I do not own Penguins of Madagascar or any of its elements or characters. They all belong to DreamWorks.

A whiff of caffeine...

Hints of cream and ginger...

A few twirls of the spoon to help it mix...

And to top off the ensemble, some froth for flavor...

All of this contained perfectly within his favorite teal mug...

Classified took a sip; he instantly sneered at the bitterness. Not enough sugar.

Last night, the North Wind returned to HQ from their latest mission with the penguins (the teams fell into the habit of joining forces after the Dave episode two weeks ago), exhausted yet triumphant.

It had also left Classified uncertain, which would've made no sense to anyone observing the mission from first glance.

From start to finish, the assignment proved utterly ridiculous: stop some wacko pigeon trying to bring every park statue in the world to life in a bid for world domination, numerous "trained" members of her species as back up. Their special technique: well, let's just say the NW and penguins were all too glad to hit the showers after that experience.

No, it was the fact that this pigeon—as per her defeat rant as the authorities took her away— defected from the O.A.W. (Organization for Animal Welfare, the body to which the North Wind deferred) years ago to "escape the thanklessness and mediocrity" of both her teammates and the rescued.

Her words had left the wolf with doubts, something no agent should ever fancy; they caused hesitation, fear and (most importantly) mistakes.

And Classified loathed mistakes. They led to failure, shame, and, well...he'd rather not go any further.

Still, it's not that far of a jump, Agent.

The wolf sighed to himself, the pensiveness in his eyes crumbling into exhaustion that went beyond his age.

Though he'd departed from adolescence long ago, Classified barely qualified as middle-aged—plenty of experience under his belt yet still a way to go in life. And if recent events indicated anything, fifteen years of being North Wind leader may not amount to as much as Classified wished to believe.

You can't pretend you can't empathize with that villain's words. Count the times you've dealt with animals who never offered you gratitude for saving them, let alone a 'thank you.'

Faint tremors began in the paw holding the mug, causing the hot coffee inside to slosh warningly; Classified sat down at the table behind him to avoid causing any spillage to his nice clean floors.

Self-consciously, he stared into the reflection staring back from the russet surface, taking note of the bags starting to form under his eyes.

A wistful chuckle escaped. 'If I'm lucky, I'll have more white hair than gray by the end of this week.'

That would be the proverbial icing on the "qualm cake".

"Classified...?"

A startled glance up revealed Private in the kitchen doorway, the young penguin's periwinkle eyes twinkling with concern the wolf tried to dismiss (despite knowing the futility of that).

"What brings you here?" the lupine asked in wonder. To see the youngest penguin without his team nearby felt strange; it made Private seem more...vulnerable than usual.

"Eva said you're usually up at this hour, but she had no idea where you were, so I volunteered to go looking for you."

"Really now...?" the agent replied with a dry halfhearted grin, "I'm flattered."

The wolf barely paid Private attention as the penguin waddled up to the table and climbed into the seat next to him. A moment of silence passed between the two animals, Private twiddling his flippers nervously whereas Classified merely kept staring into his cup blankly.

Eventually, the lupine broke the uncomfortable quietude with a clear of his throat. "It's rather early, you know, Private. You ought to still be in bed."

"True, but as Skipper would probably say, I have the right."

'Actually I'm quite certain his answer would consist of an insult and obscene penguin gesture,' the wolf mused.

"Besides," the penguin continued in a meeker tone than before as he avoided eye contact, "I had that nightmare again."

Classified crinkled his glacier-blue eyes at Private in concern. He knew what Private was referring to: the Medusa Serum...or more precisely, what that horrid substance did to three particular penguins. With a sympathetic countenance, Classified patted the boy's head, earning himself a thankful smile in return.

Though not exactly "bosom buddies", the two animals shared a mutual understanding and respect they managed to mend after Dave's defeat.

In fact, Classified came to develop a rather deep fondness for Private as the missions went by, finally understanding Skipper's protectiveness over the boy. There was such an innocence and softheartedness about the young penguin that just made you want to hug him and make certain of his safety and well-being, even when everything seemed fine.

Speaking of whom, Classified noticed Private suddenly scrutinizing him in return in a way that made the wolf pull his hand away and squirm involuntarily, so he forced himself to down the rest of his disagreeable beverage to avoid talking.

If Private wished to talk about their confrontation in Dave's sub (a topic they'd been avoiding until now), let him. The higher-ups back at HQ already gave Classified an earful after the NW returned from New York. At least the avian would show more mercy, relatively speaking.

'Might as well get it over with,' Classified decided in resignation.

"You can visit us at the circus if you ever feel the need to talk to someone, governor."

Classified's eyes expanded instantly.

'He...He's joking, right?' A subtle glance out of the corner of his eye confirmed the truth. 'He really means it.'

The wolf could barely begin to fathom the kindness being handed to him on a fluffy monochrome platter. And when the agent could not fathom something, he could not keep his peace of mind.

With a faint scoff, Classified chugged down the rest of his drink and slammed down the cup with he hoped enough force to terminate the conversation permanently. He needed no one to talk to; he was the elite, he was the leader, and he was...he was...

You left Private to face Dave alone.

His shoulders slumped.

'I am an absolute screw-up.'

A strangled laugh burst from his throat to cover the almost-whimper threatening to escape...an almost-whimper that did not escape unnoticed.

"Classified..."

"You were right, Private. My team and I aren't heroes. We're nothing but cowards hiding behind toys and glimmer." He cut Private off before the penguin could insert any of his cliché maxims. "Spare me your sugarcoating. You know it's true. We failed as heroes the moment Dave captured us and we—I lacked the guts to admit it."

Private set his flippers on the table and gave the despondent agent a thoughtful smile. "I was just going to say you weren't heroes that moment. You made up for it, though, when you and your team commandeered that ice cream truck and destroyed Dave's sub."

Not even bothering to point out that the North Wind ended up getting captured (again) just seconds after that, Classified instead rolled his eyes at the avian's optimism.

Deep down, however, he could not help but feel a pang of jealousy towards it as well.

The North Wind leader, though not a perpetual mope, preferred not putting stock into "hoping for the best" or "knowing things will be okay" or other such rose-colored bilge. He was a realist who (pride withstanding) derived comfort from having all the facts first and going off from there.

'Life is life,' Classified's father used to say before he died. It simply was, being only as good or bad as one perceives it.

So why scoff at the positivity of the same bird who not only managed to save the day but opened the North Wind's eyes to the heart they'd been missing in their heroics?

Classified sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, utterly at a rare loss for words. A pat on his left arm drew his sharp attention to Private whose flipper rested against the wolf's deltoid.

"I know the both of you would disagree with me on this, but you and Skippah are a lot alike actually: you've both made mistakes you're not proud of, you hate admitting when you've done wrong, and you can be pretty hard on yourselves."

Removing his flipper from Classified's shoulder to suppress a sudden yawn, Private hopped down from his seat and made his way to the entrance, pausing on the threshold to toss a comforting smile over his shoulder at Classified.

"A little self-forgiveness every now and then never hurt anyone."

And so the youngest penguin left Classified, the lupine shaken to his core by something so simple yet profound. His eyes shifted their gaze down into the emptiness in his paw.

His eyes narrowed in defiance.

His head shot up in determination.

And his heart lit up with a familiar drive.

'I won't make that same mistake.'

Faster than lightning, the wolf dropped his unfeeling cup, left his seat and managed to reach the hall before Private could get too far.

"Hold it!" the North Wind leader called out.

Private turned around, curiosity in his eyes, while the agent set his hands behind his back to keep from seeming too desperate.

"This circus of yours; what's its name?"

Initiation brings forth momentum and Private's flattered beam stood as evidence of that law. "Zaragoza: most of the folks there can be a bit wary of strangers, but I can have Skipper put in a good word for you and your team, if you'd like."

Classified blinked and grinned at the touching offer. Would this penguin ever cease to amaze him? "That...would be quite accommodating of you. Thank you."

Private merely shrugged. "Just looking out for my friends, is all."

'Friends...' For some reason, that word made Classified smile as he watched the penguin waddle back to his room. 'He considers me a friend.'

He looked back at the cup still on the table, left on its own, and chuckled at it before moving to take the discarded item to the sink where it belonged.

A sigh of content flowed past his lips.

'I think I can live with that.'