Skipper
I wake up with more light filtering into the room than usual. I yawn, opening my eyes, and stretching slightly. My limbs are a little stiff, making the stretch more impactful than usual but it does help. I prop myself up on my elbows, pressing them into the plush pillows and look at the clock. 9am. Three hours later than usual but I did say we could have the day off training given we still have a lot to do and did a lot yesterday. Still, it is definetely time to get up. I know that but I am still reluctant to get out from under the warm shelter of my duvet. Especially as we brought new pillows and duvets yesterday so this is extremely cozy. Then again if I get up I can have a coffee...Yeah, that is all the motivation I need.

It is still with reluctance that I get out from the warmth and grab a blue shirt and black trousers from my wardrobe, hurrying to put them on so I can get my morning coffee. I am assuming that I am the only one awake given how long yesterday was. I head out of my room, making sure to be quiet as I head down to the living room and kitchen. On the black sofa, with his legs curled beneath him, is the only person awake. His inky hair is even more messy than usual and he is wearing his usual outfit but is barefoot. He doesn't look up as I come in, probably too lost in the pages of the large book balanced on his lap, glasses lopsided as his focus is probably worlds away.
"Hey," I greet. He flinches slightly, glancing up from the pages. "Did you get up usual time?" "Mhm," he replies, pushing his glasses up slightly so they are less lopsided. "Plus I wanted to carry on reading this book."
"Oh, what is it about?" I ask. Am I interested in books? Admittedly, not really. However I do enjoy listening to Kowalski talking about something he is compassionate about. It is one of the times he is more expressive than trying to control his emotions.

"Basically it is a psychological novel about trying to figure out who to trust. However in a world where the protagonist is completely being lied to trusting anyone is impossible. That seems to be the gist so far anyway, it seems pretty good," Kowalski replies, turning the page.
"Sounds it," I say, heading through to the kitchen. I call out a little louder so he can hear. "I am making coffee, want anything?"
"A tea if it isn't too much bother?" he calls back. I roll my eyes. Too much bother indeed. It's a tea, not liquid gold. Honestly, Kowalski really needs some perceptive sometimes. I offered, it isn't like he is ever demanding.

I open the cupboard where Kowalski put the teabags then hesitate. Why does anyone need this kind of variety? There are so many! The entire cupboard is full of them.
"Uh, Kowalski? Which one?" I call.
"Just go with one at the front," he replies. "Or one of them." I look at the options and settle on the basic breakfast tea. Simple enough, especially as I have no clue how he has the other ones but I am certain he has milk with this one. I make it and my coffee then head back to where he is, sitting next to him on the plush sofa. I place the tea in front of him.
"Thanks, Skipper," he says, looking up from the book again with a small smile. I smile back, because something irresistible in life to cheer me up is Kowalski's smile.

I turn on the television, putting some random show on and sitting a little closer to Kowalski. As usual he focuses on the book rather than the show but when I move closer again to look over his shoulder to see how complex this book is he glances up. His bright blue eyes meet mine with a questioning expression. I hadn't realised I had moved quite that close and I really hope I am not blushing as I scoot back a couple of inches.
"Sorry," I say. "Was just looking at your book. It looks really difficult." He smiles slightly and shrugs slightly.
"It is only this overly complicated language with this character's point of view," he replies, tucking his hair behind his ears but the fringe still falls in his eyes. "I mean they are dead. Sort o-" He stops midsentence and his gaze drops to the floor. "Sorry. I was going on again."
"Hey, it's okay," I say. "I don't mind."
"You mind when Rico and Private go on," he points out. Perceptive. Hm. So he can do anything except self perceptive then? He has a point but then again they aren't Kowalski.
"Mm," I agree which is probably quite a safe answer.

Rico and Private come in, the prior rubbing his eyes and the latter still wearing his unicorn onsie.
"I'll go make breakfast," I say. "Everyone want pancakes?" Rico nods: Private is super enthusiastic. Kowalski doesn't say anything but before he can do his poker face I notice him screw up his nose slightly. "Kowalski, want anything else?"
"I'm good," he replies, returning to his book.
"You need to have something. We are having a long day," I insist. "Toast?"
"Um...sure?" he says unconvincingly but at least he is agreeing.

I head into the kitchen to make one of the few things I can cook. Usually my 'cooking' is limiting to putting something in the oven and heating some pasta on the hob. Pancakes though are one thing I can actually cook. I make them and turn around to set up the plates whilst one half cooks to see Kowalski has already done it and is pouring the drinks.
"You didn't have to do that," I say, flipping the first batch onto a plate and covering it in Nutella and fruit which is Private's favourite.
"I felt bad not helping," he replies, taking out Private's stack and coming back to help with the rest. "I'll do the toast as well."
"Have more than one piece Kowalski," I instruct as he opens the packet of bread. He huffs and nods, putting two in instead, getting out the butter. "Can you get out the lemon juice?" Kowalski passes it and I serve mine and Rico's with sugar and lemon juice.

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We arrive in town, the sun beating down and casting a slight glimmer on the clean streets. The puddles from the rain last night are small, almost clear, and spider webs glimmer with droplets.
"Should we go do the food shop whilst you two get the new microscope and decorator, Skipper?" Rico offers.
"That works," I agree. "Don't bother getting anything for tonight though, we'll get takeaway."
"If you are having takeaway can you pick me up some of the spicy pot noodles?" Kowalski asks, fiddling with the loose thread in his jacket sleeve. He always seems so on edge when asking anyone for anything. Even us.
"Sure," Rico agrees. "I can pick up some of those rolls you like as well to go with it as well if you like." Kowalski opens his mouth to protest. "And no. It isn't too much issue." They head off and I grin at the realisation I have the rest of the day with just Kowalski. Nothing less than ideal.

"Microscope first," I say. "And no budget. I broke it so if I have to I'll get you the most expensive one."
"You don't have to do anything, Skipper," he replies. I huff.
"We both know I didn't mean that in the literal sense, Kowalski," I point out. "If the most expensive one is really good I am getting it for you. No arguing." As usual Kowalski follows orders, to the degree it makes me feel bad. Yes, I am their leader but I am also their friend. I worry that sometimes escapes him in moments like this. I don't say anything though, Kowalski has never been apt at opening up to anyone to the point I am pretty sure he will retreat into himself if I push him to understand. Instead I just change the subject. "Wanna call into a bookshop after this?" That gets some enthusiasm from him. His eyes light up slightly and I can see the small smile is fighting back one of the rare bigger ones. "I take that as a yes?" He nods, fiddling with the ends of his hair. Bookshop it is then!

First though, the science shop. Which is apparently a thing. We head to the microscopes and the recommended one on the advertisement is the most expensive one.
"I really don't need that one, Skipper," Kowalski says. I give him a doubtful expression. "I prefer the size of this one." He gestures to another expensive one. "More slides would fit it so I could buy them cheaper, rather than these ones which I would probably have to buy here. And I am getting it, not you."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because, Skipper, when I think about it I really doubt it was you who broke it," he says, eyes meeting mine which scrutiny lying becomes extremely difficult. "Private looked guilty, not you. Plus he is far more likely to break things than you."
"It was me," I lie, keeping my expression calm and voice matter of fact. He gives me a disbelieving look, crossing his arms. "Okay...yeah. Still. I am getting it. You paid for the removal vans without telling me." I pick it up and walk over to the counter before he can argue or pay himself, shooting him a triumphant smirk.

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We now have the microscope and books (because obviously he didn't have enough already).
"Alright, Kowalski, where's the decorator?" I ask. This morning, just after breakfast but before leaving, we found one online who agreed to meet us. It didn't come up at first strangely enough then it suddenly did. Eh. Maybe the internet was just being weird, that wouldn't be a first.
"The milkshake place around the corner," Kowalski replies. "Do I have to come?"
"Yes, Kowalski," I say, feeling bad when his shoulders sink. I forget how shy he can be sometimes. "I'll do most of the talking, okay?"
"Okay..." he agrees. I smile and we head off.

As we head in the only other customer looks up. With the streaks of paint in his red hair I am assuming he is the decorator.
"Gale Krueger?" I ask. He nods. "I'm Skipper. We talked on the phone. This is Kowalski."
"Oh, hi," he says as we sit down. "So do you have any idea what you would like done for your house? And how big is it?"
"Pretty big," I reply. "Uh...there are four bedrooms plus a guest room. A living room. A kitchen. Two bathrooms...Oh and the hallways. The other rooms are fine how they are."
"Sounds manageable," Gale replies, writing it all down. "So colours, styles? Anything goes really."
"Uh. Well one of the bedrooms apparently a fire theme? And another rainbow?" I say. "I know, a tad weird."
"I have had worse requests," Gale replies with a small grin. "So the other rooms?"
"For the guest bedroom do anything," I reply. "For my room just a nice blue gradient. Something to do with space for Kowalski." He asked me to decide for him because he had no idea. "Then blue for the kitchen and bathrooms, red for the living room and corridors."

Gale jots it all down and nods.
"Okay, when would you like me to start?" he asks.
"Uh tomorrow?" I suggest and Gale nods. I give him the address, we agree on the surprisingly reasonable price. We stand up to shake on it. He has a tanned complexion, green eyes dark. His grip with the shake hurts but he is really muscular so that makes sense. He is also even taller than Kowalski. He leaves and we head home to hide the gadgets and weapons or anything that could give away our lives in the lab.