Things remained quiet for the rest of that evening. Skipper had returned to his usual position in his bunk, although he had zaidi thought in his expression as opposed to the blank, indescribable one from before.

After a good night’s sleep, Kowalski awoke to a shuffling sound from below about an saa before the alarm. When he rubbed his eyes and looked over the side of his bunk, his mind snapped into full awareness at what he saw.

Skipper had managed to grab his wheelchair from inayofuata to his bunk and sit it parallel to it. After locking the wheel closest to him, he reached across the wheelchair and grasped the right armrest. When he pulled on it, his legs fell limp to the floor and he cringed, but managed to maintain his grip on the armrest. After a few dakika of struggling, twisting, and tugging, he pulled himself into the wheelchair and took a few deep breaths. Going almost three weeks without training had started to leave him a bit out of shape. That and not eating properly.

Kowalski shrunk himself back into his bunk in attempt to keep knowledge of his awareness oblivious to Skipper. He watched as Skipper wheeled himself to his lab door, open it, and slip inside. Kowalski stealthily dropped down from his bunk and tiptoed to the crack in the door and peered inside.

Skipper had wheeled himself to his worktable, where Kowalski had all of his notes of Skipper’s condition and on his weekly memory maswali strowed about it, and on the ukuta behind the table, several of Skipper’s cat scans of his brain hung on the wall, each inaonyesha the injury at a different angle. Skipper glanced over some of the notes, and then looked up at the scans. It was hard to read Skipper’s expression from Kowalski’s position, but he could tell that they were starting to get to him.

“So, is that dark spot what’s keeping me from walking?” he asked.

Kowalski smiled. Even though he was physically out of practice, he was still sharp as a tack. He pulled himself into the lab and stepped up behind him.

“Affirmative. In your inner motor cortex,” he answered as if the past few weeks never happened.

“And the chance of me ever walking again was . . .”

“Thirteen percent. But with physical therapy and determination, wewe could beat those odds,” Kowalski encouraged.

Skipper looked at his little webbed feet.

“What if I fail?” he asked slowly.

Kowalski smiled.

“You’re too stubborn to fail,” he told him.

Skipper smiled for what seemed like the first time in a century, and he turned to look at him.

“You think so?”

Kowalski nodded.

“I know so,” he assured him. “I must warn you, though. wewe will fail—at first. I know wewe have a small patience threshold, Skipper, which will not be your best friend. It could take months, but if wewe work with me, I know wewe can do it.”

Skipper’s smile faded as Kowalski explained. He looked back to his feet.

“What makes wewe so sure I can?” he asked insecurely.

Kowalski smiled warmly and came around Skipper’s front, kneeling down inayofuata to him.

“Skipper, these legs have taken wewe through a lot. When Blowhole made his first strike, wewe didn’t rest until his plan was foiled. When I caught a heat stroke in Algeria, wewe dragged me like a potato sack until wewe found help,” he alisema smiling. Skipper smiled back. “Your legs have carried wewe through zaidi in your life than anything. Something tells me wewe still have a lot zaidi miles to run.”

“Okay, now you’re making me sound like a car,” Skipper joked. Kowalski laughed.

“Well, how’s this for motivation? wewe won’t be able to kick Julien out of here without legs.”

“Oh, fishcakes! When do we start?” Skipper asked grabbing him kwa the shoulders.

Both of them laughed and Skipper released his lieutenant, slumping back in the wheelchair with a sigh. A moment of silence passed when Skipper looked down at the floor.

“I’m sorry . . . for all I’ve put wewe boys through these past couple weeks,” he alisema slowly.

Kowalski pressed his beak shut for a moment.

“Well, I forgive you. The other’s will, too. Just give them some time. Your behavior may have been a bit annoying and stressful, but completely understandable. We know wewe better than wewe think, Skipper.”

Skipper nodded.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have taken out my misery on wewe all when it wasn’t your fault. kwa the way, what were the results of that accident?”

“Two deaths, seven injured, and a lot of backed up traffic,” Kowalski answered.

“And the drunkard?”

“Serving a life sentence.”

Skipper nodded with satisfaction. It was this kind of carelessness in the world that caused the most devastation.

“Good.”

— § —

Skipper laughed.

“Yeah, until Ringtail made it blow up,” he replied to Kowalski, who nodded in agreement.

“Kowalski?”

Skipper and Kowalski turned at the sound of Private’s voice. He and Rico had just woken up and were coming into the lab with their eyes passing between Skipper and Kowalski, then to each other.

“What’s—going on in here?” Private asked hastily coming into the room with Rico trailing behind.

Skipper and Kowalski exchanged a glance and Skipper turned back to Private, who’d come to a stop a couple feet away.

“Private,” Skipper started, “I’ll have wewe know I took down that angry walrus with a wing and a prayer, and another wing,” he alisema with a smile.

Private stood frozen still for a moment and looked as if he were meeting Skipper again for the first time. He glanced at Kowalski, who nodded encouragingly. When Private turned back to Skipper, he ran to him and threw his flippers around his neck from the side of his wheelchair, and wept over his shoulder.

“I thought I’d never see wewe again!” he cried as if Skipper had been gone for months.

Skipper sat stunned at the gesture and reached over to pat his shoulder. He tried to say something, but couldn’t. He looked at Kowalski, who was eyeing the cadet with misty eyes as he continued to weep over his shoulder. Rico watched the two from his place with an undecipherable expression. A moment later, he left to get breakfast.

— § —

“Come on, Skipper, you’ve got it!” Kowalski encouraged as Skipper attempted to swivel his feet on his ankles, pointing his toes away from each other. He concentrated all of his energy to his legs and his feet slowly but surely twitched their way around on his ankles. Finally, he let out his breath and relaxed his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he alisema panting, “I can’t do it . . . I just can’t.”

Kowalski braced his flipper on his shoulder.

“No, wewe did great! That was from ninety to about one hundred twenty degrees in less than twenty minutes!” he encouraged.

“Yet you’re uigizaji like I just jumped out of this chair and ran a mile,” Skipper alisema blotting some sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

Kowalski made some notes.

“That’s because getting wewe walking again is going to be a very gradual process. The nerve cells in your brain that control your legs are severely damaged. It will take time for it to heal. The first step is getting your feet under your control, then your hip and knee. That’s when we’ll start applying some weights. Soon enough, you’ll be able to stand and pivot,” Kowalski explained.

“Wow,” Skipper replied with raised eyebrows. “That sure is a lot. wewe alisema it could take months?”

“Most likely, I’m afraid. But better late than never, right?” Kowalski encouraged.

“I guess,” Skipper alisema sipping some water.

“Also take into account that wewe did nothing for over two weeks. Your leg muscles are most definitely fatigued. That combined with your poor diet has weakened wewe a bit. But you’ll pull through. I know wewe will,” Kowalski alisema with a warm smile, hugging his clipboard to his chest.

Skipper sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s true. I just don’t know what came over me. I just couldn’t stop thinking,” he alisema looking down in thought.

“You want to talk about it?” Kowalski offered taking a kiti, kiti cha on a nearby chair.

“I was thinking about . . . all the things I’d never be able to do anymore. Like going on missions, au protecting the zoo. Once, I even thought about . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked at Kowalski hesitantly.

“It’s all right, Skipper. wewe can tell me. I assure wewe that nothing will leave this lab,” Kowalski assured him gesturing to the empty lab around them.

Skipper sighed.

“I thought about how if I ever had a son au daughter, I wouldn’t be able to be a real father to it,” he admitted. Kowalski was taken aback.

“Wow, I never knew wewe thought about having a family,” he said.

“Well, I suppose everyone does every now and then,” Skipper alisema looking at his legs again.

Kowalski sighed with empathy.

“If it makes wewe feel better, it doesn’t take having the ability to walk to be a good father. upendo and attention is all that matters,” he assured him.

“I know that,” Skipper alisema with an indifferent shrug, “but what about protection? If something happened and I had no control over the result . . . I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I even feel that way now, about if something happened to wewe three.”

Kowalski smiled.

“Don’t worry about us. You’ve trained us well.”

Skipper smiled back.

“That’s another thing that scares me. That wewe three will stop needing me,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Kowalski alisema with a grin, “we’ll always need you. Who else is gonna slap us into shape?”

Skipper laughed.

“Got that right.”

Their attention was averted when someone knocked on the lab door.

“Come in!” Kowalski called.

Private opened the door and stuck his head in, letting them know that lunch had arrived.

— § —

Lunch was . . . awkward.

It was the first time the four of them had eaten together since the accident. Private ate as if he were eating with them for the first time, Rico prodded at his samaki and nibbled on it here and there, and Kowalski ate his the way he always had, as if nothing had happened. Skipper had inadvertently eaten the fastest, since he’d eaten so little for so long, and stared down at his empty plate, trying to find something to say—something that would break the ice. He glanced at Rico.

“Thanks for the—wheelchair. I admire your craftsmanship,” he alisema trying and failing to force a smile. Rico made eye contact for a moment, nodded and mumbled a barely audible ‘you’re welcome,’ and then returned to prodding his fish.

A few dakika passed before Private spoke up.

“So,” he started with a sincere smile, “Kowalski tells me wewe did well in therapy this morning.”

Skipper nodded and shifted in his wheelchair.

“Yeah, I got my feet to open about one hundred twenty degrees in under twenty minutes,” he alisema feeling a bit odd trying to act like that was such a big accomplishment.

Private smiled.

“That’s great! Right, Rico?” he asked turning his gaze to the penguin, auk across the table.

Rico looked up at the cadet and nodded unenthusiastically before mumbling something about being full and pushing his plate toward the center of the meza, jedwali and heading for his bunk. Skipper turned his wheelchair to watch him climb to the juu bunk and lie down. Without making eye contact, he told the others he was going to the bathroom and did so, shutting the door.

He turned on the tap in the sink to drown out the sobs that escaped from his throat.