Colonel Hawkins sat, hands folded in front of him, gazing steadily over his desk at the three agents before him. They were battered, bruised, and, in the middle one's case, sporting a heavily bandaged arm. Donald. Panchito. José. All in a line in his office. They looked tired, despite the hours of rest they'd had; tired and quiet. Hawkins noticed an odd change in their demeanor since last they had stood here in his room. Before, Donald and José had stood slightly behind Panchito, allowing the rooster to do all the talking. Now, they stood in a tight row, with Panchito sandwiched between them. It was as if they were guarding him; reassuring themselves that he was safe. And with Panchito looking as pathetically pale as he did, it made Hawkins want to join them.

The Colonel winced mentally at the memory of the week before, when the agents had returned from the mission at Courtner Creek. Hawkins hadn't really been sure what to expect. But what he certainly hadn't expected was Agents Donald, José, and Williams to come barreling into the fort on Sénor Martinez, desperately screaming for a doctor. He hadn't expected to see them supporting an unconscious Panchito, whose arm was soaked with red, despite the makeshift bandages that had been used to try and halt the flow of blood. Hawkins shuddered at the memory. It had made his heart falter; seeing his friend in such a serious condition.

Dr. Johnson and the medical staff had been frantic. They were used to Panchito coming in with injuries, but those were usually quite small and not life threatening in any way. This time it had been different. The rooster had lost a dangerous amount of blood; he had been emotionally and physically drained, and that was all before the trip back to Cawford. The journey to the fort had left him unconscious, unresponsive, severely dehydrated, and fighting a horribly high fever. For days the doctors carefully tended to him and, even though it was touch and go for the first several hours, soon the rooster began to show signs of great improvement. Donald and José had stayed by his side all through the week, one on either side of him. Just as they were now.

Donald. Panchito. José.

It was Friday now, and the rooster had healed significantly enough to be allowed out of the infirmary. He would not be permitted to participate in any assignments for at least another week or two; being told to take it easy, and this time Dr. Johnson meant it. The doctor threatened that, if Panchito didn't follow his orders, he would personally tie the rooster to a cot until he made a full recovery. But, to everyone's surprise, Panchito seemed to be taking Johnson's advice for once. Hawkins had received special orders from General Almaraz to grant all three agents two weeks dismissal from duties. They all needed to rest; Panchito in particular.

It was really a miracle that any of them were alive at all. Agents Williams and Longfellow had reported in shortly after arriving back at Fort Cawford. Hawkins was horrified by the details of the mission, as well as impressed with the shear heroism his men described. He gaped in pure surprise at how José and Donald had orchestrated their escape from the barn. A sort of guilt had risen in his chest at the raw courage and bravery the two had displayed. A guilt he was now, here in his office a week later, about to address. The Colonel rested his gaze on the three agents standing before him.

"Gentlemen," Hawkins started, "I would like to apologize to the three of you." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Panchito, when you first brought Donald and José into my office as your chosen partners, I questioned you on your choice. I believed they were unfit for service here at Fort Cawford. For that I am sincerely sorry. Donald, José, I did not think you could survive and function in this line of work; but I was wrong. You have both proven your worth, ingenuity, and bravery. Nothing more could every be asked of you. The three of you are now the best team we have. Your mission was successful, and for that we are extremely grateful."

"But...we didn't catch the Vulture," Donald spoke up softly, shooting Panchito a nervous glance. By now, everyone had heard about Panchito's father. They all knew what Eloy Pérez had done to him, and what the Vulture had planned to do to their friend. It left a cold, stone-like lump in the pit of his stomach to even think of it.

Hawkins shook his head firmly. "Your mission was to rescue the hostages, and that is what you did." He turned his gaze to Panchito, noticing the bleak look in the rooster's eyes. "You have all done an excellent job, and I am recommending commendations for all three of you. You are valuable members of our service and I am proud to have you under my command." He gave them a heart-felt salute and they returned it; Panchito more slowly than the others. With a smile Hawkins finished with, "You are dismissed."

Donald, José, and Panchito turned to were almost to the door when Hawkins' voice stopped them. "Agent Pistoles, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Donald and José looked to their friend, seeming hesitant to leave him. They had been by his side since they had returned to the fort; sticking to him like glue, and Panchito had seemed to recover faster with them there. Of course, the rooster wasn't completely healed just yet. He was still far paler than anyone liked and he still held his arm rather stiffly; but he had regained nearly all his strength. But he had been very quiet. And they all knew the reason why. Finding out the fate of his father had been a painful experience. It was the worst kind of pain; one no one could help him overcome. Only time would fade those mental scars, but with all the care and friendship that surrounded him, people were sure they would heal faster. They hoped.

"Go ahead, amigos," Panchito half smiled. "I'll meet you outside in a few minutes." His face tried to recapture some of its old, cheerful glow, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

With a nod, Donald and José reluctantly turned and left, closing the door softly.

The room filled with a quietness that left Hawkins feeling very uncomfortable. Panchito wasn't even looking at him. Instead, the rooster was still facing where his friends had exited, eyes fixed on the white painted, wooden door. His shoulders were slumped, showing evidence that the dark, depressed appearance that had hung over him like a cloud since he had returned was still there. The silence was deafening; a thick barrier that Hawkins knew he had no choice but to break.

"Panchito...Come here." It was a request, not a demand. This was the first day Panchito had been up and about. Hawkins had not yet had time to see the rooster, other than in the infirmary; and Panchito had either been unconscious or asleep at those times. They hadn't had time to...talk. About what had happened; not only about Courtner Creek, but about many years before.

There was a long hesitation, and, for a moment, Hawkins wasn't certain whether the rooster had heard him or not. But then Panchito turned slowly to face him, eyes fixed solidly on the floor; stubbornly determined not to make eye contact. Hawkins' heart twisted in his chest at the sight. Panchito had always been his best agent. Sure, he was impulsive, loud-mouthed, trigger-happy, and often got into the most ridiculous of fixes, but the Colonel found himself willing to trade all that back to be rid of what he was seeing now. Panchito seemed so...defeated. That was the only word that could properly describe it. Defeated.

"Panchito, I...I want to talk to you."

The rooster closed his eyes as if hearing his Colonel's voice hurt him. "I-I'm sorry, Colonel...I failed."

Hawkins blinked. "Panchito-"

"I failed!" The shout was so unexpected that even Panchito himself seemed surprised at his own sudden burst of anger. His face filled with a mix of emotions; anger, pain, guilt, and shame. There were others, but Hawkins couldn't define them. "I let you down," the rooster practically yelled, fisting his hands at his sides. "I let the agency down; and I let my father down! I don't deserve to be an agent! I'm worthless as an agent! I'm not worth anything at all!" The anger seemed to drain from him all at once. Only the sadness and guilt remained. "I...I am prepared to leave the field at your orders." He turned as if to go.

"Wait! Panchito, what are you talking about?" Hawkins was past being mildly concerned. He had never, in all his years as Panchito's superior officer and friend, seen the rooster so upset. His feelings were going haywire, and Hawkins was unsure of how to help.

The rooster turned back, this time making full eye contact. His voice was low and soft. "You told me I needed to learn to be more careful; that if I didn't think before acting, then someone could get hurt...You were right. I ruined my last chance. I failed." He began to pace the carpeted floor, wringing his hands miserably. "I went charging into that town, Colonel. I could have taken a moment to think; I could have. But, no, instead I led myself- no, my team- right into a trap! José was hurt because of that mistake! They could have died!" He then launched into a long flow of Spanish. Even though Hawkins didn't know a lot of the language, he knew enough to tell that Panchito was not swearing, as the Colonel had first surmised. The rooster had simply discarded English to use his native speech to better express his anguish.

The Colonel let Panchito rant for awhile without interrupting. Soon enough, the rooster's voice grew hoarse and he fell silent, collapsing into one of the office's big, padded chairs, his face placed firmly in his hands. Hawkins waited a few more moments before he carefully made his way around his desk to stand in front of the agent. He tentatively stretched out a hand and laid it gently on the rooster's shoulder. Panchito didn't even look up.

"Panchito," he began carefully, "You are not worthless. You have not failed anyone. Not me, not your partners, not the service, and certainly not your father." He said the words with genuine conviction. Panchito had not failed. No matter what anyone else said or thought; including Panchito himself. When his words had no effect, Hawkins sighed. He settled on the floor in front of the chair; a rather unofficial behavior on his part, but the Colonel didn't care.

"I want to tell you a story," he said softly, as if speaking to a child. "There once was, in the Secret Service, a young rooster. He was friendly and kindhearted; always putting other people's needs and wants before his own. He was courageous and brave, and used every ounce of his strength and will to be an excellent agent. But he was always in trouble. He never obeyed orders, never listened, never thought ahead, and never managed to go anywhere without disaster following in his wake. He was a great agent, but he rarely made it through a mission unscathed." Hawkins paused. "Do you know what his name was?"

A dejected, muffled reply came from behind his friend's hands. "Panchito Pistoles." The name was spat with distaste, easily detected even behind the red feathered barrier. It struck a cord in the Colonel's heart.

"No."

Panchito sat still a moment, soaking in that one, firm word, before he lifted his head to meet Hawkins' gaze. "N-no?"

Colonel Hawkins shook his head, a hint of a smile coming to his beak. "No. His name was Agent Carmelo Quintero; your father." Panchito stared at him in shock, unsure of what to say; but Hawkins continued. "Carmelo was my partner for many years. We were an inseparable duo. We were always by each others' side. Through every adventure, every scheme, every mistake; we always faced it together. He was just like you, Panchito. Right down to your knack for finding trouble. Or maybe it was that trouble always managed to find him." The Colonel laughed. "I can't even begin to tell you all the traps we waltzed into; how many times we came back torn and bruised. But, no matter how bad he messed up, Quintero never, ever failed." Hawkins' face went from a smile to unconcealed guilt. "I guess I sometimes forget that his son is just like him. I never should have tried to change you, my friend. It was just...every time I remembered that fateful day when...when we lost him...I was afraid we'd lose you too."

Panchito lowered his gaze to hands. "...You almost did."

Hawkins laughed softly, despite the rooster's grim words. "But you weren't. Donald and José would never allow that." He determinedly stood to his feet. "And neither would I. You've got a good team, Pistoles. And that's rare. You are worth more than you realize. If it weren't for you and your partners, where would those hostages be? Where would Agent Williams and Longfellow be? If it weren't for you, where would your friends be? My point is that you've made a larger impact on those around you than you realize. No man is an island*; what one does affects many others. Some more than others. You are a valuable agent in this service, Panchito; and you are one of my closest friends. You are by no means, worthless."

The Colonel stepped back as Panchito rose from the chair. The rooster was staring down at the floor; thinking. But then he looked up and met Hawkins' gaze. For the first time in days; since his arrival back at Fort Cawford, Panchito's face lit up in a smile. Not the weak half-smiles he had been doling out before, but a real, genuine, Panchito Pistoles smile. "Well, Señor Hawkins, it seems I am far better off than I thought I was. I guess it's time I put this incident behind me." He gave a sheepish, grateful smile. "Thank you, Señor. Am...Am I still in the service?"

"It wouldn't be the service without you," Hawkins grinned. "I'll expect you and your boys back to work in two weeks. Rest up." He reached out a hand and Panchito gave it a warm shake.

"Sí, Señor." He started toward the door for the third time since he'd entered the room. There was a spring in his step; one that had been missing for the past week. He laid a hand on the brass knob, when he paused. "Colonel?"

"Yes?"

"The Vulture...He...he...Why didn't anyone ever tell me?"

Hawkins took on an expression of guilt once more. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his mind flashing images of that terrible day when he had lost a dear partner and friend. Instead of answering directly, the Colonel began to relate the incident. "We had just arrived in a small town west of Courtner Creek. Your father and I, as well as a couple of small town deputies, were chasing down a gang of bandits from the Southern territory. The town's streets were bare, there was only us. Suddenly, out of nowhere, we were ambushed. We lost one of the deputies, but the rest of us made it to cover. Your father and I exchanged fire with the unseen enemy for a good portion of an hour. Soon, we ran out of bullets. We lost the other deputy when the fellow tried to make a rush for an ammunition store across from us. Your father tried also, making it halfway across the road before Eloy Pérez stepped from the shadows. You father confronted him, using his brains to down the Vulture. But then, Quintero made a mistake. Thinking that he had won, your father turned his back." Hawkins winced at the memory, deciding to skip over the details. "He was beat up pretty bad. I tried to join the fight, but I was held back by some of the Vulture's men. When Quintero turned to help me...a gunshot rang out in the stillness...Your...your father was shot in the back, son. There was nothing I could do."

Panchito's eyes were moist as he took in his Colonel's anguish. He ran a sleeve over his eyes in an attempt to stay the tears. "How...How did you escape?"

Hawkins shook his head sadly. "The Vulture let me go. He said he wanted someone to survive to tell what he had done. To warn our agency that he was a threat to be dealt with...They threw me to the ground and left town; leaving me alone." The Colonel ran a tired hand over his face. "Your father was still alive when I knelt down beside him. I...I knew he wasn't going to make it; his wounds were too severe." The Colonel lowered his head. "Why didn't anyone tell you, Panchito? It was because your father wished it. Before he passed, there on the dusty street, he was still thinking of you and your mother. He told me to take care of the two of you. To make sure you became an agent, if you so chose. But he begged me not to tell you. He was afraid that, if you knew what had happened, you'd seek revenge on the Vulture. He didn't want you to meet the same fate he had. He didn't want you to know, because he loved you."

Panchito shivered slightly. "But now I know," he whispered softly."

"And how do you feel?"

"Exactly how my father feared I would. I want to hunt down the Vulture and bring him to justice." Panchito sighed. "But I wont do it out of revenge. I'll do it because that's what's right. Pérez is a murderer, a liar, and a thief. He will be caught; and he will be judged for his crimes."

"That might be hard to accomplish for a while yet," Hawkins reported carefully. "He's gone into hiding. He may not show up again for quite some time."

Panchito nodded; his face full of determination. "I can wait."

"In the meantime," Hawkins pressed gently, "I believe your partners are waiting outside. They're worried enough as it is without making them wait longer. Go to them."

With a final smile, and a salute, Panchito finally left the office and headed outside. Hawkins shook his head with a small grin of his own. Turning, the Colonel got back to signing paperwork, his mind now a little more at rest. He knew Panchito was still hurting, but now the past had been faced. Once that had been done, Hawkins knew that the rooster would start to heal, emotionally and physically. It didn't mean that it would be easy; but it was a beginning. And that was all they could hope for.

...

Donald and José felt relief wash over them as Panchito made his way down the headquarters steps to join them. He seemed a little livelier; more like his old self than when they had left him. It was wonderful to see. That, and for the first time that past week, the rooster was smiling. Really smiling. He gave a chuckle at their surprise.

"Come, amigos!" he grinned, laying a hand on both their shoulders and leading them forward. "We have two weeks leave before it is back to work. We might as well make the best of it!" His smile suddenly dropped, and he pulled the other two to a halt alongside him. He wasn't looking them in the eye anymore, and his partners feared he was sinking back into his depressive state. "Donald...José...I got you into this whole mess. I...I wasn't as truthful about the dangers as I could have been. I...I am sorry." He hung his head. "If you...want to go back to the Navy Donald, I wouldn't blame you. And if you, José; if you wanted to return to Brazil, I would understand. You both have lives other than in the secret service. Please, don't feel you have to leave them for me."

Donald and José blinked at him, trying to understand what he was trying to say. They had all been through so much together. Did Panchito really think that they would just turn around and leave?

"Panchito," Donald began firmly, "It is my duty to serve my country; whether I am in the Navy or the Secret Service doesn't matter. But I also have a duty to my friends. One I am not likely to neglect. I'm staying."

José gave a laugh. "My life here will be no less perilous than my life back in Brazil. We seem to have a knack for trouble; we might as well put it to good use." He gave the rooster a fond smile. "I am staying too, parceiro*."

Panchito's eyes met theirs. "You...You are sure that is what you want?"

"Yes," the two answered in unison.

Together, the three agents made there way to the stables. They would ride to the nearest town to rest up for their two weeks off. But, even though Panchito was still a little sore, they all felt ready to take on their next mission. But that could wait. In the meantime, they would make sure Panchito took it easy and healed. And as the three rode off into the desert, riding atop Sénor Martinez's back, Panchito felt as if the world had regained its color; its beauty. His heart swelled with a warm joy; a feeling he had almost abandoned completely. This was his life. These were his friends. The past couldn't change him; nor what had made him who he had become; and neither could the future. He didn't know what would happen; what would come to pass. But he knew he wouldn't be facing it alone. Donald and José would be there. And, somehow, he knew that as long as they stayed by his side, everything would work out. They would always be alright. They would go on to be the greatest team the service had ever seen. Adventures would fall into their lives, one after another. Villains might try to defeat them, and they could try all they wanted; but no one would be able to tear their friendship apart. After all, they had been, and always would be...

The Three Caballeros.

THE END

...

*Parceiro = Partner (Portuguese)

*"No man is an island" = Part of the lyrics to a song called "No man is an island" by Tenth Avenue North. It talks about how our lives affect others, and I couldn't help using the phrase. :)

There it is! The story is finished! Whoo hoo! I hope that you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. :)

Now, as I mentioned at the beginning of this story, I planned to make this a series. Each story being almost like an episode of the Three Caballeros, this one being the first. But, of course, I would only want to do so if I thought anyone would be interested. It's a lot of work pumping them out and it would be quite an undertaking. But, if it means a lot to someone, I am more than willing to give it a go! :D

So, let me know if you would like me to make this a series or not. :) I always value my readers' opinions. :) THANKS AGAIN AND GOD BLESS! :)