"I'm just glad it's all over." Skipper sighed as they walked the corridors of the strangely quiet building. The remark was a breath of fresh air after the heated interrogation he'd received after Jones found Skipper there, after he'd made quite a point of saying that today would be his leave and that he would be enjoying it in the next state.

"Is it?" Jones questioned cryptically.

"Nowyou're just sounding like K'walski."

"Skippah," Jones sighed, shaking his head. He'd been putting this off quite some time, and now that Skipper was for the first time in several weeks, alone, this was unfortunately the perfect time, "where can you keep someone like him?" Jones could see Skipper was already opening his mouth to object, "You don't get it, perhaps he's insane, but he's brilliant," Skipper's scowl deepened as Jones donned his reminiscent 'lunicorn loving, softie' look, "You know, I used to laugh when he'd brag about being a genius, but he is. Look, Skipper," he pleaded, "there are other cases, other… How long do you expect to hold him? Five minutes? Ten minutes?"

"We held him for three days." Skipper countered.

"Because he wanted something, we still don't know what!" Jones, despite his intention to stay calm, was starting to succumb to the stress… and guilt, "The moment he got it, I turned around, and he was gone. Disappeared right out of a supposedly escape proof cell. For all we know he could have our entire computer network under his control!"

"To me this is more than justice, this is personal," Skipper snapped, his tone heating up with Jones', "My friends have been threatened or killed, and I'm next on the hit list, so even if I got him to sign a paper saying it all stops now, it wouldn't be enough for me!"

"Not the most persuasive argument to a person who disagrees with revenge. Anyway, I've already given the order."

"You what?!" Skipper exclaimed loud enough the team back at the HQ could probably hear him. He stopped dead in his tracks, glaring at his superior, "Now that's one step too far…!"

"He saved your life, perhaps you two just started off on the wrong foot…"

This was too much for skipper. His rational mind knew it wasn't his decision to make, it was Jones', and that his superior had a point, but somehow he felt he had a right to at least be consulted first, "Stop being so damn naive Jones, he's up to something and we both know it," Skipper fumed, "He's no misunderstood hero; he's a Francis Blowhole who can think straight."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, maybe he's a bit of both. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Now put your personal revenge aside and look at it this way," Jones interrupted, "He hasn't attacked us yet, and if he does, by all means bring him in…"

"You've got to be kidding me… y'know I thought we were supposed to protect the law," Skipper half pleaded, "Which by extension would mean we don't give up when we're threatened. You've fought him for thirty years, why give up now?"

"Because I've gotten a perspective," Jones snapped, though his expression immediately apologised. He handed Skipper a file, "Inside are the names of every law officer that died because of K'walski since I took over the department. The list of names before that date isn't even long enough to list, excluding X."

"Which is why if I have to, I will spend my dying breath..."

"Skipper, please, it's already done!" Jones clenched his fist. He had to say it sometime, and fate was practically handing him his cue, "PJ, you said you'd spend your dying breath… I've made a deal with…"

"I don't care!" Skipper shouted childishly, opening the door in front of him, but stopped almost immediately.

"Has K'walski escaped again…?"

Kowalski and Rico were there alright. Rico's body was slumped forward in a chair, his Colt .22 hanging from a limp trigger finger. Kowalski was slumped against the wall several feet from his bed, his own weapon still in his hand. He was shot cleanly through the head, though blood from his reopened wound stained the floor red.

"They shot each other..." Skipper gasped as the obvious conclusion hit him. He would stand there, dazed, until Jones led him away to a nearby room and telephoned for assistance.

Private trudged into the empty Copacabana. It was 1842 hours and his absence had probably been noticed by the team but he didn't care, in fact, he hadn't even thought of that.

"Get me something strong," Private ordered dejectedly as he slumped into a seat at the bar. Why was he here? Well, what else was he going to do with himself? He couldn't think of anything else he could do that could possibly drown out the guilt of what he'd nearly done.

"Sorry, speak up kid." Maurice answered, looking up from the glass he was cleaning. He had to have misheard that.

"If I'm old enough to kill," Private scoffed, "I must be old enough to drink."

"Whabllydowhat?!" Maurice exclaimed, loud enough that both Lola and Julian turned around, "Um… nothin'." Maurice replied to questioning glances, "What's all this about killin'?!"

"Oh, I suppose it's better than getting the third degree and talking after all that," Private spoke, staring at the counter, "I suppose the Penguins and whoever Rico was with will be after me too."

"Wait a minute," Maurice scrutinised him, wondering if this was somehow a joke, "You killed Kowalski? And Rico? Kid, you're a hero…!"

"I had both their weapons in my hands, Kowalski made me take Rico's from the evidence locker in case his jammed. It was supposed to look like he'd killed Rico in self-defence or Rico had committed suicide," Private spoke, ignoring Maurice's statement. His eyes stared off into space, and he looked a shell of his former self. His adorable naiveté or his cheery smile you'd never think had ever existed, "I nearly killed them. I was so close, I don't think Rico even realised I was aiming at both of them, he never turned around…"

Maurice was catatonic even as the telephone a few inches from his hand began to ring. The kid was confessing to attempted murder. What were you supposed to do in a situation like that?

"Playing musical statues?" Lola asked sarcastically as she picked up the phone, though a few seconds later her dry mirth was lost, "Who?! It's gotta be some kind of a trick!... Who did it?!"

"Private," Lola turned to the boy, slamming the phone onto the receiver, "Kowalski and Rico are dead."

"Funny." Private chuckled dryly after taking a few seconds to consider the new fact, "Maybe I killed them without realising it."

"It's not funny, Private," Lola snapped until she realised he was serious, "Wait, you didn't…?"

"I don't… know…" Private coughed as the drink burned his throat, but he still downed the rest on his second attempt, "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Does it matter? I was going to do it. I loaded the gun myself and everything; followed the whole plan to the letter. Could I trouble you for another Maurice?"

Looks were exchanged between Maurice and Lola. Private never told a lie. But then what the kid said he'd done… he couldn't do that either.

"Maurice, get me some hot sauce then leave us." Maurice nodded cautiously after a few seconds and went to leave, "Actually," Lola stopped him. Private was special. Everyone else on the team was stronger or smarter, but they were all broken or damaged in some way. That didn't apply to Private. He could still see the good in people and always presumed them as good as him until proven otherwise. But that was gone. Maybe not forever, "get me some ketchup too."

Lola would later follow the instructions of Contingency 0342 to make sure Private never discovered what he had or almost done, before burning every single one of those pages that had anything to do with the boy.

"It's quite obvious, they shot each other." Jones spoke. The man across the desk from him gave a domineering half smirk and shook his head. Jones knew the type; one of the young investigators from some other top secret branch out to make a name for himself.

"Except for the part where there was no chance Kowalski could have woken up. Turns out, the doc wasn't poisoning him. He was in just as bad shape as everyone said, and don't forget the fact Rico went straight from Hoboken to the Aquarium with no time to break into your poorly guarded evidence locker and grab his own and Kowalski's personalized weapons," Agent Buck Rockgut countered.

"Then you don't understand whose death you're investigating. What was it they said about the Copacabana shootout? There was no way he could have made it one block. It was physically impossible. He'd lost far too much blood, but you aren't going to tell me that it didn't happen."

"Maybe he had an accomplice 'round the corner with a transfusion, maybe one of his wacky inventions actually worked – he had a brother maybe you shot him, not Kowalski –"

"His brother died when he was sixteen. Don't expect me to believe he anticipated that his best friend's son would set the police on him on the 5th of June 1969 at the Copacabana, faked his brother's death and..."

"It's more probable than him waking up and teleporting weapons into the hospital," the younger agent picked up his pen, and much to Jones' annoyance started using it as a gabble to emphasise his points, "I've got a few suspects here: one of them's the Grant kid, he was supposed to be on leave, but guess what? He's right here, and he happens to hate both of them enough to kill them, not to mention the fact he's just inherited the Penguins. Then there's the science boy who was also hangin' round, and we know Kowalski had something on him, we don't know what yet…"

"Skipper had ample opportunities to commit murder with our full support, but he didn't…"

"That brings me to suspect number three. You. The guy with the flimsiest alibi in history. We've got no record of this mysterious kidnapping. Which is why you're lucky."

"You just accused me of murder."

"Yeah, but dad - my boss - says good riddance and is happy to say the impossible happened."

"Well if that's all you have to say," Jones sniffed at the younger agent who had obviously only brought him there to throw his weight around, "I'll be leaving…"

"Not so fast, Captain. The Kowalski matter aside, you've got a lot of things to answer to. You're under arrest."

"I'm what?"

"Oh come on, cupcake, we've got you cold."

"Come to post my bail?" Marlene asked dryly, without so much as looking up from the worn, concrete floor. She was seated on the cot with her back to Skipper, her platinum blond hair as astrewn as her brightly coloured dress. She looked nothing like the woman Skipper remembered, if only from a few days ago, "Or have you got more questions?"

Skipper wasn't exactly sure how to react to the tone. Sure, he hadn't exactly expected her to come running into his arms tears of joy streaming down her face, but well, he hadn't exactly expected her to hate him.

"Marlene, there were a couple of misunderstandings…" He began, and then changed his tack, "Okay, misunderstanding might not be the right word…"

"Yeah, that would imply neither of us is at fault."

Once again Skipper was at a loss for what to reply. Apparently Marlene expected some kind of angry retort, which didn't come. She lifted her head slightly, glancing up at him through tangled locks. She could see him pulling uncomfortably at his watch. Well, he was either not particularly perceptive, or just a really good liar. Most likely the second one.

"You know he warned me what I was getting into when I took the job. Said it was going to be dangerous," Marlene continued, seeing Skipper probably wasn't going to continue, "hmph," she snorted ungraciously, "Dangerous. Sure, maybe a bit. Y'know you two really deserved each other. I'm no rookie, even if I played the part well, but between the two of you, you managed to break my heart more times these few months than in my whole life."

"What I said… I might have lied, but I thought I was protecting you… You know, your records not exactly perfect with your whole 'Arlene' act." As soon as the words left his mouth, in fact, even as they were being spoken, Skipper regretted them. The look on Marlene's face as she whirled around made him regret it even more.

"Really?" she snapped, "You drove me to the point…! no, you wouldn't see it that way."

"Marlene, I'm here because it's all over now. I don't know about you, but I'm happy to try again. Well, since I've got the Penguins now I'm planning to pull out of the whole cloak and dagger business and…"

"Skipper," Marlene was now pressed against the bars of the cell, her hands gripping the bars till her knuckles were white. Her lip trembled until she bit down on it, and her eyes were moist enough to make Skipper hate the day he'd ever done her wrong, "Skipper, you're a nice guy. Now. And I like you. But I can't stand by and watch as you bring the whole world crashing down on you."

"Wait, who told you…?"

"I don't need money for us to be happy. Like I said, I don't care about the danger, but I'm not going to watch you crumble away until the only thing left is something I don't want to see," At first, just like Skipper had guessed, Marlene had been over the moon when Lola had told her about the money. Sure, she was happy that it turned out the whole Manfredi and Johnson thing and the bank massacre had all been a set up, but the money… who could ignore a number that big?

But Lola had just looked at her with an expression she hadn't seen before. And Marlene felt guilty. That was probably when her senses came back to her and she remembered, but she still let Lola tell her. The Penguins were a curse that had destroyed everything it touched.

"Once piece of advice, kid," she'd spoken, her voice breaking with pain, "Don't fall in love."

"But…?!"

"It doesn't matter, they take the money. They always do." Lola stood to leave.

"Wait," Lola paused, "I know you're hurt by… I mean, I don't understand why you cared about him, but I don't really think Skipper, Will, would pick…"

"I don't know. You know him better than me. He's only ever seen me thrice."

Slowly as the days passed she realised Lola might be right. When she was paid the right price, she'd spied on him. Now that she thought back to it, if Kowalski had given her a check the size of what Will had gotten, she might have gone through with it. She wouldn't blame him if he did, "If you could give it all up…" Marlene knew she wasn't the first person to ask the question. She didn't look at Will as she spoke. Somehow seeing the answer written on his face before he said it sounded more painful, "Then maybe we could try. Otherwise…"

"Ok."

Marlene's head shot up in astonishment, "Wait, you're…"

"Sure, if that's what you want, I'll find a couple of good causes and get rid of it," Marlene still couldn't believe what she was hearing. Apparently Skipper was almost as surprised that she was surprised, "I thought you wanted to keep the money, but frankly I'm glad to be rid of it. Kowalski thinks he has some connections that can take over the less legal side and make sure it conforms to our interests."

He'd found the letter when he was sorting through Kowalski's effects in an empty folder labelled 'Operation: Damocles'. It was worn and dog eared; the chemical and ink stains making it easy to deduce it had been worked on frequently and in a number of places. But what had surprised Jones most was that it was addressed to him.

"Dear Special Agent Jones, Tim, Timmy, Private, or whatever you call yourself the day you read this,

If you haven't deduced what's happened, you don't deserve your job anyway. By now, due to a less than legal deal done with one of my operatives having been uncovered you have been thrown out of the only place you've ever known. I doubt you have been arrested as my Private would naturally defend you, but that doesn't matter. Consider it revenge.

"So I guess this is it." Skipper spoke, glancing around the department's bustling lobby.

"Yes it is," Jones answered with more than a little remorse. His life had changed forever the day he'd trailed his uncle Nigel to the 'travel agency' where he worked and ended up on quite the adventure with three very special agents he'd never forget. Ever since that day, the Department, under whatever name or objective, had been his entire life. He could almost say he'd grown up there, so young was he the day he joined, "I suppose I deserve it just as much as I owe you an apology."

"Chief, you've already said you're sorry a hundred times, so I'll keep saying the same thing. It was the right thing to do, now that I'm no longer blinded by my paranoia, I realise that." Skipper answered. He could remember the first time he'd been interviewed during the inquiry. He'd had no idea what the issue they were investigating actually was; he'd only realised when he was out and out told that they'd uncovered that Jones had exchanged his life for a complete confession from Kowalski, and in soothing tones told that Jones would be adequately punished for what the investigating agent had deemed attempted kidnapping bordering possible attempted murder.

Why? You turned my Private against me; even drafted him into your little war. You cannot even begin to imagine the things I had planned for him and you also never gave me a chance to right what I knew he had done wrong (I am well aware parenting is not one of my strong points).

You also wasted brilliant strategic talent on a humiliatingly small position, Galileo Newton, his real identity I have yet to uncover, something I consider on par with murder. Naturally, I wasn't going to let you get away with that without feeling some measure of the pain you caused me.

"Your entire life spent in service to this place, right from year one – you made this place," Skipper spoke, pounding his fist against the wall in frustration. He'd tried to tell them he was in on the whole thing, that it was even his idea, that it was all a trap and his life was never in danger, but Jones just had to be the goody two shoes he was and tell the truth, "then they throw you out."

"It's not that bad."

"It is. You've never known anything but this place. What will you do?"

"Things certainly will change," Jones sighed, the nagging remorse, the only thing greater than his guilt welling up inside him, "I don't know what I'm going to do in future..."

But I don't want you hurt too much. I still owe you one for that time you saved my skin in Paris. You'd asked me to save that for the day I had a gun to your head, which, for all relevant purposes I do. Don't try and play the hero though, enjoy your retirement? We're even, so if you try anything, don't expect me to pull punches.

"Timmy, we're going to be late!" a female voice shouted. Skipper turned around to see Shauna waving towards he husband. The blond ex nurse was standing just outside the security barrier waving frantically.

"Just a minute," Jones shouted back, smiling, "I really ought to get going, Skippah."

"What the doll says goes." Skipper laughed. Maybe the future wasn't quite so bleak for Jones. He wasn't like him. He had a wife who'd loved him many years and a family back in England who he'd kept in touch with all these years.

"No its Nigel I'm worried about," Jones countered with mock sternness, "if I know him he's already waiting at Heathrow. If you're ever in Wiltshire, don't hesitate to call…"

"My next leave, promise," Skipper shouted after the man, who was already moving towards the door. Skipper watched him long after he and Shauna had stepped into the taxi. Maybe his future wasn't all that bleak.

I might add one extra chapter (an epilogue) but i'm not sure. If you're still confused about anything after this chapter, tell me in a review or PM. Hopefully, it'll be wrapped up in the next chapter, if not, i'll write it in.