Watermelon Snow (PG) 14/51 [Penguins of Madagascar regulars, OCs, light D=]

"He-llo, nurse."

"Skippa!  You're awake!"  Private scooted the freshened slop bucket back into place.  "He's awake, everyone!"

The morning sun's angle was perfect for ricocheting down the entrance and its ramp to the habitat's interior to illuminate three little penguins' sunbeams of smiles.  Skipper said nothing until the babbling died down.  "Where is she?"

"'Kippahh!"

"You're safe from her, don't worry --- "

"Rico did everythin' he could to track --- "

"'Kippahhh!"

"Where.  Is.  She."

"'Kippahhhh!"

The interim leader said what he had to.  "We don't know, sir.  Rico did his best, but she got away."

"¡Ahhhhhh, dolor!  ¡Dolor!  ¡Ay Dios mío!  ¡Ayúdame, María! --- ugh.  Oh.  Oh!  Umph.  Help me up."

"That's contraindicated by the circumstances.  You need to rest, sir."

Private's voice trembled.  "I thought you were dyin', Skippa.  K'walski says you, you must um, rebuild blood volume, see if your spleen, wotever that is, recovers from the squishin' it got, and regrow your right pinkie claw."  He pointed.  "See?"

Skipper looked down his body.  A sparkly Princess Self-Respectra Band-Aid covered the claw area.  He yawned and then wiggled his foot.  "Ouch.  Okay, I'm out of the running, but you all --- "

Kowalski had been prepared for this.  "We're out of our element, I don't have my lab, we lack backup like Marlene, Mason, or even Julien, I would even take Fred at this point, and intel is sketchy on what a Sasquatch can do, although we know more now.  Basic command tenet is to regroup for a few days."  He wasn't going to add what he was really thinking, but of course Private did.

"You're in bad shape, Skippa.  You need us."

It shocked everyone except Kowalski when they weren't forced to hold Skipper down onto the massage-table-turned-sickbay.  "Shupppooooose yr right 'bout thattttt," he slurred.  "Caaaan't keeeep awaaaake --- zzz.  Zzzzzz."

"Annnnd he's out again."  Kowalski touched Skipper's forehead for a moment.  "No signs of fever.  I'll keep tabs on the general condition, Private, you join Rico topside.  Do forty reps each of your favorite exercise and I don't want to hear any gripes."  He waited.  They froze.  "Oh, all right.  I'll join you in a few minutes."  Private trooped up the ramp, but Rico stayed behind, swinging one foot and looking everywhere but at Kowalski.

"What's on your mind, Rico?"

"'Oooomanz."

"The humans!  They'll check up on us if there are only three penguins showing for more than a day or so!  Gah!  I wasn't thinking!  They'll squeeze down the ramp or unhinge the top of this place and take him away!"

Rico pulled Kowalski's flippers from the sides of his head.  "C'n fix."

"A chainsaw won't fix this!  A smoke bomb won't, either!"

Rico turned away to hack something up.  He smoothed flat a rolled up plastic object.  With a deep sigh, he presented it to Kowalski.  

"A blow up lifesize Skipper doll?  Where did this come from --- it doesn't have a Zoovenirs label on it --- did you make this?"

Rico got indignant.  "Nuh uh!  'iss Perky ordrd --- "

"I don't want to know more.  Forget I asked.  It's just the thing, Rico.  Blow it up down here so nobody else sees."

Rico placed his beak so carefully on the valve at the bottom seam that Kowalski knew this was the result of long practice.  He busied himself with tidying their habitat, stealing glances now and then until a matte Skipper got tucked under Rico's flipper.  "Gooooood, hah?  Hah?"  

Kowalski poked tentatively at the doll.  "It's good for a while.  I calculate that Skipper will be more or less himself again in six and three sixteenths' days.  Let's be gentle with the doll so it lasts."

Rico patted the real Skipper's head before he waddled up the ramp.  Kowalski centered the pillow underneath the same head as he mumbled, "I just don't know about Rico sometimes, Skipper."

Skipper made no comment.

IOIOIOIOIO

Two days past the beginning of Operation: Recovery From Private's First March, Rico, Private, and Kowalski got more inventive with their Skipper dolly.  Scores of children and sometimes their carers gathered to see penguin volleyball, penguin ice hockey, penguin lacrosse, and penguin synchronized swimming.  Faux Skipper withstood a lot of abuse and needed only intermittent blowing up by Rico to refresh his roly-poly shape.  If the three were taking out their frustrations by hitting Faux Skipper a little too hard when he played goalie at hockey or lacrosse, no human noticed it.  Faux Skipper was a whiz at synchronized swimming and whenever he 'stood' atop their three-penguin support column, his smile never faltered.  

One little boy and his parents cheered especially for the lacrosse scrum when it got out of hand and Faux Skipper was trampled almost to the point of popping.  Only Imelda ever saw them use Faux Skipper as the ball when they played after-hours soccer one night, and she knew how to keep a secret.

IOIOIOIOIO

"Wot do you think, K'walski, does Skippa's old insomnia problem seem beat, then?"  The injured penguin lay insensate for hours on end in the daytime.  When he awakened for brief times in the dead flatness of midnight or beyond, bleary eyes saw to his needs, cracked voices mumbled reassurances, and mornings always came too soon.

"He's like a hatchling who mixes up the days and nights.  I don't even know if I'm hungry or not."  Kowalski poked disconsolately at his mackerel.  "I'm wasted, how about you?"  

Private downed his portion with gusto.  "No, never better."

"Ah, youth."  Kowalski nearly nodded off over his meal and when Skipper awakened a little afterwards, he gestured to Rico.  "Feeding time at the zoo, big fella."  

Rico jumped onto the massage table to stand over Skipper.  

"Open wide, sir.  Here comes brunch," the second in command said around a yawn.

Rico looked eager as he always did to do his part.  His stomach rippled.

"Not happening this time.  I'm not being a baby ever again.  Twice per existence is enough."  Skipper clamped his beak shut.

Kowalski's mood was cranky, too.  "Oh, come on. You need food to regain strength.  It was all right the times before, why not now?  Cooperate here, Skipper."

"No no no!"  Skipper's point of not being a baby was blunted by petulance.  

Even Kowalski's nurturing instinct had its limits.  He was about to order a completely unacceptable display of insubordinate force when inspiration struck.  "Oh, Skip-per, Kitka would feed you another way.  Don't you want to find out her method?  Kit-ka, Skipper, Kittt-kaaa ---"

"Mmmmm, Kitka, I can taste her kisses now --- on third thought, no.  I'm not hungry."

Private broke in.  "Skippa, deep down you know we're right.  Give K'walski's idea a go, what say?"

Rico saw which way the wind was blowing and re-swallowed his gutful of mashed fish.  "Wha ya gonna do," he said to Kowalski, and this time the expression wasn't accompanied by a shrug.  He really wanted to know.

Kowalski's brain went into high gear.  He took his own unfinished portion of fish and peeled healthy Omega-3 bits from the unprotesting mackerel, selecting only the choicest portions of rib and back to lay in a row.  "You're not ready for full meals, Skipper, just take hatchling steps getting back to normal, that's what Imelda said to do, only she said cub steps.  If Kitka had hatchlings, this is the way she would have fed them" ---  he stopped, aghast --- "not that I'm suggesting she's your baby mama, er, oh never --- "

"There's that high-flying imagination again, Kowalski.  We talked about this."  Yet Skipper submitted when Kowalski pushed the tenders down his throat and their eyes met in a rare moment of parity between Command and Science Divisions.  Skipper fell asleep again after a few bites, but it was better than nothing.  The three wouldn't have admitted to needing a break from caregiving as they swam away some tension and chose only one layout spot for them all in the weak sunshine.

"Little meals and often, Imelda says.  I'm on it, I'm on it, Imelda."  Kowalski rubbed his neck.  "Or it's on me."

Rico didn't need prompting to take up the massage.  He kneaded until Kowalski yipped.  "Sowwy."

"I'm thinkin' he's a challenge to care for any road, gents."  Private indulged in a rare criticism.

"Wurfit."

"Goes without sayin', Rico.  I just mean it's so hard."

Kowalski rolled over and motioned to his back.  Rico took the right side and Private the left.  Karate chops stuttered over muscles until Kowalski felt himself driven into the consistency of overcooked pasta.  It was most agreeable.  "Back to business," he said after a time.

"I'll check on him, shall I, no, you two old-timers keep layin' about like layabouts, that's all right --- "  Private giggled as he slid backwards into the water.  There was nothing handy to throw at him.

"Youf."

"Right, Rico.  Youth.  He was outstanding at Kastelholm, though."

"Aw grown up."  Rico massaged some more.

"Not-used-to-think-ing-that-a-bout-him.  U-sing pe-triss-age?  That's-a-new-tech-nique-for-you-uh-uh-oh-yeah-oh-yeah.  Now scissoring.  Ahem.  Yes.  And we finish with effleurage, oh that's superb."  Kowalski would have rolled his shoulders, but he didn't want to move.  "You ought to have been at the massage station at Hoboken Zoo.  You're really awesome at this."

Rico's laugh rumbled against Kowalski's back as he slapped the muscular planes of penguin flesh and stood up.  "Lesgo."

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC

 

 

 

Watermelon Snow (PG) 15/51 [Penguins of Madagascar regulars, OCs, light D=]

Two days later at evening Entertain The Invalid time, Kowalski followed Private's knock-knock joke with a shaggy dog story about a miniature golf foursome.  In the wavering light from their 52-inch television set to an unused channel, he wove the tale of glass eyes, wooden legs, bone china doorknockers, antimacassars, and Super Glue into a saga and deliberately made his voice sing-song in a rising and falling wave like a series of breakers caressing Wailea Beach.  He evaded the punchline of "For the last five holes, it was hit the ball, drag Ethel, hit the ball, drag Ethel."  Routine Number Seven: Bore To Pieces succeeded and Skipper began to nod sleepily when discomfort passed over his face.  He blinked as if waking from a disturbing dream.  

Rico leaped up from his sprawl on the floor.  "Want 'op buckt, 'Kippaahh?"

"No, I'm finished needing that.  Just help me in there."  Private opened the door to the latrine and Rico steadied Skipper in a slow shuffle forward.  "Thanks, men.  Group hug?"  

There was never seen such a flutter of penguin activity in either the Central Park Zoo or the Åaland Zoo, but Kowalski stuck out both flippers like a New York Rangers blueliner and blocked Skipper from the pressure of an embrace from Rico and Private.  "Better not.  Bad idea."  He could have sworn that his commanding officer teared up.

"You're always thinking of my good, soldier."  The door to the latrine closed behind Skipper.

Private completed the group hug.  "Yaayyyyy, Skippa's better!" 

Rico's joyous "FIIIIIIISH!" came from nowhere as it always did when he was extra happy.  He scooped Private and Kowalski into the air and squeezed hard.   

After a grin that nearly cracked his beak, Kowalski got his feet back on the ground literally and figuratively.  He frowned.  "Our commander's not himself yet psychologically.  It's taking longer than I calculated it would."

"Go with the flow, K'walski, and stop speculatin'," murmured Private.  "Be happy he's alive."

"I mean it.  Did a group hug sound like Skipper?"

Rico made mountain shapes with his flippers and hooted foghorn noises.  The mournful sounds penetrated the latrine to a "What was that?" from Skipper.

"Never mind, practicing a new joke, let us know when you're done," hollered back Kowalski.

"Keep it down, everyone, Rico's right," Private whispered to the others.  "It's natural that Skippa be a little changed after nearly divin' into the Eternally Foggy Sea surroundin' the Endless Iceberg."  He patted Rico on the shoulder and saw the worried frown turn upside down.  "We should not think about it any more."  There was a moment of silence as they all thought about it some more.  

Private acted as morale officer, as usual.  "Hang on, hang on, telly!  Everythin's better with telly.  Let's see what's scheduled."  

Kowalski took a turn helping Skipper back to the massage-table-turned-sickbed as Private flipped the remote to Rico.  Skipper clutched a ratty shawl about his shoulders and allowed his team to plump around him cold-weather nightwear left over from the zoo's Sleepover For Successful Second-Graders lost and found bin.  Soon he nestled like a pasha perched on plushy, patterned pillows amid his harem.  He smoothed his Snuggie over his belly.  "Isn't this downtime nice, team?  It's nice.  I like it," Skipper said in his new quavery invalid's voice.  "Let's watch a nice program on TV."

Rico's worry face returned.  He punched the remote.  When Skipper got a sublime look on his face at the classical music channel, Kowalski stepped in.

"Give me that."

"Nuh uh."  Rico kept punching different channels.  One after another program displayed from the British feed flicked by with titles such as Bird Watching Extravaganza, Advanced Basket Weaving, Toddlers Tickle Theatre, and Painting-by-Numbers for Dummies, each to a benign smile from his leader.  At last, Nature: Red In Tooth And Claw Hour popped up and he settled in at Skipper's feet to watch.  A Cape buffalo cow turned the tables on an attacking lioness with a savage charge of black horns and the screen filled with bellows and roars far over 100 decibels.

Skipper drew one flipper over his eyes and turned away.  "Not listening, la dee dee dooo tra la la, find something else."

Kowalski grabbed the remote from Rico.  "Hatchling steps, I told you."  He surfed the channels like the deft aquatic bird he was.  "Here."  The BBC News: Polite Version came on.  "You can look now, Skipper."  Skipper seemed absorbed in the new feathers coming in near his wounds.  He rubbed at the tiny white nubs dappling the regrowing skin.  "Skipper?"

"Hah?"

"I never thought I'd say these words: Skipper, focus.  You're drifting."

There was no alarm in the quavery voice, and that in itself was alarming.  "That's a bad thing?  You all wanted to stop and smell the blåklocka.  I am."  Again the bland smile.  Skipper used to hate smiling.  Kowalski wanted the smile back again when it was replaced with a small frown.  "I am remembering that right, right?  Now and then things get fuzzy."  The smile returned.  "It probably doesn't matter.  Whose turn is it to preen me before bedtime?"

"Mine!"

"Aye!"

"No!  It's mi-um.  Eh, I'm on for tomorrow, if you're still not up to the task."  Kowalski checked Skipper's forehead for the umpteenth time in five days.  "Sure you're not feeling hot?"

"Nah.  You worry too much, compadre.  Watch TV and relax like me."  The group settled in like two sets of Netflix couples:  Skipper easing towards sleepy-bye time, Rico likewise, Private alert as if he were taking mental notes on the news, and Kowalski checking Skipper's pulse without letting him know.

The newscaster was nothing like Chuck Charles or Bonnie Chang.  She wore spectacles, she dressed her ginger hair in a practical bowl cut, and she was pushing sixty from the wrong direction.  "This is Gavina Formes reporting Polite News As It Transpires.  Trouble in the Balkans again, trouble in the Mideast again, trouble in the Falklands again.  See these and other stories on our main BBC feed.  For nearby news that won't give you dyspepsia, let's turn to our European overview.  France has placed an escalating tax on cheeses depending on their smelliness.  Connoiseurs of fragrant comestibles are concerned.  Liechtenstein has entered the competition for hosting future Olympics, although whether in the Summer or Winter Games is unknown.  Everyone agrees that Liechtenstein is long overdue for international attention and the BBC wishes the tiny land the very best of luck.  Turning northward, this just in:  Iceland joins Svalbard in reporting sightings of Antarctic ice worms in Arctic environments."

Gavina leaned forward, tapping her notes against the table.  She displayed agitation, although it was hard to tell.  "These large ice worms show signs of catastrophic tampering with their genome by global warming, oil spills, or worse.  There are no live captures of these iceberg creatures as yet and eyewitness reports lack reliable photographic evidence.  One YouTube upload was found to be an ordinary leech filmed against a mockup of a miniaturized human great toe.  One moment."  She leaned to one side.  "Who wrote this?"

Skipper stirred out of his somnolence.  "Worms?  On icebergs?"

"You remember, Skipper.  Ice worms live on ice and humans only discovered them a little over a century ago."  Kowalski puffed his feathers out pridefully, thinking that Skipper would do the same.  "We've known about them forever, of course."  He couldn't figure out Skipper's mood lately and it bothered him when his leader didn't join in with "Stupid mammals!"  Could the brush with death have affected the mind as well as the body?  He remained uncertain with Skipper's next words.

"I'm --- there's something I'm forgetting --- oh never mind.  It's probably not important.  I like her style, boys, but she needs someone to banter with, don't you all think so?"  Skipper hummed Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime off-key until they shushed him.

IOIOIOIOIO

TBC