Keeping a Secret 11.04.23

"So, this really ends here, does it?" Skipper said, still in combat position.

Hans chuckled softly. "Well, when does an open-face sandwich end, Skipper?" he asked mysteriously, mirroring him. They slowly circled each other.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Skipper asked, switching leading sides.

"It means you'll never get rid of me, Skipper," Hans taunted. "We are bound together for life after what's happened here today."

Orange flickered against the woods surrounding them as fires burned past the tree line. Danes worked tirelessly to regain order at the Ministry of Open-Faced Sandwiches. Leaves crunched underneath their feet as they carefully moved around one another, the cold night air piercing their cheeks.

"You may not find that to be in your favor," Skipper shot back, not taking his eyes off of the puffin.

Hans grinned deeper. "I beg to differ," he cooed.

Skipper grimaced and reached out, jabbing for his former friend's jaw. Hans dodged the attack and kicked under Skipper's feet, but Skipper jumped and flipped backward. They exchanged a few more blows until Skipper finally kicked Hans in the chest, splaying him on his back. He climbed on top of him and pinned him by the collarbone.

"You listen to me you backstabbing, purple-beaked freak!" Skipper hissed. "If I ever see you again, I will make sure you regret it."

"Aw, Skipper," Hans taunted, "I'll miss you too, chumsy."

Skipper pushed off of Hans with a shove, standing up straight. "I'm not your chumsy and I wish I never was," he said before turning on his heel and walking deeper into the forest.

"Fight it as you may, Skipper," Hans called after, "but we are the same, you and I!"

Skipper turned sharply back on his heel and pointed an angry flipper at him. "We are not the same! I don't betray my brothers!"

Hans was on his feet now and folded his flippers over his chest. "Well, you're the wanted one now, not me. Who is anyone going to believe?"

Skipper glared at him, balling his fists. "There's one main difference between you and me. I have people who always have my back. You don't. If I were you, that'd be a secret I'd carry to my grave."

Skipper turned again and started moving, ignoring Hans as he called after him.

"Your words hurt more than your fists, Skipper! It isn't over!"

Back at base, Skipper checked in with his first-in-command. He left a lot out of his report. He had, at the very least, successfully retrieved the information he was meant to, and he tried to focus on that. When asked about his partner and informant that he had once served with, he simply stated that they'd parted ways.

"You seem out of it," his friend and brother in arms, Kowalski, observed as he left his captain. They headed toward mess hall together.

"Just tired," Skipper responded, not meeting his eye. "Jet lag or something."

"If you say so," Kowalski said, unconvinced. "Why didn't you check in for hours after extraction?"

Skipper stopped and turned to him. "I just lost my comm. I'm fine. Stop probing. Remember, I outrank you," he snapped before he continued walking, not waiting for a response.

"Fine, fine," Kowalski said, holding his flippers up in surrender. "Keep your secrets."

[Words: 547]