The rest of the month seemed to go by slowly. Kowalski guided Skipper through three twenty-minute sessions a day, and encouraged him with each bit of progress he made. Skipper finally was able to open his feet at full swivel in only three minutes and seventeen seconds. With his improved diet, he started to gain back the weight he’d lost and looked much healthier by each day. For small missions, Kowalski allowed Rico and Private to take care of it themselves; and for the more serious missions, Kowalski would let Marlene continue to stay with him, and Skipper no longer objected to chess or cards, even had offered it to her sometimes.

No one could miss Private’s vast change in mood. He was much happier now that Skipper was much more engaged. He and Skipper spent a lot of time talking. Private would report missions, accomplishments, and progress in training, and Skipper would report his progress in therapy, his ideas on what he should do first when he could walk again, and how proud he was of his team for how well they handled the situation since the accident.

Kowalski found himself happy with the way things were going. Each step Skipper took toward progress—no pun intended—gave him hope that things would go back to normal soon. And watching Skipper and Private amend their relationship was touching. Private had taken the first couple of weeks pretty hard, so it was good to see him smiling again.

Rico was another matter. During meals, he acted engaged in the conversation, but didn’t say much of anything and left as soon as he was finished. Whenever Skipper tried to engage with him, he kept it brief, and then made some excuse to leave. Kowalski frowned whenever this happened. He thought it would start to clear up, but with each day, he saw no change in his behavior. Finally, Skipper worked up the nerve to ask about it.

“Kowalski, is Rico . . . ashamed of me?” Skipper asked after his second session of therapy for the day.

Kowalski sighed and shook his head.

“No, he’s not ashamed of you, per se. I talked to him a few days ago about his behavior, actually. He’s just upset because of the way you acted the first couple of weeks,” he said without meeting his eye.

“Still? I said I was sorry. I just—was lost,” Skipper protested.

Kowalski closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“It’s much more than that, Skipper. It took a toll on all of us. Rico . . . he had to listen to Private cry himself to sleep every night. For that time, they even shared a bunk because Rico didn’t want him to feel alone. While Rico drowned himself with training and missions to keep his mind off the situation, Private didn’t put much effort into anything. He would do just enough to get the job done and then just—nothing. I tried to talk to both of them, but it never did much good. They thought you’d just given up. Things weren’t the same without you.”

Skipper stared at Kowalski, stricken speechless.

“What about you?” he said after a few moment of silence.

Kowalski smiled.

“Well, we found out a lot about each other those two weeks. Rico’s more sensitive than he lets on, Private’s more insecure than he lets on, and me, I guess my gut is stronger than I once thought. I didn’t know when or how, but I knew you’d come around. I just had to keep everything from falling apart before you did,” he explained.

Skipper looked down.

“Wow . . . no wonder Rico’s mad at me,” he said slowly. “Then why does he seem to be upset with Private?—and you? He’s never very active with any of us, as far as I can see.”

Kowalski hesitated.

“Well, if you want the truth, he’s mad at Private because he thinks he forgave you too easily. He’s mad at me for never being angry with you in the first place. Just—please don’t let this bother you too much. Rico just needs some time is all. If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t want to be mad at you. Whenever he tries to let it go, he sees you again and all those past weeks just come back. He can’t help it. He won’t admit it, but he is proud of your progress and he’s secretly rooting you on. Don’t tell him I said that, though,” he said with wide eyes. “Like I said, you just need to give him time until he can see you as the old Skipper again,” he explained finally looking up at him.

Skipper looked at his legs.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”

— § —

“Checkmate,” Marlene said trapping Skipper’s king. Skipper smacked his forehead in defeat.

“Fishcakes! That’s like the third time in a row!” he said trying to figure out if the situation was humorous or frustrating.

“Fourth, actually, but who’s counting?” Marlene corrected with a grin. “Someone’s getting out of practice.”

“No kidding,” Skipper agreed with a laugh. “I can only imagine how long it’s gonna take to get my battle skills sharpened up once I get to walking.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ll bet you could kick-flip before you even learned how to walk as a hatchling,” Marlene teased. Skipper laughed.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” he said.

“Anytime,” Marlene replied with a grin. “So, how’s that physical therapy going anyway? When I ask Kowalski, he says it’s going fine and everything else is classified. You know I’ll cheer you on no matter what, right?”

Skipper shifted in his wheelchair.

“Yeah, I know, Marlene. I asked Kowalski to be brief with everyone,” he said without making eye contact. “I’m improving, but that’s all I feel comfortable saying.”

Marlene pressed her lips together and looked down.

“I can respect that,” she said quietly.

Skipper looked at her.

“It’s nothing personal, Marlene, it’s just—”

“I know,” Marlene broke in looking up with an understanding smile. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Skipper smiled uncomfortably.

“Thanks, Marlene,” he said quietly.

“Hey, guys!”

Skipper and Marlene turned at Private’s voice as he dropped in from the hatch. Rico and Kowalski dropped in after him.

“Hey, boys. How did the mission go?” Skipper asked with a smile.

“Very well,” Kowalski answered with a smile. “We would’ve been here sooner, but some of the others wanted to know about you. I told them you were improving considerably.”

Skipper sighed.

“Yeah, I kind of miss seeing them every day,” he admitted.

“Then why don’t you go out for a while?” Marlene suggested perking up, earning her an alarmed look from Kowalski, Rico, and Private as Skipper stiffened. “It would be great! Everyone’s been worried about you, and you probably need some fresh air—”

“Marlene,” Kowalski interrupted sharply.

Marlene furrowed her brow.

“What, I was just suggest—” She stopped short when she turned to Skipper to see him staring at his legs with all of his upper body muscles tensed. She looked down, realizing her mistake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay, Marlene,” Kowalski cut in as he walked toward her. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your habitat,” he said resting a flipper on her shoulders.

Once they were outside, Marlene stopped and turned to him.

“Kowalski, you know I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, Marlene, I know. Skipper knows it, too, I’m sure. Don’t fret over it too much. It’s just a pride thing,” he said as he started walking again. Marlene followed. “He’s worried that everyone will see him differently if they saw him in the wheelchair. He’s even gone over paranoid scenarios with me for what might happen if he left the habitat. Like, what if he fell out of it, or what if someone asks him to show them his progress in therapy? I just decided it’d be better not to force anything, to just let him decide when he’s ready. You understand,” he said stopping in front of her habitat.

Marlene nodded.

“Of course, I promise I won’t bring it up anymore,” she vowed.

Kowalski patted her shoulder with a warm smile.

“I really do appreciate you keeping Skipper company while we take care of things. I’m sure Skipper does, too.”

Marlene forced a smile.

“No problem.”

— § —

“Skipper, would you mind coming into my lab for a moment?” Kowalski asked from his lab door.

Skipper wheeled himself away from the card game he was playing with Private.

“I thought our next session wasn’t for another hour,” he said curiously.

“Not for therapy,” Kowalski said, “for something else.”

Skipper cocked his brow and turned to Private.

“No cheating while I’m gone, now,” he said with a suspicious grin as he laid his cards face-down on the table.

Private laid his cards down and saluted.

“On my word as a penguin,” he replied smiling.

Skipper wheeled himself in the lab and Kowalski shut the door behind him.

“So, what’s going on?” Skipper asked eyeing something large that was covered with a sheet skeptically.

“You know how I’ve been working on something in here quite frequently?” Kowalski asked heading over to the mystery object.

“Yes, why?” Skipper asked following him.

“I present to you, our very own, penguin-sized Positron Emission Tomography machine!” Kowalski said pulling off the sheet. “With it, I can take a PET scan of your brain, and I can track the activity in your motor cortex. I say once every month.”

“Wow, Kowalski, I’m impressed. Why a whole month, though?” Skipper asked.

“Well, I thought of doing it by week, but I figured we’d see more of an improvement if we went by month,” Kowalski explained. “Here, I’ll show you how it works.”

Skipper followed Kowalski to a pair of screens behind a glass window in the corner of the room.

“When you go in, I’ll turn it on and adjust the feed to focus on your motor cortex. An image of your brain will appear on these screens and different colors will represent your brain activity. I can even make a recording so you can watch it afterward,” Kowalski explained.

“What exactly will we be looking for?” Skipper asked as he admired the work Kowalski put into making the PET machine.

“Well, in simpler terms, the scan will make your brain glow certain colors wherever there is activity. I’ll show you where to look when we get the scan.”

“Well, are we gonna test it out now, or . . .?”

“No, actually,” Kowalski answered leaning back on the control panel. “I figure we’ll do it tomorrow right before breakfast. The test will be more accurate with a calm mind, before doing anything stimulating, and while having not eaten for at least four hours.”

“Okay, that sounds simple enough. How long will it take?” Skipper asked turning around and wheeling himself around the machine.

“Oh, between twenty minutes to half an hour,” Kowalski answered.

“Are there any side effects?” Skipper asked looking at him through the doughnut-shaped hole in the machine that had a flat board going through it that he would have to lay on the following morning.

“Nope. You can go back to doing whatever you want afterward,” Kowalski said with a smile.

Skipper wheeled himself back around to him.

“You really put a lot of work into this, didn’t you?” he asked incredulously.

“That I did,” Kowalski answered smugly, standing a little taller.

Skipper smiled.

“I commend and salute you, soldier,” he said holding his flipper to his forehead, relaxing after Kowalski mirrored him.

“It is an honor, sir,” he replied.

A moment of silence passed before Kowalski continued.

“It’s good to have you back, Skipper.”

— § —

“Rico, I’d like to speak to you,” Kowalski called the following day from his lab.

Rico hesitated and asked him ‘what about?’ in a string of gibberish. Kowalski ordered him to ‘just come in here’ and Rico obeyed with a sigh. When the door to the lab closed them in, Kowalski gestured for him to follow him to the back of his lab.

“I did Skipper’s PET scan this morning. In addition to testing Skipper’s motor cortex, I decided to test his mind emotionally without his knowledge just through some basic conversation. I wanted you to see the results,” Kowalski explained as he led him behind the glass wall to the PET control panel.

“Why?” Rico grunted.

“Just listen,” Kowalski commanded. Rico eyed him skeptically and turned toward the screens as Kowalski opened up August’s report folder and pulled up a recording of Skipper’s brain activity from the right side view. “This is a recording of when we discussed the missions we’ve been going on. See this patch of yellow here with the tiniest bit of red?” he asked pointing to an area in the frontal lobe of Skipper’s brain. “That’s good. It’s a sign of positive brain activity, meaning he was genuinely happy and/or proud of our successes.”

Kowalski switched to another recording.

“This is when we discussed the accident and its effects. See how it spreads a bit in this area and turns a light shade of green around the edges? This is the brain in transient sadness, meaning the events made him feel depressed, although something he can live with,” he explained. Rico nodded.

“So . . . what?” he asked trying to figure out Kowalski’s point in telling him all this.

“For the next recording, I’m going to play some audio synced with it. Keep in mind the difference between brain activity during transient happiness, as opposed to transient sadness as it plays,” Kowalski said giving him a serious stare as he hit play.

“So, how is it going with Marlene’s visits? I hear you’re getting creamed in chess. Out of practice much?” said Kowalski’s voice. Skipper’s brain expressed the transient happiness Kowalski had shown before.

“Yeah, that’s what she wants you to think. I’m totally letting her win,” Skipper’s voice said.

“Sure you are,” Kowalski’s voice teased. “Private’s real proud of you, you know. Other than your condition, you seem to be getting back to your old self.”

Skipper’s brain continued to glow in a spot of yellow in the frontal lobe.

“Yeah. I think we’re getting a little closer. And I have to say, I’m proud of the way he’s coming along, too.”

All of the sudden, Skipper’s brain activity shifted to transient sadness, although this area of yellow and green was a bit larger than what had appeared during the discussion of the accident.

“I just wish Rico would talk to me. I feel just awful about what I put him through. The last thing I ever wanted was for anyone to be hurt. I wish I would’ve thought about someone other than myself. I’d give anything to take it all back, even—even my ability to walk. Rico’s my brother, and that means more to me than anything. I want to tell him that, but . . . I don’t know how much good it will do. Sometimes I think he’ll never forgive me.”

Kowalski paused the recording on one screen and brought up a screenshot of the PET scan from the accident discussion.

“See there?” he said gesturing to the images. “Skipper is experiencing more depression from you than even his accident, if his confession wasn’t enough to clarify that.”

Rico stared at the computer screens and remained silent.

“Look, Rico, my goal here isn’t to make you feel bad or to force you to feel things you aren’t ready to feel. But I do want you to at least reconsider things. Skipper may not have been in the right in much of what he did those first few weeks, but you need to understand Skipper’s side of it. And you need to understand that he’s sorry. We’ve all been through a lot together, don’t let this one obstacle be what makes all the others irrelevant,” Kowalski said before brushing past him without waiting for a response.

Rico looked at the PET scans of Skipper’s brain for a moment longer, and then he turned his head to watch Kowalski leave just as he shut the lab door behind him.

— § —

Note: All the information about the PET scans were found through online research. If you know any information to be false, let me know, and if it doesn’t interfere with the story, I’ll likely correct it.