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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/?
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- 66
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"Remember, you two, don't drive faster than your guardian angels can fly!"
The carefully chosen upbeat remark failed to cheer two sober faces. Kowalski and Rico gazed silently after their shell pink vehicle as Skipper sped away for a personal consult with Private, who rode shotgun. The silence on the penguin island lasted for one solid hour. Kowalski was grateful for that.
"Doc is a fellow scientist with machines I've heard of but never operated. He's nicer than Alice and not one to pull pranks, but how can this gravidity be true?" he asked himself as Rico circled their island underwater in the time right after dusk when the sky couldn't make up its mind whether to be blue, grayish or black. He felt deep gratitude for the white noise of the utter normality permeating the zoo's evening sounds: Roy's munching of his dinner of timothy hay, Burt's om nom nom while he crunched his peanuts, and Pinkie's gabbling among her flock of friends as they dished the dirt about zoo goings on.
Hmph. Pinkie. Gossips like her and Barry would need to be dealt with because if they got wind of Skipper's and Private's impending life changes, the zoo would rock and roll on an uneven keel. The zoo might sink. The zoo might founder - knock it off with the naval jibberjabber, Kowalski. The zoo is more than a ship filled with animals like Noah's ark, because humans.
Humans. Oh my oh my oh my - uhhh - uh. Just, oh, oh my. Humans undoubtedly would prod, pry, and possibly procure the egg for safekeeping. Skipper and Private wouldn't allow that ever, so it was imperative that the team's second brainstorm Plan B if living in the zoo were no longer an option. The logical option was the closest zoo to Central Park Zoo other than the Bronx Zoo, which would be the obvious place humans initially searched for runaways. That left unlovely New Jersey as the next choice.
First of all, Hoboken Zoo contained enemies like Rhonda, Savio, Hans and Clemson and one known friend, Lulu. Lulu owned chimp hands and chimp orneriness, so she was a probable ally. She could put them up while they were on the run from humans. Was she housed alone in Hoboken? Could he rig up a hologram simulation of Mason and Phil so Phil could accompany Mason on a visit to Phil's sweet patootie named Lulu? Chimps had lots of advantages as allies. Two more fugitives to make six would prove awkward, so Phil and Mason could return to Central Park Zoo after the first couple of days. It would be unfair to ask them to give up their cozy habitat that they'd just redecorated. Okay, that was Plan B.
Plan C consisted of heading not west but east to the Atlantic Ocean. Just head straight on out to sea and southward to Antarctica, towing the egg in a makeshift, er, something. Or maybe not all the way to Antarctica? Maybe to Chile and secure the aid of the Chinstrap Sisters, let's see, their names were Araceli, Juana, Fanny, and Estrellita. That way the darling baby could enjoy better weather and support from many adults, just like in Antarctica but with fewer nunataks.
Rico sent up bubbles on his third go round and inspired Kowalski. How about a warming matrix similar to the one that percolated half-formed on the back burner of his feverishly planning brain? How about the plans he had made for Rico and himself without Rico's knowledge and prior consent? Newton's knickers, the matrix was nowhere near completion in his head, let alone a physical entity yet! He would need to get cracking over the weekend!
Plan A seemed best and most stable to nurture a baby in, because such a shock to their team needed the comfort of familiarity. Kowalski found himself patting their faux floe as he remembered all the good times on it and below it. What would happen to his lab? How about the thirteen top security levels below his lab? And there was the SuperKing sized bunk, the sanctum sanctorum he shared with Rico to his delight that grew with every passing day. Oh, he would miss everything about his home. A grating shriek arose from the spider monkey cage. Okay, so maybe not everything.
Kowalski straightened resolutely, too energized to sit and watch the sun go down. He paced instead as had Skipper before his abject faint in the face of parenthood. Kowalski snickered. That marshmeowmeow Skipper required three minutes of smelling salts to bring him to. Kowalski knew that he himself would not have fainted but would have rejoiced immediately to discover that his and Rico's egg was on its way to being a bundle to cradle, cuddle, and coo over.
Kowalski sighed. That cherished plan for his love and himself diminished in the face of current, actual reality of Private's egg debuting in a few days. Oh my again! he gasped. Only a few hours! It was already 7:11:36 p.m. Friday and Monday was less than 53 hours away! Far shorter a time than the experiment that produced Makaliporn!
Calm down, calm down, breathe, Kowalski. Think Dr. Phil's latest wisdom: If you accept your thoughts as facts, then you will no longer be looking for new information because you assume that you have all the answers.
He thought some more.
IOIOIOIOIO
It must have been fate that their drive took them straight to Manhattan's version of combined performance art and mecha museum. Mecha in the form of nonfunctional kiddie rides greeted their eyes as darkness approached. Street lights illuminated the lot and fell upon one rocket shaped ride in particular. Its chrome top sprouted an antenna that Kowalski would have described in more technical terms, but never mind. This was just him and Private on this drive. His love. His pregnant love.
Skipper pulled into the lot's edge, ready for battle. So Frances Alberta did this thing to Private. So she would pay.
"Skippa, where are we, honey?"
Skipper supposed he ought to calm down. Supposing didn't help his mood, though.
"Frances Alberta runs this Funkytown museum. Frankie laid some intel on me about it on Black Friday that seemed prankish, but now I wonder. I'll get her for what she did to you, never fear." It was time to commit. "You have my word on it."
"Yeah, well, I've been thinkin' on the drive here when I wasn't hangin' on for dear life, er, lives."
"I noticed."
It just should not have been right to see Private cradle his tummy like that. It felt wrong. Damn that woman. Damn her. She was in for a world class beat down. She'd never know what hit her and once it got dark enough for stealth maneuvers, he'd station Private at the car for a quick getaway after he dealt out justice.
"So, Skippa, I quite like the idea of bein' a parent. Why don't you?"
That was it. Why didn't he? Private put things too simply sometimes. "It's for your sake that I feel anger the way I do. It must have been like being raped when you heard about your condition. It's unnatural and forced and I hate that you took the shot for me." Yes, that must be why he felt outraged.
Private caressed the trembling, tensed bicep. "It is strange. I wanted this a long time ago, remember when two K'walskis came from the future and I hoped for one egg and another on the way? He told me that wasn't in my future and well, I gave up hopin' it ever would be."
What? "What? No, I don't remember that. It sounds like you, though." Skipper opened the car door.
"Oh, right, you were busy with somethin' and didn't hear me." Skipper planted one foot on the ground.
"It doesn't matter now."
Private tugged the clenched fist that nearly dented the steering wheel. "Half a mo', Skippa. Let's chinwag, guv'na."
Shit. "You know I get weak in the knees when you talk like that. You're playing me like a teeny tiny fiddle."
"Oooh, teeny tiny is the last thing I'd call you."
"Stay on the subject because I am. You're going to lay an egg. That must feel incredible."
Private shrugged. "I don't feel anythin' different."
"No?" It was nearly dark enough to move out. Clear skies lacking cloud cover, well, he would need to be extra covert on the attack, not a problem. It would be just like in the old days in Atlantis when he first got his commission and was footloose and fancy-free to lead his troops to make calamari out of attacking space squids. No complications, no loves, no eggs.
"No. Doc fixed me up proper and actually, I feel relaxed. K'walski could tell me why, I suppose, but like you just said, it doesn't matter. I like feelin' like this. I like bein' here with you. I don't like how you're fixin' to beat up Frances Alberta, not that she was in the right for doin' wot she did."
Shit again and again and again. "Oh you're too much. Forgiving what she did is too much. I can't stand hearing you like this, Private. I'll be leaving now. Plotz behind the wheel and get ready to peel out when I'm done tearing her lorikeet colored hair by its blonde roots."
Intolerance has its place. Vengeance has its place. Routine Two from Rockgut, of all penguins, preached Peace Out but dammit, he meant the routine for team-specific disagreements, and this, and this ... and this was a team-specific disagreement. Any good field officer knew when to switch tactics. Skipper ground his beak at the necessity of doing it. "Private, out of the car."
"Walk with you?"
"Correctamundo."
The two commandos craned their necks per habit as they surveyed for onlookers and surveillance cams. The April sunset showed a crisply clear sky unlikely to add rain to the night as had the night before; the paths throughout Funkytown showed rubber mats over the dirt lot and the various kiddie rides appeared harmless. A tall piece of mechanical art stood out from the streetlights' glow, a few humans strode purposefully on the sidewalk, and no human would notice two little penguins touring Funkytown by night.
Private stopped as if thunderstruck by a collection of copper pipes welded to an interesting shape about ten feet tall. "Wot's this? It looks like Julien's smoothie maker."
Skipper barely glanced at the art. "I don't know and I don't care. Where is that bitch?"
Private pulled his love closer to try a neck rub, but Skipper pulled away. "If I see her, I'll tell you. Believe me."
"Hmmm. Maybe she's out. We'll wait under cover. It's early yet."
Peace Out wasn't working so far, well he hadn't given it a chance and maybe he wouldn't because he was the officer here. A new spring growth of broad leafed weeds provided good enough cover and the two hunkered down onto damp earth. "Righto, then. Frankie said wot?"
Skipper kept his voice low out of habit. "He said Frances Alberta was building a weapon, that's all. I don't care what weapon because she's not getting away from Papa Justice about her crime to you."
"No more details than a weapon? Size, purpose, capacity, shape, caliber - "
"Now you know what I know." He would not be sidetracked. "Stay on target, Private. Talk only does so much and I'm ready for action. When it comes time for me to wind her clock, I need to know you'll McQueen the getaway car - wait. I thought of something. Wait."
"I'll always wait for you, just like Manfredi and Johnson would always wait for you."
"That's good to hear. Back on track, when I finish with her, we'll scout for anything weapon-like, and then do doughnuts in her lot and spray all her braaping mecha with mud. That'll braaping show her."
Skipper felt Private shrug his shoulder into his own shoulder. "If you say so."
Dammit, was impending fatherhood braaping up his concentration? He skidded onto thinking about a jackass pigeon. You should never trust enemies like Frankie, or no, he wasn't exactly an enemy, he was - "A pusillanimous twerp, that's what Frankie is. I refuse to dignify him enough to be on my enemies list. He's a jerk like Barry. I don't know what he was on about Frances Alberta, if his intel is true or not, or if I care. I just want to hurt Frances Alberta for what she did to you."
Skipper felt Private's flipper lift as if to dispense a sideways hug and so he glared at him in the semi-gloom. Private's flipper snugged back onto his own side. "Barry just needed a hug, Skippa. Imagine if you never got a hug in your whole blinkin' life, much less wot you and I enjoy every night and sometimes day, well, before the break we're takin' now."
"I don't care."
"I know you don't, honey. You don't have to."
"Damn straight." Private was being the adult here, and Skipper knew it. It stung, but there it was. Kowalski would quote Dr. Phil's winners deal with the truth right about now.
"You know, once I twigged onto my new normal of bein' a parent - "
"That's just it!" Skipper exploded. "Us! Parents! Fathers and mothers and babies and teaching and protectingprotectingprotecting twenty-four-braaping-seven for years on end! I'm not ready!"
More adulthood than he himself owned at the moment oozed from his love. "Me neither. But you know, I expect to be when the little stranger arrives."
"In two days! In two days, babe! Two days!"
"Actually, it'll be thirty-one days after the two before hatchin', so that makes, er - "
"Thirty-three and I don't get you."
Skipper wanted to salute Private in thirty-three seconds because after a wink that he barely saw through the growing darkness and a nudge that he felt to his core, Private said, "Thirty-three days is plenty of time to get used to the idea, don't you think?"
Skipper didn't know. He was older than Private and to Private, thirty-three days likely sounded a hell of a lot more than the hop, skip and a jump it did to himself. "Thirty-three days. One month. Sometime in May. I dunno, Private, I just dunno." He flicked a weed leaf out of his face. "Kowalski told me once that this sort of weed crops up where you least expect it and grows like crazy. That's like our egg."
"Our blessin'."
Oh crap. Shittoosky. Braap. "Not from Chango through Frances Alberta, it wasn't."
"Does it matter now? It's goin' to happen. I'll be ready and I know you'll be, too. Don't worry, be happy."
"That was a dumb song."
"It was popular and right. It spoke to me."
"It would. Look, there she is. Get ready to rumble."
IOIOIOIO
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Undertow