Mrs Howell gaped at the Professor, who was currently standing in their doorway clutching the radio, which was broadcasting some squawky woman in an airplane. She shook her head, adjusting the massive scarf encircling it.

"To what do we owe this late night visit?" she asked.

"Excuse me for the intrusion, Mrs. Howell, I was wondering if you might let me borrow one of your diamond bracelets."

"Oh, Professor, I don't think I have anything that will go with your outfit."

The scientist rolled his eyes as he walked into the hut without an invitation, and promptly put the radio down on the table.

"Not for me, Mrs. Howell," he replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, for Ginger, I expect," she said, peering at him over her lorgnette. "I see she's making her rounds. Better you than my husband."

"No, not for Ginger. I need it for –"

She threw her hands up in the air in triumph. "Mary Ann! I knew it. She's such a daaaahling little dear. Of course you may have one of my bracelets! I'll give you the thing, it's only worth a couple of thousand dollars."

The Professor was losing his patience. He crossed his arms in defiance.

"Mrs. Howell, will you PLEASE stop prattling on and let me have a word in edgewise? It's a matter of whether or not we get off this island. This bracelet is for the Skipper."

"The SKIPPER?" Mrs. Howell laughed. "You don't have to bribe him, dear, he hasn't got a clue as to how to get us back to civilization."

Mr. Howell entered the hut, sipping on a mai tai. "What's this about civilization? And just in time, I'm running low on my stash."

The Professor sat down at the table. "I am going to see if I can hypnotize the Skipper into thinking he's back in Guadalcanal. You see, I posit the theory that a hypnotic regression into his long-buried post-traumatic psyche will recreate the scene. But we don't have much time. Alice McNeil is an hour ahead of schedule!"

"EGADS, boy, stop talking such nonsense in front of my wife!"

"Mr. Howell, I merely stated that I believe with hypnosis, the Skipper may be able to recall how to create a transmitter from the radio. That lady flier should be near us any minute!"

Mrs Howell opened her jewelry box and a stack of thirty of forty diamond bracelets of various sizes twinkled in the candlelight from substantial hooks in the lid. "Would any of these work?"

The Professor held up a tennis bracelet. Mrs. Howell shook her head.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," said Mrs. Howell. "Too small. You'll want something quite sparkly. Now, how about this one?" She held up a much larger bauble.

"Yes, yes, that's fine," the Professor said. "Mrs. Howell, you get the girls, Mr. Howell, come with me."

-o0o-

Ten minutes later, the rest of the Castaways were reluctantly gathered together at the dining table, most of them yawning. The Skipper bumbled out of his hut, still a bit groggy from his tranquilizer overdose. He walked over to the picnic table and put his head on his arm, mumbling something about his ship.

"It's two in the morning, Professor!" Ginger whined, clutching her blanket around her. "What is going on?"

"And just when I was in the middle eating a gigantic cheeseburger with a double thick malted," Mary Ann added, rubbing her eyes.

"Cheeseburger?" Gilligan piped up, feeling his stomach growl. He sat next to Ginger and picked a banana out of the fruit bowl.

"The dream kind," Mary Ann sighed.

"Just think, Mary Ann," the Professor said, sitting next to her on the bench, "in a few days you might be eating one for real! We all will!" He gently patted her shoulder. She was not convinced and gave him an annoyed side glance, but Gilligan clapped at this news.

"Oh boy, oh boy!" he exclaimed. "With ketchup, and mayonnaise, and a gigantic side of French fries!"

"Oh, be quiet, Gilligan," Mary Ann grumbled, resting her head back on her arm.

"Speak for yourselves," Ginger said. "I want filet mignon!"

"Oh boy oh boy!" replied Gilligan. "Yeah! With some mashed potatoes and green beans! Plus a big bowl of chocolate ice cream!"

"I have to get up in four hours to start everyone's breakfasts," Mary Ann mumbled.

"Look," the Professor replied. "We have to get down to business."

"What business, Professor?" Mary Ann asked, as he reached over her head to pluck an orange from the fruit bowl. He methodically peeled it at the table, picking out the seeds.

"We have to hypnotize the Skipper," the Professor replied. "But we need to be absolutely sure he is in a neutral state of mind. He won't be properly hypnotized if he's distressed, or prompted to kill, or – "

"Merciful heavens!" thundered Mr. Howell, joining the rest, with a bottle of brandy in his hand. "What on earth do you have planned, Professor? Mayhem and bloody murder?"

"No more than actually happened at Guadalcanal," the Professor quipped. "But all we need to know is one specific bit of information, and that's how to fix this radio. That lady pilot could be here any minute."

"Grumblemumbbbbbrrr…" replied the Skipper.

"Once we have the Skipper successfully hypnotized, we will need to create ambience to enhance the experience. Mary Ann, you make gunning noises. Gilligan, you make sea and wind and bomb noises. Ginger, you make machine gun noises. Mrs. Howell, you make bang noises. Mr. Howell, you make…I don't know, charging noises."

"Oh goody!" Mrs. Howell said. "I just love play acting."

"Alright everyone, this is a drill. Make your assigned noises."

Ginger stood still for a minute as the others made their battle noises. The Professor looked at her quizzically. "Ginger, what did I tell you?"

"I'm trying to get into character," she insisted. "In my method acting classes we were told we had to get into the mindset of the character you're performing. So right now I'm pretending I'm a machine gun waiting to be shot off."

The Professor rolled his eyes as Ginger closed hers and dreamily repeated several times, "Rat, a tat, a tat."

"That doesn't sound like a machine gun," Gilligan said. "Machine guns are more like, eehehehehehhhhhh."

"I would be more in character, Gilligan, if I could position myself to be more like the shape of a machine gun. But if I tried that, I wouldn't have on any clothes."

This caught the Skipper and Mr. Howell's attentions, for sure.

"Alright, alright, you go off and practice your method acting," the Professor dismissed. "We have to get this organized."

He explained the plan for hypnosis, and laid out the following general script for them. When the Skipper would make roll call, each person would answer. When the Professor guided the hypnosis, each of them would do an assigned noise to correspond with the scenario.

"Got it?" he asked.

"Yes, we did something similar in the Hasty Pudding Club," Mr. Howell replied, chuckling. "A little Hahhhvahhd humor."

"This is very serious," scolded the Professor. "You may think you sound ridiculous, but this will be very helpful in creating the right atmosphere for the Skipper."

"WHUHHHH?" asked the Skipper, hearing his name. "Hypnotize me?"

The Professor nodded, rising from his seat and walking over to the burly sea captain. "I'm afraid that we're going to have to send you back to Guadalcanal."

The Skipper's eyes widened to the size of pizzas and he began to tremble uncontrollably in terror.

"You shouldn't have said it like that, Professor," said Gilligan. "He had a real bad time during the War. Spent half a year in the VA hospital recovering from shellshock. He still has spells sometimes. Once he thought I was a Japanese solder and tried hitting me in his sleep. I'm used to it."

The Professor profusely apologized for distressing the Skipper, who was currently going into full meltdown mode. "My god, Skipper, I'm sorry."

The Skipper looked ahead with a faraway gaze in his eyes, beginning a long, horrific monologue of some of the atrocities he experienced, as well as a string of disparaging comments about the soldiers executing said torture. He turned on them with a wild look in his eye, declaring that "if he could bring back Jenkins, he'd kill twenty more of those (blank-blank-blankety-blanks)."

Gilligan put his hands over his face. "Aw, gee, Professor, now you've done it. I haven't seen him this bad in a while."

"Heavens to Betsy! We have to calm him down!" exclaimed the Professor, as the rest gawked at the Skipper in horror. "I'm so sorry, Skipper, I had no idea." He continued to frantically try to snap the sailor out of his trance, to no avail.

"BLANKETY BLANK SOLDIERS BLANKETY BLANK PW CAMPS BLANKETY BLANK BLOOD EVERYWHERE JUNGLE BLANKETY BLANK THEY ALL DIED OF BLANKETY MALARIA!"

Mary Ann put her hands over her ears. "Oh Professor! Please! Stop him! This is horrible!" She began to cry in sympathy for the Skipper and his lost comrades and left the table in tears.

Ginger put her head in her hands as well. The Howells simply sat there in shock.

The Professor sat down next to the Skipper, trying desperately to calm him down, but words wouldn't help. The man began to openly weep, saying the nightmares had been haunting him for twenty years now. The Professor felt helpless and guilty, wondering if it was even worth it to put the Skipper through the ordeal once more.

Finally Mary Ann returned with half a mango pie. She wiped the corner of her eye and placed the treat in front of the Skipper.

"Skipper, I know it's not much, but please calm down, you're safe with us and we all love you." She kissed him tenderly on the cheek. "You don't have to do this," she said.

Suddenly the Skipper snapped out of his trance and looked around him. The rest of his friends were staring at him, worried to death. Mary Ann cut a piece of pie and handed it to him on a plate. The rest stared in shock as the Skipper took a bite, and behaved as if nothing had happened in the past five minutes.

"This is delicious, Mary Ann!" he said, in his regular, jovial voice. "Really, one of your best pies ever." The Skipper gave her a little side hug.

"Oh, thank god," the Professor exclaimed, hugging the farm girl himself.

"Thank you, dear," he whispered. She smiled and nodded shyly and sat back down.

"Glad I could help," she replied. "Skipper, you finish up that pie."

The others cleared their throats, got up, and surrounded the Skipper. Mr. Howell gave him a jaunty pat on the back. Mrs Howell patted his head. Ginger planted a massive kiss on his cheek.

"I should take tranquilizers more often," the Skipper beamed. "What's gotten into you guys?"

"We should probably explain," Mary Ann said. "Have some more pie."

After the Skipper had placated himself with the rest of the pie, he was in a much more neutral mood, and insisted that he would have to "suck it up like a man" and brave his flashbacks if they were to be saved.

"Skipper, we are all highly indebted to you for your sacrifice," the Professor said, patting him on the back. "Ready to go under the bracelet?"

The Skipper saluted him.