Chapter Fourteen: Nigel

By the time that they'd returned to the Penguin Eyes office, it was late in the evening. Late enough that just about everyone was ready to collapse. Save for Rico, of course, who was still wired on wormwood, but eventually even his raging wild antics faded into normalcy (what was normal for him, anyway). Still, none of them could quite sleep after Skipper disappeared off to Private's bedroom. Normally, this might be strange, but the four brothers were well aware that the only phone was located in the youngest's bedroom. This was merely a safety precaution - if for some reason they needed to contact someone in an emergency, Private was the one they wanted safest.

The five of them stood around in the main room at first, tensely. None of them were completely sure who Skipper was calling, but they knew it pertained to the case. Rico was flipping through his stamp collection while Private admired it over his shoulder. Kowalski and Maurice were in the kitchen, talking quietly as water boiled for some tea. Mostly, Kowalski was beating around the bush for Doris' number, and Maurice was not picking up on his hints.

Julien, on the other hand - who had redressed into much more comfortable, decent clothing - was admiring the possessions in Skipper's office. His door had been open and Julien kept himself in view, not wanting to impose on anything. He knew that, while the Penguin Eyes knew of his situation, they probably didn't entirely trust him yet. A soft smile graced his visage as he looked over the unfolding bed, the bookshelf, the plastic fish on the wall, the tidy desk. He traced his fingers over all of it, wanting to feel yet not interrupt. Like a ghost passing through.

At the same time, Skipper was in Private's bedroom, sitting on his plush mattress and staring at the red phone. After steadying himself with a breath, he decided that he needed to do this. He punched a very specific string of numbers into the dial, and didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"State your name and code." The eloquent British accent, slightly aged from the last time Skipper had heard it, rang out on the other end.

Skipper sighed softly. Part of him was relieved in receiving an answer, as it'd been years since he'd last spoken to this man. The rest of him was still incredibly nervous about delving back into aspects of his past. Granted, his past superior was also Private's uncle, but it was unmemorable. Other than the accent, there would have been no way for one to tell that Private and this man were related. Two completely opposite ends of the spectrum. He didn't keep his previous boss waiting much longer.

"...Nigel. It's Skipper." His voice was dry, somber.

There was a pause. Though Skipper knew lapses of silence couldn't inherently have moods, he could tell that this was an angry pause. "...This is an emergency line for active agents only."

Skipper couldn't help but grin, leaning on Private's nightstand. "You know I wouldn't call you just to talk about doilies, Nigel. I need a favor. A big one."

Nigel sighed with purpose. There was a bit of tinkering, which indicated to Skipper that Nigel was making sure no one was listening in. It wasn't exactly protocol to speak to estranged agents. "I should have changed my number… Though it's good to hear from you again, old chap. Didn't suppose I would anytime soon. I say, how's my dear little nephew been holding up?"

"Not bad. Still the same as when you last talked to him. Plays with his horse toys when he thinks we're not looking..." Skipper smiled, his voice cracking slightly. Speaking with Nigel brought up memories, memories he didn't necessarily want to relive.

"...Goodnight, Skippar."

"Hmhm, that sounds just like him." Nigel cleared his throat, sounding as if he too was experiencing nostalgia as well. "...Thank you for reaching me. I needed something to keep me, I suppose, grounded. Things have been so hectic lately, especially with everything going on with the Palestine Liberation Front and the Palestine Liberation Organization."

"When are things not hectic, in your line of work?" Skipper felt his eyes watering, despite the thin smile he had plastered to his face.

"Sweet dreams, Hans."

"What was that favor you were needing?" Nigel apparently was no longer interested in reminiscing, or small talk.

"I took a case to investigate the death of this club owner. Clemson Gidro. After looking into it, I found some serious double-dealing. Turns out the guy faked his death. He had another guy hired to 'shoot' him, and then was going to force his boyfriend to go to jail for it. And get this - Blowhole's been helping him out with it." Skipper explained the situation humorlessly.

"Blowhole!" Nigel snapped, livid. "That man has been a thorn in my side for too long… First Rockgut, then there was his whole escapade in Shanghei, then interfering with Red, and of course Copen- other missions... Now this! I have half a mind to think he does this purposefully because he wants to chase me to the ends of the earth, then push me off."

Skipper blinked, having not expected Nigel to get that furious over it. He was positive he wasn't even entirely sure what Nigel was talking about, but then, he'd never been fully comprehensive of his and Blowhole's relationship. The idea that it involved legendary MIA hero Buck Rockgut, Nigel's previous partner, was a bit intimidating. Skipper tried not to think too much about it, knowing that if he did, he'd only get just as angry as Nigel was right then.

Slowly, he licked his lips and came up with a response. "Uh… Yeah. Well, since he's currently acting as police chief, I can't out him to himself. Can you lend me a hand?"

"Oh, I won't just give you a hand." Nigel assured him, determined. "I'm sending in the ice cold wind on this one. Don't worry, Skipper. Your problems are solved."

Skipper smiled, releasing a silent sigh of relief. "Do you need my coordinates?"

A scoff. "No no, it'd be easier to just track your address through this line. I can assure you that a team of specialized agents will be there to help you by tomorrow morning, say, nine hundred hours."

"I knew keeping your number was a good thing." Skipper tugged on the cord.

Nigel laughed, distractedly, still very much so focused on punishing Blowhole. "Let's try not to make calling a habit, all right? As much as I enjoy catching up, work is work."

"Thank you Nigel. I'll see you around." Skipper replied quietly.

"My pleasure, mate. Stay low, keep your powder dry." He replied. "Nigel out."

And with that, the call was over. Skipper sunk down on the bed and ran his hands over his face, feeling tired beneath his own skin. This week had been a whole level of change, ripping him open fresh for the world. He took an extra moment to collect himself. In part, he was doing this for his own sake of justice. He knew that what Clemson had done was wrong, and that he would only continue to do more wrong things if he was allowed back onto the streets. The same applied for Blowhole. At the same time, it was also the fact that he saw who Julien was.

Perhaps he didn't truly know Julien, not yet, but he felt as though every time Julien looked at him, Julien was looking straight through the barbed wire and metal fences Skipper had set up. Julien was looking directly inside of him, every glance a hand to take hold of his soul and grasp his innermost feelings. There was something particular about Julien, something strange that ascended beyond his aesthetic appeal. Something Skipper couldn't quite place.

Julien's smile faltered altogether when he came across Skipper's desk, seeing what lay atop. Empty bottles of alcohol, bills stacked on top of each other, and a framed photo. Julien's hand trembled when he picked it up, carefully, as if it would turn to ash beneath his fingers. His lips parted slightly, eyes almost blinking but not quite.

"Oh, that's Skipper's picture of Hans." Private's voice cut into the silence of the office.

Julien was so alarmed that he jumped, looking up wide eyed at the investigator as if he'd been caught doing something terrible. His fingers tightened around the frame just before immediately loosening, and he stared intensely at Private, now stiff and unmoving. A deer in the headlights.

Private smiled sheepishly beneath his gaze. "Oh, terribly sorry. I didn't mean to give you a fright."

"It's all right." Julien's voice was quiet, almost silent, as he looked back down to the aged photograph.

Private walked forth, moving behind Julien so that he too could look at the picture. "Yeah, Skipper still keeps that… I'm not sure why, but I do know that the two of them were good friends."

"Friends?" Julien questioned, still retaining his discreet yet startled tone.

"Oh yes!" Private smiled distantly at the thought. "They were partners together, back when Skipper used to work for -... At his old job, I mean. I only got to meet Hans once or twice, but from what I could tell, he was very nice."

Julien blinked at that, and if Private looked close enough, he almost saw tears forming in Julien's eyes. He convinced himself that it was his imagination, or that perhaps Julien was a particularly sensitive individual. His eyes did not leave the photo.

"It's a shame, he disappeared over ten years ago…" Private sighed, though without true sadness, as if he was talking about a fictional character or some sort of remote historical figure. "Skipper's never been the same after that."

"People don't just disappear." Julien pushed out the words, his wrist shaking subtly.

Private shrugged. "Sometimes they do."

Julien continued to stare at Hans' smiling face unrelentingly. Maurice, Rico and Kowalski had wandered in by that point, holding cups of decaf tea. Kowalski rose a brow as he saw Julien staring at the photo while Maurice looked for a clear place on the desk to set the cups. Rico was still cradling his stamp collection, and he elbowed Private, who sent him a look of confusion.

"Oh, Skipper's picture of Hans." Kowalski muttered. "I still want to throw away that old thing."

Maurice looked up in surprise and Private outright gasped, holding a hand to his lips. "Kowalski, don't speak like that!"

"You know it's unhealthy for him to stare at it every…" Kowalski was about to go off on his tangent before he realized he was still in the room with Julien, whom he'd been trying to set Skipper up with. He paused, before coughing. "Would- would anyone like some tea?"

Maurice ventured over and plucked the frame from Julien's hands, who looked at his surrogate father as if he hadn't noticed he'd even entered the room. Maurice set it back down on the desk and straightened it, and Julien's face faded into composed blankness. Private gratefully took a teacup from Kowalski's hands, but otherwise, the room had fallen into silence.

Suddenly, Private's bedroom door opened. Out walked Skipper, who seemed slightly taken back by the fact that everyone had chosen to gather in his office. He didn't mention it, however, instead only entering with a triumphant grin.

"Well boys, I talked to Nigel." He informed them.

"Nigel!" Private exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, I hope he's been well!"

"He has." Skipper ruffled Private's hair. With a smug smile, he added, "...He's also going to send in someone that can help us. Someone further in the chain of command than Blowhole could ever hope for."

"So, Clemson will be stopped?" Julien maneuvered around Maurice and Private, eyes trained enthusiastically on Skipper.

"You can count on it." Skipper assured him, his smile lighting up when Julien approached.

"Oh, yes! This is being perfect! Thank you so much, Skipper!" Julien cried, clapping his hands.

Before Skipper could get out a word, Julien pulled him into a tight embrace. With his arms curled around the shorter, stockier man and their torsos pressed together, a giggle rumbled through his throat. Skipper opened his mouth but found that his ability to speak had expired. Blinking rapidly, he managed to glance over to Kowalski, who was smirking proudly. Skipper slowly wrapped his arms around Julien in return and inhaled, ever so slightly, taking in the aromatic fragrance from Julien's hair. As he did this, he also managed to indiscreetly flip Kowalski off.