Chapter Twenty Eight: Secrets and Sacrifices

Maurice was in the corner, heaving with deep sharp breaths as he watched Rico stand over Blowhole's defeated form. Dr. Blowhole was glaring up at him in humiliated anger at having been defeated by someone who was not only younger but who had also not worked for the CIA in years. Dr. Blowhole was a seasoned officer who'd experienced countless missions of the highest risks. And Rico - as far as he was concerned, Rico was just some guy.

Both of them were scuffed up from the struggle; Blowhole had a large cut on his forehead and his shirt had been ripped to reveal several large bruises. That, and Rico had torn his prosthetic legs clean off. Rico himself was in a similar shape, but the difference was that he had been underestimated by his enemy and was the one left standing.

"Y're gettin' old," Rico sneered. "'n sloppy."

"And you're a ticking time bomb." Blowhole snapped, before he groaned as Rico picked him up. "What are you going to do with me now?"

"'f it was up ta me, 'd havya go kaboom." Rico admonished darkly.

"But it isn't, is it? It's up to Nigel." Blowhole supplied with mild relief. The idea that Rico had been holding back the entire time was a bit concerning.

"No." Maurice denied, before he gave a surprisingly harsh and almost evil grin. "It's up to McSlade."

Blowhole was even more mortified at the concept of the CIA commander deciding his punishment and, essentially, fate. He already knew that he would probably be imprisoned for life in solitary confinement, if not executed for his crimes altogether. Somehow he found himself hoping for the latter, if Hans' agony was any indication of which was better… Hans. What would they do about Hans, when they found out-?

McSlade had known that he'd taken Hans captive eleven years ago, but he'd also thought that Blowhole had executed Hans and that was that. It was more ethical than him having kept Hans alive just to toy with him and use him as an outlet for his frequent spells of anger. Some of his crimes were one thing, but having tortured Hans for this long...

Rico forced him to call down his men, not that they would have really been much help had they seen him in such a compromising - and embarrassing - position of defeat. Rico carried him over his shoulder while whistling a tune and Maurice followed behind. They took him right back up to the surface, where four CIA agents, an apprehended Parker, Private, and Kowalski were waiting.

Parker didn't seem very surprised to see him, instead staring at him with rapt amusement, something that Francis resented. He'd known that Parker was never particularly fond of him, but he'd always thought that Parker would side with him over the enemy. Unlike Blowhole, Parker wasn't restrained, and was instead sitting comfortably while smoking a cigar.

Private himself had located Kowalski quickly after he'd left the computer room and helped him back up to the surface. According to Kowalski, it was Julien who'd knocked him out. But Private had a hard time believing that after all this, Julien would really try to hurt him. Aside from an aching headache, Kowalski's injury seemed superficial. Not that he didn't grumble and complain about it any less. He had never been knocked out by a blow before, and still none of them knew where Julien - or Skipper, for that matter - was.

The North Wind helped push Dr. Blowhole into the back of the van before helping to treat Rico's relatively small wounds, though he didn't seem to even notice as they dabbed away at his cuts, instead grinning wildly when he saw Shortfuse's rocket-launcher in the corner. Shortfuse made it a point to stand directly in front of it.

"Did you contact Nigel?" Kowalski asked Private.

"We already did that." Classified quickly commented, attempting to take credit.

Kowalski sent him a glare so intense that Classified quickly quieted down.

"Well, yes and no," Private murmured quietly after a moment, staring down at his lap. He'd been rather quiet and solemn ever since he'd left the computer room. "I… Well, it was more like he contacted me."

Kowalski's brow furrowed. "How did he know that you'd be here?"

Private's fists tightened, and then he sent Kowalski the most agonizingly betrayed glance he could. "He didn't."

"Pr'vate…?" Rico stepped forth to place a calloused yet comforting hand on his shoulder.

The youngest member of the Penguin Eyes sniffled softly, wiping his reddening nose as big innocent tears began to well up in his eyes. "I-I found out something quite terrible about my uncle Nigel."

"Ah, so this is the little nephew that Nigel's so protective of." Dr. Blowhole rose a brow in dour disposition. "He told you everything, didn't he?"

Private nodded sadly.

"Everything what, exactly?" Classified demanded. He was tired of all these mind games, of all these deep reveals. This was supposed to be a simple mission, and yet there they were, uprooting everything he'd believed in.

"Nigel had been funding Blowhole all along - these last eleven years - just to keep him quiet about what he'd found out... Nigel had known that Blowhole would eventually discover what Clover would try to tell him, it was only a matter of time." Private supplied with tangible sorrow.

"Yes," Blowhole confirmed. "Nigel's time is running thin in the CIA, he's getting older and he's run up his contract… It won't be long before he won't have access to money anymore and will no longer be of use to me."

"That's why you did all this now?" Kowalski muttered. "What exactly did you find out that was so incriminating?"

"Something enough to make agent Clover and agent Hans disappear, enough to ruin lives..." Corporal pitched in, sounding just as hurt as Private. Nigel was, after all, his commanding officer.

Private and Blowhole shared a look, Private's vulnerable and Blowhole's cold and apathetic. Private buried his face into his hands and shuddered, on the verge of weeping at the discovery of his uncle's corrupt behavior and cover-up. In the end, it was Blowhole who told them the truth, smirking in a bitter, defeated manner.

"Buck Rockgut was the Red Squirrel."

Back in the tunnel, Skipper was staring at Hans in shock as Hans finished explaining his deep, convoluted plot for revenge. Everything had worked entirely in his favor, and there Skipper was, having played directly into his hands. That, and he was on the other side of Hans' gun with no way of defending himself. He was trapped. He had imagined, over the years, somehow encountering Hans again over the years by chance. A hug, some kisses, something more. Never this. Never anger.

This was by no means the same Hans he'd fallen in love with, not by a long shot - this was a different man altogether, and suddenly, Skipper felt as if he didn't recognize the person aiming at him at all. This was a stranger, and in return, he too was a stranger to this version of Hans. Hans no longer knew him, and he no longer knew Hans.

With the gun trained on his head, Skipper couldn't think of a single way out of this; Hans was always the better shot than he was. He'd be at a disadvantage, even if he did have a gun, which he didn't. Just attacking head on would be hard, since Hans would shoot immediately, and beyond that, Skipper wasn't sure if he had it in him to attack Hans. Despite all that had happened, he did still love him.

Hans glanced down at the watch on his wrist that he'd no doubt gotten from the North Wind when they'd attempted to recuperate him. "By now, Dr. Blowhole should be up on ze surface with ze North Vind. I bet zat they've arrested him, and maybe Parker too. Do you know vat zat means, Skippsy?"

The once endearing nickname was spat with such unbridled hatred that Skipper couldn't help but flinch. He didn't respond verbally, only taking a step back. Hans countered by cocking the gun, and Skipper froze once more.

"It means zat I only have one thing left to take care of." Hans explained, narrowing his eyes. "And zat is you."

Skipper raised both of his hands to try and show that he wasn't going to attack, before he took a step forward. Hans' brows only furrowed, and his fingers tightened around the trigger. Hans was too far gone, but there was nothing Skipper could do but try and appeal to the man he once knew. Perhaps, if he dove deep enough, there was a flicker of the old Hans still lingering within. The Hans he fell in love with.

Feeling his heart burn, Skipper spoke. "Hans, please, I-"

His long-lost partner and first love snarled and pistol whipped him, using such force that it actually threw Skipper to the side slightly. His face burned, blood running down over his lips and chin like a faucet. He lifted his fingers to feel the blood that was gushing from his nose from the blow, staring down at the red that was now coating his hands. Hans glared at him in complete and utter detestation as he shook the gun to remove the blood dripping from the barrel.

"You never gave a damn about me!" Hans shouted as he aimed his gun again. "You made me think zat you did, and zen you never- you never gave a damn! I vaited for you for years! You're a fraud, Skippar, just like Nigel, just like Blowhole, just like everyone in zis damned business!"

"Hans," Skipper felt more liquid running down his face, but these were tears and not blood. He hadn't actually cried, not in a long time, but this… All of this, it was too much for him.

"Don't." Hans warned.

Skipper shook his head, reaching up to Hans with a trembling hand. "You've got it all wrong. I've always loved you, you mean the world to me… I never got over-"

"SHUT UP!" Hans screamed, and he landed a kick to Skipper's abdomen with such force that it knocked him onto his back and winded him. "Shut up, shut up!"

Skipper coughed slightly and sat back up, inching away slightly as he stared at Hans. No, this wasn't Hans at all. This was a demon, a ghost of a man who'd taken control of the person he'd once loved. There was no hope of ever salvaging their old love. In that way, perhaps Dr. Blowhole had won. Hans had disappeared.

"If you ever loved me," Hans' voice was quiet and eerie. "You would have saved me. But you didn't - you vere too late."

Skipper trembled and he sat up to hold his hand out again, only to have Hans point the gun just a foot or so away from his forehead. He stared up in pained disturbance. The closest thing Hans felt for pity towards him was actually indifference, and that burned him all the more. Hans hated Skipper, had for years. He'd formulated a dastardly plot to not only escape isolation, but also to be the downfall of Skipper and Blowhole - the two people whom he'd seen as the cause for his unrelenting torment.

And Skipper couldn't help but understand that Hans was, perhaps, right in his own way. Skipper could have done more, could have done more than beg Nigel to search the ocean. Could have done more than quit, could have done more than drown himself in alcohol night after night. He'd failed Hans. And Hans knew it. Suddenly, he felt as if he deserved the bullet that Hans was so willing to lodge within his skull.

"You know, Skippar," Hans suddenly mused. "You vere right all along, to think zat I died all those years ago."

Skipper squeezed his eyes shut. A gunshot rang throughout the tunnels.