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Aries Parries Queries	By : pronker Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar Views: 449 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise and I do not own Dreamworks.

Chapter List
- 1-1/4
- 2-2/4
- 3-3/4
- 4-4/4
- 3
- 4
"You men have some tears to share?" Skipper barked. He refused to fail on Not So Important Mission as much as he would have on Important Mission. Land sakes, now was not the time to go into the whole Kowalski-Doris-Skipper debacle. Skipper's patented glare wilted Private into a snit while the young penguin turned away, crossing his flippers. He threw his leader the stink eye over his shoulder, resembling the rebellious teen penguin he had been until a short time ago.
Time to beat this mission into submission! "Rico, report. No slacking off, soldier, show 'em how it's done." He sat back as Rico made a displeased face, wiped it off while he saluted and gabbled for two minutes straight. Kowalski, usually the one to translate for his bud, looked lost at sea.
"Sir, I'm trying - give me a minute - Hamarskaftet Nunatak dialect is challenging - "
"Relax, viejo. I've got this." Skipper took a deep breath. "So, Rico, you say your father made you cry when he chucked you into the briny with no warning when he taught you to swim? Oops, wait, that was my Pop-Pop. Ha, false start." He ignored the pity gushing from Kowalski and the subsonic grumbles of Private. He cleared his throat. "All righty roo, once more into the breach, dear friends. Rico" - he shoved aside his special understanding of his ordnance guy as well as his appreciation of Rico's sublime trust in his commander so he could pursue his own agenda of Let's Get This Mission Over With So We Can Get Home In Time For Breakfast - "says that his father found him looking at comic books instead of obeying his papa's order to Zamboni their ice lawn like he was told to do right after batting practice but before supper" - Skipper also ignored the amazed look growing on Rico's face at these words - "so his dad commandeered the comic books and Rico" - the look blossomed into comprehension and collusion - "never saw them again." He patted Rico's shoulder in rare coddling, a reward for joining the conspiracy to Get 'Er Done I Want To Go Home. "Even at this late date, it's no wonder Rico's tears flow while remembering the harsh." Everyone stared at Rico who, after much blinking and winking, produced one tear trickling downwards.
Kowalski's brow crept upwards. "And when did this happen because it sounds suspiciously a priori, a propos, not to mention ad hoc - "
"Doubtful? Do you doubt my translation well have at it yourself, Science Boy - "
Putting aside his pout, Private soothed oil upon discord as he generally did. "Gents, I may have a tear to add to our success."
"I knew you could do it!" crowed Skipper. Thoughtful creases crinkled his brow. "Wait, wait! Rico, Kowalski and I subbed for your father so it must be another source of tears, right? 'Cause it couldn't be us, right? It couldn't be Rico or Kowalski, and it goes without saying that I never ... made you ... cry ..."
Skipper choked on his words at the level gaze of the youngest of the commando cadre. He swallowed hard at Private's affirmative nod as all heads swiveled his way. "I wouldn't be a leader if I couldn't handle this. Proceed, soldier."
Private's gumption fled momentarily as he toed a circle in the leaves in front of him; his shadow from the fire swayed uncertainly and then he firmed his stance as would a senior commando. "You made me cry when you tried to teach me to swim oh it's so long ago." He looked at his own feet. "I've forgiven you."
"Oh. That was when we assumed we'd all drown when our iceberg melted - "
"Ahem."
Skipper burst out, "Ahem yourself, Kowalski, because you were the one spouting how baby Private had no family and we were all going to die - "
"'Kippaaah." Rico proved the voice of reason as he occasionally did. "Pastnao."
Reason fled at the sight of Private snuffling back tears, tears that would complete this mission no matter if Private felt better afterwards or not. Skipper felt tears coming on himself, tears from hurting a baby, and he allowed them because really, how else could this mission succeed? He yearned to Skype "Mission Accomplished" to the Big Boss with no details but dammit, she likely would demand details about her pet project. It was too much to bear. He'd be duty bound to spill his guts. He blubbed, "S-See what you did, Private, you made me cr-cry and that's, that's a good - " but then he couldn't talk any longer. He made a last ditch attempt to control himself to preserve morale.
Private, Rico and Kowalski took one aghast step backward at the sight of their leader coming apart following an anguished, "I pushed you in in in icy seas - I only did what was done to me I mean with me wh-when I learned - I tried to make it up to you for years - I c-can't handle this - "
The old adage when in trouble, when in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout must have thrummed in Kowalski's stressed brain as he took charge. "Leave fishing rods behind! The can of worms, too! Douse the fire with dirt, yes that's the way, Private! Rico, you're in the driver seat! I'll gather up Skipper!"
Chaos reigned for four minutes as the team erased their presence in Hallett Nature Preserve, well, nearly. Kicking apart the fire, Private mumbled ouch hot hot as he obeyed orders while Rico vaulted into their car to gun the engine. "Hang about, drums! He said we ought to drum, gents!" screeched Private.
"S-S-S-o-o-k-kay to l-l-l-eave 'em out - " hiccupped Skipper from his place slung over Kowalski's shoulder but Kowalski was on a tear.
"And sticks! He said sticks! Good call, Private!" Kowalski added. He dropped Skipper in his haste to take over the mission properly. "I'm on it, sir!" He scurried out of sight, picking up sticks here and there.
Skipper bounced once on hard packed earth, missing the cushioning leaf litter by three inches. "R-R-Rico - " he began but Rico operated in full bore hysteria, vaulting from the driver seat in an eye-popping triple somersault to land big orange feet on the car's bumper. He pounded on the hood. Echoing kabooms thundered through the woods as Rico found his rhythm a la Keith Moon.
"Extreme scream, team!" expounded Kowalski as he returned with sticks sticking out every whichaway from under his flippers with a few carted between his thighs. These ones he laid like a Silver Laced Wyandotte hen deposits her precious eggs. "Everyone take a stick and beat the ground and scream as per orders! Rico, belay the drums!"
Rico catapulted from the bumper to grab the largest stick in the pile, screamed as only he could, and commenced obeying the mission's parameters. He whirled like a dervish prior to kickstarting a Cossack dance, earning admiring looks from all his teammates. Showing off his newly developed pecs, Private fenced elegantly with his willow withe as Kowalski joined him in combat with an elm épée until they saluted each other as at a draw. Following earhole-splitting screams in his not-to-be-outdone falsetto, Kowalski outperformed even Rico walloping the ground until finally Skipper couldn't stand listening anymore.
His team's frenzy of devotion to the misbegotten mission boosted his tears as he buried his face in his flippers and sobbed. The next thing he knew, anxious looks surrounded him as Kowalski gently exposed him to their gaze. Kowalski held his flippers no longer than necessary after a heartening squeeze.
"Sir, at ease. Sir, mission accomplished, right? Sir?"
"Yahchill." Rico offered a comforting pat on the commander's shoulder.
Positive reinforcement was Private's specialty. "Skippa, let's go home, wot? Time for brekkie kippers." The young penguin pointed to where the sun would soon come up as dawn caressed Central Park with hesitant fingers. Light dribbled into their clearing while Skipper gathered his strength.
Home. The ineffable comfort and peace of home as reward for completing this mission or any mission. Yes. "H-Home, team."
A collective sigh from the three spiraled the leaf litter into tiny tornados. "Wait. Belay that order."
"Sir?"
Kowalski was not the only one to offer options to his team, Skipper thought as he presented a few to his command. "You know, when the Big Boss went on and on about how fathers or" - he looked pointedly at Private - "any parental figure, actually, prove responsible for childhood trauma that clogs grownup emotions to the point of constipation -"
"Please, Skippa!"
"Sorry, sorry, I forgot how sensitive you are, young Private. Well, anyway, when she pounded home how papa's neglect of tenderness does the nasty, I couldn't help thinking that I didn't blame the fathers all that much in the first place. There's a lot of pressure on fathers." He swiped at his eyes and snuffled. "But she has a bee in her bonnet about the subject so I ask you: Do we as a team continue to report our feelings and concomitant tears -"
"Sir, have you added concomitant to your vocabulary?"
"Keen observation, keep it up, Kowalski! Moving right along, do we as a team vote to adopt this mission as ongoing to add it to our list of regular routines and call it, oh I don't know, Routine Fifty-One Fifty: Spill Your Guts?"
Rico snorted and turned away. "PleaddaFifth."
Private's face was a study in indecision, Kowalski frowned thoughtfully as he stroked his beak and Rico already stated his vote.
Outstanding.
Skipper assessed his post-cry emotions which did not make him feel better. Time to hit the road for home and postpone Skyping the mission report as long as feasible, but first, one final decision.
"Or do we commit to ahem my preference that I in no way wish to influence you upon, that in future we vow to keep our feelings decently bottled up and never ever cry in front of another unless it is a really good-looking señorita?"
After tallying the vote, Skipper declared another win for democracy.
IOIOIOIOIO
The End.
IOIOIOIOIO
- 3
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