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Undertow	By : pronker Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar Views: 11341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise. I do not own its characters, basic premise or settings.

Chapter List
- 1-1/?
- 2-2/?
- 3-3/?
- 4-4/?
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- 41
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"Well, shitooskey."
"So this is K'walski's idea of 'undiscovered caverns to explore while you two, um, take your relationship on a romantic vacation'?" Private kicked at the wood of a rotted out boat as he and his leader stood beside the stream, claws sinking into mud. Rusty pipes lined the jumbled rock walkway six feet above their heads. The walkway had been obviously constructed by humans of like-sized boulders the dimensions of bowling balls, but with a portion chiseled off to supply a flat surface. The whole effect was of murmuring cave waters that promised a touch of excitement in more vigorous torrents farther down the stream. Skipper couldn't tell his love's expression in the Maglite's beam because Private turned his face away in a pout as he crossed his flippers. "Wot's next? Disco balls and Dance Dance Revolution around the next corner, hmmm?"
Skipper hunched over the fragment of boat. "He had only Mason's translations of Phil's signs from the all-knowing internet." He poked into the wood and tasted muddy residue on a flippertip. "Tastes old, like centuries." He tasted more and then spat. "One century, anyway."
"Could the internet have been wrong, Skippa?"
"Don't let Kowalski, Phil or Mason hear you say that. The concept would blow their little minds." Skipper pointed to drifts of driftwood higher up on the bank than where the two birds stood. "Look, wood for a fire. That's unexpected."
Private patted the Hello Kitty backpack's side at his waist where devices to light fires both physical and metaphorical lurked in dry safety. "I packed matches. I checked and double checked before we left." Now Skipper saw the non-pouty expression return when Private turned to him, his jaw dropping. "Wait! If there's wood in here" - he gestured to the level where the driftwood formed a solid line extending out of their sight - "how did it get here?"
"Flood." Skipper shrugged. "This place probably floods in winter."
"All the way to the ceilin'?" Private swallowed hard. "Do you think it'll flood while we're in it?"
Protectprotectprotect. "No, since it'll be spring in a few days. It's not rained lately here or in New York City. Gil Force would have broadcast it." Skipper thought of more reassuring words to ease a worried brow. "And we trust Gil, don't we?"
The brow still furrowed. "Suppose the telly was wrong, like the internet was about 'glorious undiscovered caverns to explore'?"
"Then we'll die."
"Wot?"
Bravado had its place and Skipper knew well how to deploy it. "Just kidding, Private! Look, we go with what we know and improvise later, like every other commando does. Fly by the seat of our pants, though we can't fly and wear no pants on our delightful rumps." He slapped Private's butt. "Snap out of it, you're jinxing the mood."
"All, all righty roo. Yeah, I'd not do that for worlds and worlds." His smile trembled upon a winsome beak and Skipper huffed in anticipation of kissing it. He looked up.
"Beauty surrounds us, so let's get cracking at enjoying it. This is a good place to start, now that we're out of human hearing." The so-called dam door Phil had described on Howe Caverns website's brochure proved easy-peasy to karate open and heave shut. The human world of tours and tourists got left behind, good riddance, and all that was left was Mama Nature. Skipper plowed forward into squeezing the life out of these precious vacation days. For half an hour, the Maglite shone splendidly into the long-closed portions of Howe Caverns as they swam, waded, and waddled further away from the door.
Kowalski would have called these formations by proper scientific names.
Early on a Friday, Skipper improvised. "Flowy, Jaggedy, Sparkly Enough For Ringtail, Something Sticky, Looks Like A Juicebox Straw, and Stabby." He ran a flipper over the fluid collecting on a stalagmite's tip. "This one's a Sticky, Private." He sniffed and then tasted the fluid. "Smells like sulphur, pee yew, tastes worse, ptooey. I'm naming this one Stinky instead."
"Thanks for the warnin'." Private clambered over a dark lump three steps ahead of his commander. He shone the Maglite upwards. "Quite lovely up there, out of our reach."
Two little penguins admired the view of toothy stalactites twenty feet above their heads. Private could see that a lesson formed in Skipper's head and he hoped that he shaped it into an observation. No need for formality down here. Sure enough, the statement turned out quite mild. "It's best many times when we can't reach beauty because we could spoil it. I think St. Urho said that first, but I could be wrong. It's his day today."
"Righto, and beauty is ever so relaxin' to see, innit?" Private eyed Skipper's pose meaningfully: no frown of concentration, no flippers akimbo, no jutted chin, just no nothing. It almost didn't look like him.
Skipper noticed the appraisal. "You're right on all counts, Private."
Crikey, no correction or argument, either. The times indeed were a-changin' in these caverns. Private waded once more into the stream and splashed playfully. "Join me?"
From up ahead came a louder sound of waters rushing over themselves in an effort to outrace gravity. Skipper nodded and plunged into the stream, where he floated on his back beside him. The two skimmed leisurely with only a smaller amount of extra strength needed to swim in these fresh waters, feeling as light as, well, birds, while the waters carried them along to romance. Private's shiver of anticipation had nothing to do with the chill waters. Thanking Hello Kitty's manufacturers and all things Japanese, Private's shriek came as a surprise to himself as well as to Skipper.
"Bats! Look!"
"Where away?"
"Twelve o'clock high! There!"
Dark shapes rustled as the Maglite hit them twenty feet up. Nestled into nooks strewn throughout the stalactites, little batty shapes stirred yet did not fly.
"Stormin' Norman's sock garters, Kowalski didn't say anything about bats, either! Are Rico's mad love skills messing up our team's brainy guy?" Private thought that Skipper wouldn't want him to notice that blurted assessment, so he bypassed it.
Private pinwheeled his flippers to stay in place. "Yoohoo! Bats! Oh, ba-aaats! We're just passin' through, no worries, we'll be moseyin' straightaway - "
"They're - hibernating? That must be it." The bats hitched a leathery wing over their faces and did the batty equivalent of grumbling in soft squeaks. Skipper switched off the Maglite. "We'll leave them alone if they leave us alone."
Private hooked a leg through Skipper's to keep together in pitch black as they drifted out of sight of the iconic cave creatures. "All sorts of new things on our vacation, right, Skippa?" He shook the quivers out of his voice. "It's wot we were comin' here for, yes, honey?"
"Something like that, babe."
Peace descended as they passed through vaults of plated gypsum that glinted like real disco balls as they turned the Maglite on again. Stalactites, flowstone, draperies, soda straws, cave pearls, and columns greeted them in stunning sequences. Silently, the splendor of the underground spaces awed them into a placid state.
Uncountable time sped by until Private discovered unknown restlessness that he put down to what Kowalski would call his id. Upon seeing Skipper and himself reflected as tiny black and white prisms gliding along the ceiling, he flashed onto a mystic vision of their lovemaking using the dildo that later he would term you're a right nutter, you are, Private. He had to act.
"I call breath holdin' contest!"
"Aw, you always win that one - hey, wait for me!"
Two little penguins dove to the stream's bottom, actually not all that deep in contrary to what torrents they thought they had heard back by the dam door. They puttered about and tried to spot any examples of weird, eyeless fish that inhabited cave streams, when a rumble rocked their world. The waterproof Maglite bobbled in Skipper's grip as a fissure opened in the streambed. Displaced water swirled beneath them like a bathtub drain and they sank out of each other's sight.
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Undertow