enters emerald eyes before its masked by a steel gaze and a serious glint replaces it.
Brilliant.
Despite the age wearing down of the both of them, five years hasn't slowed the younger down in the least. If anything it would appear the rouge had gotten faster, his reflexes sharper then those knives he loved so dearly. Yet he's not the only one who ameliorated their expertise over the years.
There's a sharp crack as a flipper connects to the younger's nose, causing the smaller to stumble back before the back of a clawed hand pressed to the rouge's nose. Annoyance flashed through that sharp golden eye upon spotting the blood now staining his crimson fur before trailing onto the elder. A moment later all the spy was aware of was fists and claws.
The first things he's aware of is the headache from hell, it feels as through soemone has split his skull open with a nine inch nail and a sledgehammer while not exactly caring if they hit the nail every single time. The second thing he's aware of is the warmth, its cozy here unlike in the snow. Those two facts alone tell him everything he needs to know.
He lost.
The rouge twists his wrists slightly but he can't bring them any further apart then what they already are.
"I know you're awake. "
Give the flightless bird a prize.
A golden eye pries itself open, taking a moment to blink the black dots from his vision. The first thing he sees is the spy, sitting on the edge of the room's sole bed, observing him as one would a prized specimen. The room is rather bland, stripped of anything and everything the rouge could possible use as a weapon- probably just for that reason- leaving only a bed, a dresser and a ceiling light. The walls are the same pearl color as the carpeted floors, there's a single window in his line of sight but its impossible to see anything outside of it due to the blizzard raging on just beyond the glass.
Its obvious neither of them are going anywhere for a while.
Frowning, the rouge can't ponder exactly how he lost and why the hell he couldn't remember.
For the life of him, Nigel cannot bring himself to look away. The emerald eyed penguin is certain if he so much as blinks, the younger will just vanish into thin air.
The fact of the matter is, Red should- by all rights- be dead.
A grunt left the emerald eyed spy as fount himself finally grinding to a halt within the snow. The younger's temper was a well known factor when concerning the rouge, everyone knew not to grind it least they find theirselves staying within the ICU for some time yet Nigel really couldn't help himself. Gritting his teeth, the spy gripped the rouge's discarded gun by the barrel and swung the moment he felt a hand on his shoulder.
There was a sharp crack as the rouge's own riffle connected to the side of the rouge's head causing a lone eye to become momentary unfocused, using the presented opportunity a foot connected solidly with the younger's stomach, knocking the younger backwards. Only after it happened did the elder recall where exactly they had been fighting.
"Don't!"
But it was too late, the force of the spy's blow had the rouge stumbling backwards only to find the ground no longer beneath his feet.
Emerald eyes could only watch, unable to get to his feet in time, as the younger plummeted to the ground below.
It had been a sickening sight to see the after results, body twisted and broken like some unnatural marionette that had lost its strings. He thought the younger dead; and seeing how his neck was twisted, not counting the amount of blood on the ground and bones sticking out of the furred skin; Red should have been. There was no way in heavens name anyone should have been able to survive that.
Yet even as the thought of what he had done hit him, there had been a sickening crack; one that had drawn his attention immediately. As he watched the squirrel's body seemed to repair itself, bones mending, the gash the fall had left on the back of his head closing.
Nigel wasn't quite sure how to explain it; one moment there had been a dying if not already dead squirrel on his flippers and the next there was a perfectly whole- minus the artificial eye- squirrel laying in his own blood as hands the earth beneath him, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs.
Honestly, the spy had no idea how to explain what had happened and it was bluntly obvious by the gleam in that golden eye the rouge didn't remember let alone know so...
He labeled it magic- after all, when logic failed magic was usually involved seeing as his beloved nephew could heal minor wounds. Who's to say he couldn't heal fatal ones once he was older?- and decided to wash his flippers of the incident. Though he was still going to keep a close eye on the younger until he was locked into a twenty-four hour monitoring cell back at Headquarters.
Something was bothering the spy.
The rouge considered himself a lot of things, but blind nor stupid was one of them. He could see the confusion, concern and need for reassurance hidden within those emerald jewels the elder called eyes. Usually the Russian would have happily torn into the obvious weakness and had it been anyone else he would have used it to tear them into pieces but...
He didn't like that look on Nigel, it didn't fit him. The Brit was supposed to be confident, cocky, self-assured about anything and everything he did. He wasn't supposed to have such obvious weakness. A part of him wants to question the spy but he knows Nigel will never grant him an honest answer, he never does.
Its a bit hypocritical of him to demand something which he himself doesn't grant so he doesn't. So he falls back onto something which should both reassure the elder and grant him a chance of escape should he play his cards right. It doesn't take much just a few gentle words in a softer then normal tone, a slight smile and a single kiss before the rouge finds himself sharing the bed with an demonstrative spy who has obviously been suffering from too many nightmares. After all, Red was quite certain he hasn't died- he tries not to think of water, darkness, and burning lungs- before.
He stays within the spy's flippers for the night but come morning Nigel wakes to an empty bed without so much as a trace the rouge was ever there.
~1986~
Though Nigel doesn't voice it often, Private is his Pride and Joy.
The Lad is young, a tender age of six in human terms, yet so much mature then others his age. Still even with his nephew's maturity, Nigel cannot deny he had sheltered the Lad, filling his head with every bit of innocence he could shove in there making the younger much more gullible and naïve then most. In terms of a parent, the Spy knows he's failed-he's should be filling the hatchlings head with paranoia, fear and danger- but he's not a parent; he's an Uncle.
He's happy with the way his Lad is, full of an innocence and happiness no other hatchling held or has ever held to be honest. Its also why he finds himself so hesitant to permit the Lad to join the Academy; he's innocent too innocent. The life of a Penguin is a dangerous one. One that- even with the Lad's early training- could all too easily tear Private into diminutive shreds both mentally and physically.
Yet the spy finds he has no reason, no grounds, to regret the youngers application. By Penguin terms, Private is old enough to make his own choices, his own path. His nephew could leave anytime he desired and be well within his rights to do so. Either way, his Uncle Nigel persona wasn't supposed to know the truth about the Academy; let alone penguin agents.
So he smiled and wished the Lad the best of luck; reminding Private that he could always come home if it doesn't work out.
Once the door is shut and his nephew's cab well out of sight, Nigel drops his smile and picks up his phone.
"I need a favor."
Uncle Nigel couldn't do anything about his nephew's choice but Agent Nigel could influence it enough to keep the Lad alive for some time.
The Academy was hell, it torn penguins down and ripped them in shreds.
Private knew he had gotten off lucky, the only reason he wasn't a sniveling pile of mush on the floor was because some higher-up on the ladder- probably near the peak of the top- had decided to sponsor him and pay for all his classes and tutor. Though he didn't know who his sponsor was- and loathed some of the necessary classes he had attend to keep the sponsor happy- Private was thankful that with the sponsor he couldn't drown in debt and had an actually chance to continue his education.
"Private Tux?"
The voice instantly had his attention. A emperor penguin much older then he stood in the doorway.
"Yes Sir?"
"My name is Charles Raynott. I've been hired as your personal tutor for as long as you attend this Academy."
