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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/?
- 5-5/?
- 6-6/?
- 7-7/?
- 8-8/?
- 9-9/?
- 10-10/?
- 11-11/?
- 12-12/?
- 13-13/?
- 14-14/?
- 15-15/?
- 16-16/?
- 17-17/?
- 18-18/?
- 19-19/?
- 20-20/?
- 21-21/?
- 22-22/?
- 23-23/?
- 24-24/?
- 25-25/?
- 26-26/?
- 27-27/?
- 28-28/?
- 29-29/?
- 30-30/?
- 31-31/?
- 32-32/?
- 33-33/?
- 34-34/?
- 35-35/?
- 36-36/?
- 37-37/?
- 38-38/?
- 39-39/?
- 40-40/?
- 41-41/?
- 42-42/?
- 43-43/?
- 44-44/?
- 45-45/?
- 46-46/?
- 47-47/?
- 48-48/?
- 49-49/?
- 50-50/?
- 51-51/?
- 52-52/?
- 53-53/?
- 54-54/?
- 55-55/?
- 56-56/?
- 57-57/?
- 58-58/?
- 59-59/?
- 60-60/?
- 61-61/?
- 62-62/?
- 63-63/?
- 64-64/?
- 65-65/?
- 66-66/?
- 67-67/?
- 68-68/?
- 69-69/?
- 70-70/?
- 71-71/?
- 72-72/?
- 73-73/?
- 74-74/?
- 75-75/?
- 76-76/?
- 77-77/?
- 78-78/?
- 79-79/?
- 80-80/?
- 81-81/?
- 82-82/?
- 83-83/?
- 84-84/?
- 85-85/?
- 86-86/?
- 87-87/?
- 88-88/?
- 89-89/?
- 90-90/?
- 91-91/?
- 92-92/?
- 93-93/?
- 94-94/?
- 95-95/?
- 96-96/?
- 97-97/?
- 98-97/?
- 99-99/?
- 100-100/?
- 101-101/?
- 102-102/?
- 103-103/?
- 104-104/?
- 105-105/?
- 106-106/?
- 107-107/?
- 108-108/?
- 109-109/?
- 110-110/112
- 111-111/112
- 112-112/112
- 68
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"Then what happened?"
Skipper slapped Private's butt and asked, "Whoopsie, was that too hard, babe? Gotta be careful with you now, you know!" before submitting to Kowalski's query.
"Ha! And double hee, Kowalski! We got that b-b-bi-, um I mean, biddy so dirty she'll be needing manis and pedis! We really messed her up and you know how she hates dirt? We hit her where she lives, baby! She'll be scouring her kiddie ride mecha thingamabobs for hours, not to mention her own lily white bod!" He patted Private's butt this time, a little soft barely-there pat that made Private roll his eyes.
Skipper seemed so happy. Their mission statement of Friday Drive To Wreak Revenge overtook the mission statement of Friday Drive To Clear The Air Between The Commander And His Love In Privacy and so the mission was worth it. Kowalski hadn't known if his commander would go full out kung fu master on Frances Alberta, but an important clue told him that Skipper planned no serious damage: he did not commandeer Rico to barf ordnance to actually, you know, draw blood.
If Skipper appeared mellow and borderline giddy, then Private appeared worried and dare he say, fractious. Private's next words proved Kowalski's analysis.
"Skippa, Frances Alberta wallowed into the mud when she talked to Chango, so maybe she's over her dirt hate since that was before you mucked her up."
Skipper's voice hit a plaintive note that made Kowalski wince. "Oh. Yeah. Right."
Private couldn't seem to let it go, just like Elsa in Frozen before she got smart. "We all change, Skippa, so she did, too. Maybe that Moley bloke got her to like grubby, you never know." The pregnant penguin turned oblivious as he searched the fridge for something edible after opening it quickly to catch the little man who turned on the light. He shrugged at missing the little man yet again and poked through the shelves.
"Way to ruin my revenge, Private," Skipper muttered before turning back into team disciplinarian. "Lights out in fifteen, men." He sat on the edge of their bed and swung his feet, studying Private's bent over posture. Kowalski leaped into the bunk he shared with Rico and got comfortable. He gestured to Rico, who aced a high jump into bed but leaned out to talk with Skipper.
"'Kippaaahhhh, Rawgutrite?"
"Huh? What about Rockgut? He's as far right as it gets, compadre. He's so far right he wraps around."
It was time to interpret Rico's Hamarskaftet Nunatak brogue and Kowalski had it in him to enhance his love's intent with some purple prose. "Peace Out, our Routine Two, sir, which Rockgut pulled out of his a-uh, hat, to bring peace to penguin commando teams who have lost it. You know, temporarily - "
"Heck, yes, I know. Well, heck, Rico" - Skipper twisted around and looked up crookedly at the two of them, because Kowalski leaned over Rico's shoulder to give lieutenant-type moral support - "heck, I guess you can say Routine Two worked and I'll tell that to Buck if we see him again. Private and I schlepped ourselves around Frances Alberta's dirty lot so that's one quarter of a mile waddle one mile with your enemy part of Rockgut's routine - "
Kowalski choked out, "Enemy?"
Command firmed Skipper's bemused tone into exposition. "Hell - He- Heck, yes, if yout think about it. Private, well, he's the way he is and I'd not have him different, but he and I disagree on parenthood in general for commandos." He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. "Or I did until I remembered your speech after we nurtured little Eggy so he could go live with his momma and the mysterious never-seen poppa."
Kowalski scratched his head. "Eh, sir, it's been awhile - oh, that one."
"Yeah, that one. Say it again. Not an order, but, but ... would you?"
Of course he would and be glad for the opportunity. "In the best of times, our days are numbered anyway. So it would be a crime against nature for any generation to take the world crisis so solemnly that it put off enjoying those things for which we were designed in the first place: the opportunity to do good work, to enjoy friends, to fall in love, to hit a ball, and to bounce a baby."
Thank Gilbreth, Rico kept his beak shut about the subject but Skipper sniffled. Awwwwww.
Kowalski reached down a shoulder pat but missed the target when Skipper rolled to the inside of the bunk at Private's approach.
Private munched three saltines at once, spewing crumbs. "G'night all." He stood, still munching as he gestured imperiously to his commander. "I want the inside of our bunk out of the draft. I'm cold."
"But there's no draft - okayokay. Whatever you say, babe."
Kowalski clamped his love's beak shut before the incipient raspberry and heeded Dr. Phil's advice to deflect disputes at bedtime. "Goodnight, room, goodnight, moon, goodnight ... uh. I'm still working on that one."
Private nestled himself inside his space, still a fountain of cracker crumbs. "fffK'walski. Lightsfff fffout."
Kowalski joined Rico in a low growl as he complied. "Mmmhm."
IOIIOIOIO
Private's condition added fuel to the fire that Kowalski's brain stoked. He'd stayed awake until the zoo clock struck two a.m. and now, in Saturday morning seven a.m. calisthenics, he pushed aside the yearning to be in Private's place immediately regarding parenthood. Although there was no rush to complete his top secret calculations that he'd only hinted about to his commander, he flogged his brain to duplicate Dave's and Blowhole's triple manipulation of DNAs - wait a New York Minute! There would be no need to manipulate three when only two would do, his and Rico's. Now, how to broach the subject to Rico before he planned further ... ulps. He swallowed hard and thought harder. What if the whole egg production began because it was Skipper's macho manly machismo added to Frances Alberta's magicks? To make another egg might require using Skipper's DNA added to his own for a successful egg to hatch. He spied his leader in the midst of a powerful crunch with cross stretch and wibbled internally.
No.
No, there was no way he would be unfaithful to Rico even in such a disconnected fashion. His logical mind skittered away from the vision of himself and Skipper if they fully, um - he giggled and blushed on the outside and the others looked at him funny at Crunch Number Thirty-Two. He coughed as if temporarily out of wind while he skipped a few crunches to breathe and to think.
Now wait, Kowalski: you could rig an artificial nurturing matrix with your genius! It could be on the order of the towable waterproof container you postulated for Egg Number One if your team bugged out for South America! Sure! The whole process could be neatly impersonal! Skipper could contribute DNA and you could, too - he retreated from the image of them doing it side by side or, worse, helping each other - and put the mix into the artificial element inside the container. Piece of cake, Kowalski. You made Makaliporn and you can do this, too.
He beamed at his ingenuity before noticing a leaderly assessing gaze at Crunch Number Forty. He picked up the pace to complete his set of fifty.
IOIOIOIOIO
Private was slower than normal to clean up their mugs after the team's usual Sunday hot cocoa. It was his turn to fix the treat and instead of insisting on the usual four p.m. because "it's proper tea time, doncherknow," he'd needed reminding and now it was after seven. The rest of the commandos lazed about their communal dining table telling jokes.
"Gee, I dunno, Kowalski. I never looked!"
The three senior members of Skipper's team fell apart at the punchline. The teller of the joke got it together first. "Manfredi and Johnson didn't need the internet to get funny jokes to spread around and neither do I!"
"No, sir, they did not," Kowalski said. The three smiled wistfully. Any pain regarding the brave duo's passing had since faded to nostalgia. "I, I wonder what they would have to say about all these new developments the past year, about Åland, about ... everything," he ventured after a moment.
The junior member of the team waddled slowly to his compatriots, wiping his flippers on his flanks before placing them akimbo. He did not sit at his usual spot. "Wot's so funny?"
"Not for your earholes, Private. You stick to your Lunacorns." Skipper patted Private's belly and rose to stand behind him. "Lunacorns are good for you," he stated in a louder than usual voice directed at the roundest part of his love.
Private sniffed. "Have it your way. Lunacorns get up to all kinds of things in fanfiction, says Penny, and her primary rider bounces ideas off her for his stories when their shift gets boring on the park trails, not that he could understand any suggestion she'd have. Penny says he calls himself a Bony, though I don't see why. Penny says he's not at all thin, quite Schwartzeneggerish as a matter of fact."
"I think that bony's not the word, um, Private - "
"Don't encourage him, Kowalski! The less we waddle on the internet, the better." Skipper engulfed Private in a hug from behind before ringing his collarbone with crossed flippers. "We stick to using it for GPS, occasional intel, and playing solitaire. We think pure thoughts nowadays and I've heard tell that the internet has impurity up its collective wazoo." He closed his eyes in bliss as he nibbled the terminator of black and white feathers beside Private's jaw.
From his stance, Skipper couldn't see Private's eye roll and pursed beak. "Yeah yeah, pure. Sure."
"Kaffdramakaff," whispered Rico behind a casually raised flipper. Kowalski's face fell as Private whipped around to zero in on the demo expert.
"Wot was that, Rico?"
"Nuffin."
"No, I distinctly heard you say somethin'. Out with it." Private could look steely when he wanted to.
Kowalski butted in. "He meant, um, 'draw muh pictoor, er, picture', right, Rico?"
"I don't believe you, either of you. You're makin' cracks about me or Skippa or both just because we're expectin'." The stormy glare seemed out of place on Private. "Humiliatin' cracks, I'm sure."
Skipper's expression could be called unprepared as he reeled back from embracing his love, and Kowalski knew he had to step up as lieutenant into this minefield. It must be now, when his commander swam in unfamiliar waters as a parent to be. By Gadfrey, his second would smooth the rough seas or drown trying. "We've made a date tonight with Marlene that we'll keep, if it suits your schedule, sir."
Kowalski deliberately turned aside from confronting Private, whose touchiness grew hourly. Queeg's queries, who in his condition wouldn't be touchy? The condition was unique and unheard of and other things fascinating to science but devastating to one's center, as Doctor Phil would say. He hoped Private found his center soon because he likely had only hours to go before depositing the egg. "She's charcoaling our portrait as an anniversary gift."
Rico took two steps towards Private.
Oh no oh no lover, don't.
Rico wasn't backing away from his statement. Maybe he was right to bring things into the open, things they'd been thinking for the past two days. "'Yucrnky."
"So wot?" Aw, Balaclava, the ordure was about to hit the oscillating wind machine. "Who wouldn't be in my state?"
"Babe - "
"Don't babe me, Skippa! I, I hate all of you!" Suspicious moisture shone in Skipper's eyes over a firmly compressed beak and Kowalski had had enough.
"Private" - mirroring talk, use mirroring talk, says Doctor Phil, don't fail me now, Doctor Phil, Kowalski you goofball, use I statements like Doctor says! - "I understand your emotions run high at this point but I do think hate is too strong a word I really, really do - "
Doctor Phil came through, as if Kowalski ever should have doubted him. Private's shoulders slumped. "You're right. I just want to go live in a cave, alone. Forever. I can't escape this, this, blessin'." He slapped his belly and Skipper twitched.
"We won't let you do that. I won't let you." Skipper's voice cracked and Kowalski gestured to Rico for them to split for Marlene's artistic endeavors.
"Permission to leave, sir?"
Skipper made the signal for Routine Four: Scout Ahead, I'll Catch Up Later.
"C'monKwoskii," muttered Rico as he saluted and left. Kowalski did likewise, beak at an unhappy slant.
IOIOIOIOIO
"Honey, I don't want to chinwag about it. Nobody understands. Nobody can." Skipper could discern only whining and no real heartbreak. Damn, Private was being a pain in the pinfeathers. Maybe Private never would let him down where it really counted, but dammit getting along with him was tough lately.
Skipper's battle mind swooped and soared before coming to light on a likely perch. "Momma Duck can and Shelly can. I refuse to consider the Blue Hen or Pinky. Let's go see Shelly because she's closer."
By the way that Private's jaw dropped, he'd not expected this answer. "Shelly? That kook?"
"That mother, and I mean the word in a nice way. Let's go, pronto, before she heads to bed with Crusher."
Private winced. "I don't think I could stand to see that. My tummy is actin' up lately and I might hurl my breakfast."
"I know you didn't have supper, but didn't you have lunch, either?"
"No, off my feed, I s'pose, exceptin' the cocoa. Wot's it matter, anyway?"
Good Sullivan family grief, the days of whine and neuroses! Skipper churned his sense of fairness to redirect Private from navel gazing, that is, if penguins had navels.
"Yeah, you know, about Shelly, to each his own, um, her own. If it keeps her off Rico's case, I'm good with her plastic toy that she swoons over. How is Crusher different than Miss Perky?"
Miss Perky kept as mum as Private did not upon hearing the quite reasonable question. Ignoring a disgruntled hrmph, Skipper swung Miss Perky's perch on the stuffed fish plaque open to take a different route to Shelly's part of the zoo. If they hopped up the main ladder, they might run into Kowalski and Rico. The tunnel stretching past Private's first prize dorado that Rico taxidermified so long ago echoed with the slap slap of their webbed feet as they hung a left and exited just inside of the brick fence encircling the zoo.
"Hey, Shelly, m'main ostrich! You up?" The thing was, Kowalski and Rico and Private and Skipper admitted often, was that penguin commandos exercised their protective shield over every animal in Central Park Zoo, which meant that visits could happen anytime, anywhere, whenever the safety of the zoo loomed paramount. Skipper felt a little bad about disturbing the happy couple's evening since this wasn't a full blown emergency, but only a little. Feelings mattered, too.
"Skipper and Private! Crusher is having his dinner but you can join us!" Shelly fluffed her glorious black and white plumes in welcome as she plotzed on her nest alongside Crusher, who lifted a spoon to his nonexistent mouth hole. Skipper figured Shelly was playacting and went along with the gag. He had his beak open to reply when Private did it for him.
"I'm not hungry," Private said without a thank you kindly, which was so unlike him.
"Why, gracias for the snack, ma'am! Private, if you're not hungry you're missing out - " Skipper accepted the block of ostrich chow that Shelly held out and nibbled politely. Ack, it tasted like their fish cakes that every penguin hated even though they were chockablock with vitamins. He smiled at Shelly and passed the block back to her. "No more because I'm really full, but that was ... interesting. Private, sure you won't try it?"
"I'm not hungry, I said." Bitch, bitch, bitch. Private needed a slap sooner rather than later. Skipper stood down mentally as he shrugged in Shelly's direction. She bobbed her neck in agitation.
"He's not hungry? Why not? It's dinnertime, says Alice, and we know better than to dismiss Alice, right, Crusher?"
Crusher concentrated on his spoonful of mashed ostrich chow.
"Forgive him, he's a little off today," burbled Shelly. "I cut his hair and he didn't like the way it turned out." She riffled her doll's butch cut one way and then the other to make a raspy sound. "Do tell him he looks manlier this way than with the pompadour, okay, guys?"
Well, then. Anything for his love. "Yep, Shelly, we'll do that little thing but it'll grow back, right?" Shelly appeared crestfallen at Crusher's continued silence towards their guests and then she brightened.
"Yes, it will grow back! You're right, it will, oh no wonder you protect us zoosters, Skipper, because you're so smart. I just loved to cuddle Crusher's head when I cut his hair today and now I can again sometime. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Skipper tried to appear wise or at least not condescending. With all this goofiness, he felt as if he were skimming over moguls without benefit of skis.
Private made a strange sound that resembled a choked off laugh. Aw, come on now, since when did Private lose his tact? The egg issue was too important to blow off any advice from an experienced egglayer. Skipper was relieved that the smothered laugh alerted him to Private's provocative next words. "Crikey, Shelly, you realize Crusher's just a manneq- "
"Manly bodybuilder ripped enough for the Olympics, or is it the X Games, Shelly?"
Shelly's ditheriness helped her face zoo life, Skipper supposed. "X Games, Skipper! He's training every day to get big air in the skateboard competition! Maybe he and you can train together or you could coach him?" The admiration in her eyes made Skipper swallow hard.
"When time permits on our busy schedule, sure thing, lady! But we're here for another reason, one that you can help with. We're, we're rehearsing for our Thanksgiving talent show later on this year."
"April is a bit early for rehearsin', innit, Skippa?"
Sabotage from his love? Damn. "Private, my motto is: Procrastination is piss poor prior planning. I'll make it into a routine or drill if you don't watch out." He dribbled warning into his tone. "All right, then, Shelly, I'll let you in on our plans to perform a skit called The Ugly Duckling."
That got Private's appropriate, non-pregnant nature to emerge. "No such animal, Skippa, since they're all cute as can be."
"It's a play. Not real. I'll get Kowalski to Spark Notes the plot for you, Private, but onward to you, Shelly. Can you explain how it feels to lay an egg?" Skipper batted his baby aquamarine blues at her. He was willing to try anything to soothe his love for the inevitable future. "Whoever plays the Duckling's momma could get into character better if he has an idea of the process."
Shelly's china blue eyes dilated to the size of Mort's gumballs as she squalled, "You want me for a mission? Huzzah! Oh joy! Crusher, did you hear?" She rose on her gangly legs and did a quick Charleston or maybe it was a Black Bottom. Skipper laughed along with the dizzy bird but Private did not.
Crusher maintained his pout.
"Focus on the mission, Shelly."
"Aye aye aye, sir!" Shelly paced a circle around her nest before settling primly next to her plastic lovey. "How does it feel, hmmmm. How does it feel? How does it feeeeeel - "
"Carry on. Time is of the essential." Skipper smacked one fist into the other to demonstrate urgency.
The smack must have displaced air currents because Crusher fell sideways and Shelly straightened him up, wiping invisible dinner off his chin. "Now don't get excited, Crusher. I won't leave you for show business. I'm too loyal."
Loyal, well that was one way of putting it. She'd attempted to break up Rico and Miss Perky out of loyalty to Rico after he'd saved her life. She thought she'd make the better girlfriend. Skipper settled for simpler words of command to help her focus. "Shelly. Report."
Shelly saluted and he and Private dodged the broad gesture from her impressive wingspan. "Report," Skipper repeated. "That's an order."
"Aye aye aye, sir!"
"Just one or two ayes, oh never mind. On with the show, Shelly. Concentrate."
She was daffy but she was a mother, too, and resignation laced her tone. "My babies got taken from me for other zoos, Skipper. We said goodbye and then they were gone after I raised them to tweenagers. I remember the day each one hatched like it was yesterday." She sighed and Skipper thought she deliberately punted herself away from a poignant memory. "Speaking of yesterday, wow, what a day yesterday was with Crusher! I can't wait to tell you both about what we two did - "
"Easy, fellow flightless bird, we need you to be kind and rewind your tape not to yesterday but to the days when you laid eggs. What was the process like, what started it, did it hurt - "
Private wasn't trembling, was he? Skipper patted his love's shoulder, not wanting to put ideas about his and Private's relationship into a silly, gossipy head by a full on embrace. Private pulled himself together after he ducked away from the pats. "Yeah, righto, Shelly! Did it hurt? Does any actor need to pretend to cry? Th-That might be tough to do."
Skipper saw that Shelly reached into herself for calm. "It didn't hurt, exactly, and it didn't not hurt. Everything stretched, I squatted and out came eggs. It took oh, maybe fifteen minutes from when I first felt symptoms. I'd just eaten my rapeseed snack treats - "
"Rape has seeds?" Private's voice quivered. "Wot?"
"Hush, soldier, I'm sure it doesn't mean what it sounds like, right, Shelly?" Skipper squeezed Private's shoulder, her suspicions be damned, but Shelly zipped off on another tangent as fast as if she could really fly.
"Good glory, no. Rape is delicious. I love it if Alice treats me with rapeseed when I do this for the guests." Up like a yoyo she bounced again, bowing and stamping her feet as her plumed wings fluttered to attract a mate. As far as Skipper knew, there hadn't been a male involved in making Shelly pregnant, so it was likely artificial insemination similar to what Alice had resorted to. Alice probably had held Shelly down as Doc performed the procedure on the ostrich, so in a way, it was rape. He felt a little queasy as the bird danced according to instinct to acquire what she would never experience.
"It's all too much, I'm, I'm goin' to faint, Skippa - "
"No, don't! Hold it back!" He slapped Private. It felt good and he felt guilty.
Private aimed a good solid punch at his love. Skipper took it on the chin, staggered and then regained his balance. Private's face crumpled.
"I, I didn't mean it - sorry sorry sorry - I don't know wot I'm doin' half the time nowadays - "
Shelly woke up from wherever she went during her mating dance. "Here now! No fighting! What's going on? Crusher, did you see that? Why are you just sitting there, stop them!"
Crusher looked to be still engrossed in his meal and so Shelly took over. "Never mind, darling, finish your dindin, I've got this!" She loomed over the two penguins before sweeping them up, one to a wing. "Cut that out! No tempers here, I'll have you know. If I can handle kids, I can handle you two." She squeezed and they both sank into her chest under the black and white fluffy pillows that comprised her wings.
Crusher may not have been mobile, but his mate squashed dissension as would any good bouncer or, come to think of it, mother of tweens. Skipper felt like he had when Mimsy or Poppop snuggled him in their brood pouches. He couldn't move. It was humiliating for a commando commander, when you thought about it. He tried to speak over a beakful of plume.
"Mrrffffleggoshly - " But what was that welcome sound?
Private giggled himself into a gale which morphed into gasping wheezes. He snorted, farted, and laughed again as Shelly put him down first while she still held Skipper. She began to laugh herself, a little nervous titter growing into hysteria.
From inside her grip, Skipper waggled his head until it popped out between the plumes. There Private was, rolling on the ground as he succumbed to easy good humor. He howled, he cried, he sobbed finally in temperamental fits until he got quiet.
"Mmmmhuhoooh, yeah. Wot I needed, thanks for bringin' me here, honey."
Shelly jerked as she nearly dropped Skipper. "Honey?" She placed him carefully onto the ground. "Honey?"
"Codename," Skipper barked. "I'm Honey, he's Baby, Rico is Barfbag and Kowalski is Brainiac. If you leak this intel to anyone - "
"You'll have to kill me? No worries, Skipper, no worries. I'll lock my beak and throw away the key." She went through the motions of doing just that as Skipper knelt beside his love.
"Ixnay on the oney-hay, abe-bay." Skipper wiped Private's tears briskly.
"Sorry, Skippa. Not myself these days." Fresh tears leaked as Skipper blocked Shelly's view of the emotional display. He waited until Private gained control of himself while he perceived that cuddling him was exactly the wrong thing to do even if Shelly weren't around to witness. Private had to get through this on his own.
Private gained his feet. "Um, thank you ever so, Shelly, for the enlightenin' intel. We'll be goin' now, right, sir?"
Skipper regained his center. "Yeah, soldier. Yeah." He turned to face Shelly, who stood with suspicious wings akimbo as she canted her head on her long neck.
"So," she said.
"So," the commander said.
"So," the private said.
"So, Skipper, good luck with rehearsing The Ugly Duckling. Crusher and I will be front row center with bells on come Thanksgiving." Shelly ushered them out of her habitat with a cheery goodnight before rejoining her own love, who had polished off his meal and sat contentedly.
"I'm glad egglaying days are behind me, Crusher." At his continued stillness, she hugged him and placed him on her lap. "Come here, you. I want to snuggle."
Crusher's Posable Hugging Action Grip was about all Shelly could handle these days, and Crusher's spring powered hugs made her happy for the rest of the night.
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