Sorry for the long wait but I decided to completely rewrite my plan for the ending. Updates should be a bit more regular in future, certainly at least once a week.

September 24th 1975

Timothy Jones wished he could say he'd gotten the job because he was the best. He certainly didn't rise through the ranks, or gain anything near the amount of experience he should have before being assigned the role. In fact, he'd only been a year and a bit older than Skipper. No, he'd gotten the job because his Uncle Nigel had called up a few final favours before he was offered 'retirement'. Still, he'd grown up fast since he was thrown off the team, and picked up the job with equal speed.

"I know what you're thinking." Kowalski stated.

"You do, do you?" Jones replied, noting the unannounced presence of one of his 'best and brightest', though he would have preferred if he had not interrupted his musings, "Well if you do, there's no need to tell the rest of the world. What are you here for?"

"If Skipper keeps acting the way he is, he'll finish himself off before anyone else can get to him. He's obsessing, not touching his meals, cutting himself off from the team…"

"Who does that sound like?" Jones countered.

"I know when enough is enough, and I do it in the interests of furthering science," Kowalski countered, "Look, I know he's young and acting like an idiot. Under normal circumstances I'd humour him, which is exactly what I've been doing, except that his arm's not doing to well. As a doctor I cannot, in good conscience, allow him to neglect such a wound. I also can't have him weak and depressed while the team's morale is less than spectacular."

"Hm," Jones was now staring off into space. After a few awkward seconds in which Kowalski considered waving a hand in front of his face he was so lost in thought, Jones' attention returned to him, "Tell me truthfully, K'walski, what manor of man am to take someone so young and destructive and send him into battle for my own ends?"

"A smart one, sir," Kowalski replied without missing a beat, "those are the qualities that normally make him quite effective."

"Maybe I asked the wrong person," the ex-Private muttered, "Anyway, are you asking me to put you in charge again?"

"Certainly not!" Kowalski for the first time in the conversation, paused, "I actually don't know what to do. That's why I'm here, sir…" There was a knock at the door. Kowalski glanced nervously at Jones, as the knock almost undoubtedly belonged to Skipper, "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on Rico…"

"Middle panel behind the desk." Jones replied calmly, and waited for Kowalski to disappear into the secret passage before shouting: "Come in!"

"Um…" Private nervously entered the room. He'd never been here before, and somehow the place recalled the memory of the first time he was called to the head master's office, "Good morning, sir?"

"Good morning," Jones replied in a genial tone, as he sensed his second replacement's unease, "Do come in." he prompted after the boy remained hovering in the doorway.

"Thank you, sir."

"Are you concerned about the mission?" Jones asked.

"Yes sir. It didn't go very well."

"Take consolation in the fact Rico was able to control himself and you didn't bring back a body, though the way my negotiations are going…"

"Did K'walski tell you why Skippah's so upset?" Jones was frankly surprised Private was aware of his previous appointment, but that was not the most important matter at the current time.

"No, I merely assumed… Skipper's an unusual person. Sometimes he finds it difficult to cope with certain things; especially if they're problems he can't punch or kick."

"I suppose it could be that… Did Skippah tell you how other K'walski escaped?"

"He turned in his report but I think I could get more facts from a radio drama."

"Skippah was taken hostage, essentially. I think it was what was said between them, after we lost contact…"

"That could have pushed him over," Jones tossed a small document from the centre of his desk, "as I already said; the official report seems to be missing a lot. Would you mind filling me in?"

"If Skippah didn't see fit to tell you…"

"Skipper doesn't see fit to tell me a lot of things, but if I didn't somehow find out, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Alright, well, we weren't in the fight at all. Skipper rushed in ahead of us, then we got trapped behind the crowd, then we couldn't shoot because they were too close, then one of the sets was dropped on my hand and… Can you just wait for my report?" Jones noticed the pleading look on the boy's face. He reached behind him for a sheet of paper and a pen and handed it to the Penguin.

"Why don't you write what happened now?" The superior offered, smiling at the grateful look in the boy's eye as he took the pen and paper. Jones remembered being called to Uncle Nigel's office when he was relatively new to his team. Rico had disobeyed one of Skipper's orders and gotten himself sent to hospital with half a dozen broken bones. Jones' personal preference had been for drawing, which was exactly what Nigel let him do.

A bout a half hour and many more cross outs and rewrites later he was handed the paper. He skimmed through most of the first part which, aside from the team's lack of involvement, Skipper had described accurately, but when he reached the part where Skipper's report had abruptly ended, he studied every word.

…When we caught up to them we were in the prop room behind the stage. It was pretty much a dead end; we were stood in front of the only door. It was rather hard to see, the lighting wasn't very good and all the masks and costumes cast strange shadows about the place, but they were about ten or twenty feet away from us. I think the first thing I noticed was Skipper's arm, the blood was just starting to soak through his shirt, and the way his arm was being held there, it must have been painful. Ironically, Kowalski says the effective compression saved his life.

Kowalski, our one, didn't really seem to know what to do. I suppose the whole think was a second in commands nightmare. Rico, as you've probably guessed, didn't wait for orders before levelling his sights on the two, but fortunately didn't shoot.

"Kowalski, give him some options," the target stated. At least that snapped our Kowalski out of his kind of semi trance and he started writing down options on his clipboard.

"Stand down Rico," He ordered, "there isn't a trick shot in the world that wouldn't hit Skipper."

"Wha' 'o I do?" Rico asked without taking his eyes off the target. Skipper stumbled, not enough to give Rico a clear shot though, before he was forced to his feet.

"He's on a time line," I whispered, announcing the conclusion I'd drawn from the movements, "Skippah's going to collapse in a matter of minutes."

"I know… I know…!" The second in command hissed. He'd let his clipboard drop to his side, at a loss for options. I guess Skipper saw this too, and what he said was why we're all so worried about him.

"Shoot!" He shouted. I don't think I've ever heard him sound that desperate. It was the absurdity of it that prevented Rico from following the order as a knee jerk reaction, or so I assume, "I'm dead either way."

I simply didn't believe it. I don't care what Skipper said, family is family, and I told him as much in as clear terms as I could manage. Skipper just gave me that look though; the one he always gives me when I say something he deems naive. The part that still scares me was he seemed kind of calm then, like he'd already accepted, well, it wasn't inevitable because he's here.

"They won't do it Private," the target correctly analysed. I don't know if he was taunting, reminiscing, or dare I hope sympathetic to our position when he continued, but Skipper didn't take too kindly to it, "If it makes you feel any better I wouldn't have."

"Take the shot!" Skipper shouted, and he'd lost that strange calm; a kind of eye of the hurricane, "If I go down, I won't have a forth failed mission." Our Kowalski seemed to agree with him, but nobody did anything. Rico's actions spoke for all of us as he lowered his weapon.

Then something in the situation changed, I suppose it was when the other Kowalski checked the time. After that, things happened rather quickly; I can only guess he knew your men were almost there. Now that Skipper's told us it was his only shot it was a rather risky move, but he hit one of the ropes with this and disappeared into a trap door. That was when your reinforcements arrived, and you were there when we turned the place upside down but we didn't find so much as a footprint.

"Can I go now?" Private asked.

"No," Jones answered, resisting the pleading look. He picked up the phone, and Private all but winced as one of many numbers he knew off by heart was requested, "PJ, I want you… No this isn't a wrong number, Rico, it's just a nickname… Yes I don't care what his orders are, I want Skipper in my office before lunch… He says he's not well enough to be moved? A likely story, I swear he hasn't aged a day past eight… Put him on and we'll see about that…!"

Even Private had to giggle as Skipper was given a thorough telling off over the phone. Jones smiled at him, and he could sense the conversation was almost as much for his sake as to get Skipper into the office, "…Yes PJ, even if you really are on some snow topped mountain in Gurffuljicklestan, I still expect you in my office in an hour and a half," Jones hung up the phone with a click and turned to Private, "I think I'll put on a pot of tea while we wait, and Shauna made me take in a tin of biscuits today..."

"Sir?" Private fiddled nervously with his tie, "would you tell me a story?"

"Lunicorns or King Arthur?"

"I was thinking of a story from when you were Private." Jones paused, debating what to say.

"I think we ought to let the matter rest for now."

"I really would like to hear one sir." Jones studied the boy intently for a few seconds

"How about this one: it was back in early '44 and we were shot down somewhere in the middle of Germany, we had no idea where…" Private opened his mouth to speak, but Jones had already anticipated the request, "Alright, here's one I heard from Lola. Summer '55 and Skipper was supposed to pull off an armoured car robbery. The problem was they'd held the meeting at the 'Cabana, Lola had taken it on herself and Tony to make sure it didn't happen…"

September 26th 1975

Skipper tried his best to stay awake as he puzzled the chessboard, noting down every move on a notepad beside him. It helped him think to have the chessboard there, he had no idea why. He moved the king forward one space, then moved it back. No, that had already been anticipated.

"How's the arm?" Skipper looked up from his chessboard to see his second in command poking his head into the room.

"Stop asking about the arm, Kowalski." He replied, returning to the game.

"I'm technically your doctor, I have to ask." Kowalski answered unshaken. It was the lack of sleep.

"Fine," Skipper snapped, pushing the board and notepad aside. The scientist was obviously going to remain lurking in the doorway commenting on mundane details until he annoyed him into speaking, "You did a terrible job and it hurts."

"Then maybe a strategy meeting will take your mind off things," Skipper dragged himself from the table, and into the main room of the concrete base. As much as skipper was expecting to be the one to lose his temper first, he wasn't.

"…I don't care if Jones likes us to all line up nicely on the battlefield and get shot at like gentlemen, but I am not going to be at a disadvantage because I won't play dirty!" The lieutenant snapped, pressing his pencil against his clipboard so hard the tip broke. This was immediately sharpened, though most likely only to be broken again, "There has to be something we can use as leverage: Family, close friends, money…"

"This is exactly why I didn't want any of you getting involved," Skipper snapped, "It's my fault, all of this."

"You can't just arbitrarily blame stuff on yourself, Skipper! You blame yourself for Blowhole, that's my fault. You blame yourself for what's his name, the snail shell guy, he's Private's fault, you blame yourself for that Clemson agent losing it, and that was…"

"Let me spell it out in facts for you," Skipper snapped, "There is nothing you can use against him. He doesn't care about money, and he can always steal more, and everybody we could possibly use fits into two categories: dead or would be preferred dead, and the reason it's my fault is because I fit into the 'been betrayed by' subcategory of would be preferred dead."

"That actually makes a lot of sense." Kowalski concurred after a few seconds thought.

"Well I'm glad we're talking, even if it's not particularly positive." Jones announced.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're too soft for your job," Skipper commented, "Anyway, we definitely need a new approach, so if anybody has any ideas even if their completely crazy, I'm willing to listen," there was no reply, "Alright, meeting adjourned."

Skipper despite his best efforts winced as he was forced to his feet by a painfully strong grip on his bleeding arm, the weapon with the single shot all the while present. This wasn't going well. "Why are you going through with this insane revenge?" Skipper questioned. He'd had that on his mind for some time, as had just about everybody involved. As his Kowalski often complained, it made no logical sense, "Even the math says it's a bad idea."

The response that followed might have been the only time Skipper heard him get close to anything like a laugh, though it more of a scoff. It was harsh with a sharp, bitter edge, "What have you left me to lose, Private?"