A/N: Hello there, beautiful! If you are still reading this story, then Claude thanks you from the bottom of his little lobster heart. Thank you if you've left a review telling that chowderhead Teobi what you think. (Of the story- not of her, that's a whole other kettle of fish altogether.) And if you haven't left a review but you've been thinking about it, just hit that little review button and I will be sure to come and do the same for you!

So, on with Chapter 5- in which the castaways have a conflab, and Gilligan and Claude try their darndest to make sense of each other. (Good luck, Claude!)

Chapter 5

The rest of the castaways were gathered in a restless huddle around the bamboo table. Every now and again the heated discussion was interrupted by the gruesome sounds of the Skipper's ample stomach rumbling and gurgling like a blocked drain. Mrs. Howell visibly blanched and edged toward her husband with a look of mild horror.

"I'd see a doctor about that if I were you, Captain," she muttered, primly.

"I can't help it, Mrs. Howell, I'm so hungry!" the big man wailed.

Ginger folded her slender arms across her middle and pouted. "Why is it that everything always has to be ruined by Gilligan having one of his episodes? Why can't we just carry on without him?"

The Skipper looked at the movie star, a weary look upon his broad, weatherbeaten features. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ginger, Gilligan ran away with our supper. We can't carry on without him!"

"Well, why can't one of you men go and catch a fish?" Ginger's pout grew more and more impressive, her lower lip jutting out like the cow catcher on a locomotive engine.

"Because according to the egghead," said Mr. Howell, pointing at the Professor, "we've caught all the fish in the lagoon and there aren't any more!"

The Professor fixed the millionaire with an indulgent smile, the sort he reserved for simpletons that had no hopes of ever understanding logic and reason. "I didn't say that, Mr. Howell," he explained. "What I said was, we mustn't overfish the lagoon, we need to let the stocks replenish themselves."

"My stocks don't have trouble replenishing themselves," Mr. Howell boasted.

"That's because no one is eating your stocks," the Professor replied, the smile widening on his face.

"Oh, they've tried! Believe me Professor, they've tried!" Mr. Howell threw back his head and brayed happily like a donkey at a trough full of apples before Mrs. Howell prodded him gently with her elbow. He swallowed his guffaws and patted Lovey's arm, making cooing noises at her in his haste to get back in her good books.

The Skipper's stomach thundered again, his polo shirt visibly rippling. "Well, I don't care what anyone thinks, I'm going out there to find Gilligan and bring our dinner back. I'm sick and tired of him playing us all for fools!"

Mary Ann, who had been trying to keep out of trouble, stepped forward between Ginger and the Professor and placed her hand gently on the Skipper's arm.

"Skipper, you know Gilligan doesn't lie about his feelings," she said, softly.

The Skipper sighed heavily. "I know he doesn't lie, but you have to admit, he does know how to manipulate us with those big, sad eyes of his. All he has to do is look at me a certain way, and he makes me feel like the biggest darned jerk on the planet!"

"But I genuinely don't think he sees it that way," Mary Ann smiled. "You know Gilligan better than any of us, Skipper. You know he can't hide his emotions- whatever he's feeling is written right there on his face. He isn't doing it on purpose. He just reacts with perfect honesty to whatever is troubling him at the time." She looked up at the Skipper, trying to meet his gaze full on. "In this case, it's those lobsters. He really thinks that somehow they're different to any other lobster we've ever eaten. He's just trying to spare them from their fate, that's all."

The Skipper's stomach grumbled louder than ever. "What about my fate?" he whimpered. "If I don't eat something soon, I'll die!"

Without exception, every one of the six castaways fixed their incredulous eyes on the Skipper's vast mid-region.

"In about fifty years," Mr. Howell remarked out of the side of his mouth while Lovey tried not to titter.

"Don't mock me," the Skipper shouted. "I'm a hard working ex Navy man! I need my protein!"

"There's plenty of protein in leafy greens," said the Professor, still smiling benignly.

"Do I look like Bugs Bunny?" the Skipper blustered.

"You look more like Elmer Fudd," said Mr. Howell.

"Thank you, Mr. Howell," the Skipper yelled, loudly. Then he lowered his voice, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. "Look, Professor. Leafy greens are fine now and again, but I don't intend to eat like a rabbit for the rest of my life. I need meat, and I need it now!"

The Professor folded his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits. "A hard working ex Navy man who throws tantrums like a 5 year old."

Mary Ann bowed her head, hiding the grin that threatened to break out.

"That does it," the Skipper barked. "I don't care what anyone else says. I know for a fact that if a plate full of steamed lobster was sitting there on the table right now, all juicy and plump and hot and covered in melted butter, every one of you would fall on it like a pack of hungry wolves!"

"He's got a point, Professor," Ginger said, flashing her beautiful green eyes at the man of science. "In fact, he's making me hungry just thinking about it."

"All juicy, and plump, and fresh, and glistening..." the Skipper continued, playing to his audience.

"Stop!" moaned Mr. Howell. "Stop this unspeakable torture!"

The Skipper's eyes flashed with sudden vigour. "Who's coming with me to find Gilligan?" he said, eyeing them all like a carnival barker. "Who's coming with me to find our fresh, juicy, steaming, delicious lobster?"

"Me!" cried both Mr. Howell and Ginger at once, raising their arms in the air.

"But what about Gilligan?" Mary Ann pleaded, grabbing the Skipper's sleeve. "What about what Gilligan wants?"

"Never mind what Gilligan wants," the Skipper replied, firmly. "Majority rules!"

"What majority? You, Mr. Howell and Ginger? Three out of seven isn't a majority!"

Mrs. Howell bit her rouged lip delicately. "Well, I am rather hungry too, dear..." she began, before trailing off and looking up at her husband.

"And Lovey makes four," Mr. Howell chortled, almost triumphantly. "Which, I do believe, makes it a majority."

Mary Ann flashed the Skipper a look of helpless anger. "You'll be sorry," she warned him.

"The only one who'll be sorry, is Gilligan," the Skipper answered. He plucked Mary Ann's hand away from his sleeve and disappeared into the Supply Hut. When he returned, he was armed with an array of Gilligan-catching devices ranging from fishing poles to butterfly nets. "These should do the trick!" he grinned, happily, handing them out to Mr. Howell, Lovey and Ginger.

Mary Ann watched helplessly as the millionaire, his wife and the movie star fell into line behind the Skipper like ducklings following their mother. When they were all in position, the small, rag tag procession started trooping across the clearing with fishing poles and nets protruding at all angles.

"But what if Gilligan's right about the lobsters?" the farm girl cried, desperately. "What will you do then?"

The Skipper's booming voice came wafting back to her through the trees. "Why, I'll throw him into the pot with them," he laughed.

Mary Ann's lips set into a grim line. She stood in the middle of the clearing with her hands on her hips, staring into the jungle. Hearing someone cough behind her, she turned and fixed her brown eyed glare onto the Professor, who was now the only one left at the huts besides her. "Aren't you going to stop them?" she demanded.

The Professor shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mary Ann. I'd be run over like an ant," he said, reasonably.

"Pacifist," Mary Ann muttered.

"No, I just value my own life over the lives of a pair of marine invertebrates," the Professor replied, gently.

Mary Ann rolled her eyes. "I wish you'd speak English," she muttered.

"I was speaking English," he smiled.

Mary Ann's eyes softened. As annoying as the Professor could be, it was hard to stay mad at him.

"Well, I'm not going to stand around while the baying mob goes on a witch hunt after Gilligan," she said, firmly. "He's my friend and I have a duty to save him!"

oOoOoOo

Gilligan sat with his back against the rock face and his legs bent at the knee, feet placed firmly in the sand. The bucket sat his lap, cradled gently in his arms, with the two lobsters huddled in what remained of the water. All three lifeforms stared at each other in wonder and amazement.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a lobster," Gilligan uttered, incredulously.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a..." Claude broke off.

"Human," Gilligan smiled. "I'm a human being."

Claude blinked. "A human being what?"

Gilligan blinked too. "A human being a human being, I guess."

"I'm confused," said Claude.

Gilligan frowned and crossed his eyes. "Me, too."

"It's nice that we can understand each other though," said Claude. "Daddy can't make gill nor fin out of what you're saying."

Gilligan laughed. "I always was good with animals," he said, not at all self-consciously. "Some of them I can talk to easier than others, though. Like if they're lonely, or different, or the other animals don't always want to play with them." He thought about what he'd said for a few moments. "Animals that are a bit like me, I guess."

"Are you lonely?" asked Claude, his expression softening as much as an invertebrate's could.

Gilligan chewed his lips. He shrugged. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"What about your friends?"

"You can have friends and still be lonely." Gilligan scratched at his neck. Now he was beginning to feel self-conscious.

Claude nodded. "That's true," he said. "I have friends and I get lonely, too. Momma thinks I should socialise more. But I always end up doing or saying something stupid, so I don't."

Gilligan nodded. "That sounds just like me. I'm clumsy and I break things, and they get mad at me."

Claude waved his feelers in sympathy. "I collect mollusk shells," he said, proudly. "I have the biggest collection of mollusk shells in the neighborhood. You know why?"

"Why?" asked Gilligan, sensing a joke.

"Because it's the only collection of mollusk shells in the neighborhood!" Claude chortled. "Everyone else thinks it's silly!"

Gilligan laughed too. "I collect all kinds of things. But then I lose them because my pockets have holes in them."

The little lobster laughed even harder. It sounded like a tiny, hissing squeak that made bubbles burst all around him "By what name are you called?" he asked, when he'd finally calmed down. "I can't call you Brittle Star forever."

"Gilligan," said Gilligan. He extended his forefinger. "Shake it, don't pinch it," he grinned.

Claude shook Gilligan's finger. "Nice to meet you, Gilligan. Sorry about pinching your finger earlier. I didn't know what was happening. I guess I overreacted."

"Nice to meet you too," said Gilligan. "And I'm sorry about kicking you up into the air like that. I didn't know what was happening, either, and I still don't."

Claude nodded his head. "All I know for sure is that I came looking for my Daddy, and I found him. Now we just need to get home."

Gilligan smiled at the larger lobster. "Should I call you Daddy, too?"

The larger lobster blew a few bubbles, and Claude laughed again. "He says if you get us home, you can call him anything you want."

"Home." Gilligan played with the word in his mouth, and a wistful look crept across his face. "I had a home once..."

Claude peered at him intently. "What do you mean? Isn't this place your home?"

Gilligan shook his head. "No, this is the island. This is where we ended up when we got shipwrecked."

"Ship...wrecked?"

"Yeah, it's when a ship...um, gets wrecked." Gilligan blinked. "That's doesn't make it any clearer does it?"

Claude shook his head.

"Ships are what people travel in on the ocean," Gilligan explained. "We can't breathe underwater and if we don't know how to swim then we can drown in it. That's why we need ships. But sometimes ships crash and break up and then the people get shipwrecked. They have to find somewhere that isn't water, or they'll die."

"That's the opposite of us," Claude said, eagerly. "If we can't find somewhere that is water, then we die!"

"I won't let you die," Gilligan promised. "I may not be able to get home, but I'll make sure you and your Daddy get home. You can count on it."

The little lobster's eyes brightened. "You promise?"

Gilligan's smile widened. "I promise."

Claude waved his feelers gratefully. "So, Gilligan," he asked, "are you the only human being we can trust?"

"Well, kinda," Gilligan said, apologetically. "You see...how should I put it. In my world, we...well, we eat lobsters." He screwed his face up as though the idea was suddenly repellent to him.

Claude gulped. "I knew it," he muttered. He told his father what Gilligan had said and the larger lobster blew some more bubbles. Claude looked shocked.

"What did he say?" asked Gilligan.

"I can't repeat it," said Claude. "He doesn't think much of it, put it that way."

"There is someone else you can trust," Gilligan smiled. "Her name is Mary Ann. You met her too, she's the one who caught you in the towel."

"She's nice," Claude agreed. "Is she your friend?"

Gilligan's expression grew dreamy. "Yeah, she is. Kind of."

Claude watched his human companion for a few moments, then tapped the side of the bucket with his pincers. "You okay, Gilligan?" he asked.

Gilligan blinked back to attention. A scarlet blush crept up his neck and made his cheeks go pink. "I'm fine," he stuttered. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Claude peered closely into his face. "I've seen that same look in a lobster's eyes," he said at last. "Maybe we're not so different after all."

"Anyhow," Gilligan said, anxious to change the subject. "You can trust Mary Ann- as long as she's not being told what to do by the Skipper. He's the big fat one you met, the one that wants to eat you. Well, and Mr. Howell, he wants to eat you too. Skipper was the captain of the boat that brought us here, and he tells everyone what to do. And that's why we have to be careful. A hungry Skipper is a dangerous Skipper, but as long as all three of us keep our eyes open, we should be okay."

All the while Gilligan was talking, he didn't hear the rustling in the bushes high above him, or the suspiciously ominous Skipperlike chuckle. He didn't notice that a long nylon line with a large fish hook tied to the end of it had started descending down the side of the rock face towards him. Occasionally it caught on something in its path- a stone, a small branch or a protruding root, and performed an erratic, jerky dance to free itself before resuming its silent descent. Closer and closer it came to the handle of the bucket, and all the while Gilligan carried on talking.

"I was the lookout on our ship- well, it wasn't so much of a ship, it was just a little charter boat," he babbled. "So you can count on me to spot danger a mile away. Which is fine if danger is a mile away, but if it's any closer than that, we're in trouble." He laughed feebly, a small, forced giggle that raised a few polite bubbles from Claude and his father, once the joke had been explained. Meanwhile, the hook was now at eye level.

"What's that?" asked Claude, suddenly.

"What's what?" Gilligan frowned, puzzled.

"That thing," Claude said, pointing his pincer at the hook. "Is that trouble?"

The fish hook glinted in the sunlight and Gilligan finally noticed it, hanging right in front of his eyes. "Oh my gosh!" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging. "That sure is trouble- trouble with a capital T!" He scrabbled out of the way of the dangling line, shot to his feet and looked up the rock face to try and see where it was coming from. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun, he caught a glimpse of blue polo shirt and black Captain's cap through the leafy greenery. "What did I tell you? It's the Skipper!" he muttered, angrily. "I didn't think they'd follow us all the way out here, but I guess I was wrong!"

With trembling hands, Gilligan set the bucket on the ground and took the lobsters out of it as gently as he could. He looked around quickly, located two rocks of a similar size to the confused crustaceans, and placed the rocks into the bucket. Then he lifted the bucket and slipped the handle over the hook. The hook settled into place as the unseen fisherman tested the weight on the end of the line, and then the bucket slowly began to lift into the air.

"Happy eating, Skipper," Gilligan grinned, tipping his hat.

The bucket clanked its merry way up the rock face. Meanwhile, Gilligan tucked his rugby shirt into his waistband all the way around, making sure there were no gaps. He then picked up Claude and his Daddy and looked them straight in the eye. "We'd better get going," he said, gravely. "I'm gonna have to put you down the front of my shirt to keep you safe and out of the sun until we get to water. Promise you won't pinch me?"

Claude nodded, and raised a pincer to his head. "Shrimp's Honor," he said, obediently.

"Okay," said Gilligan. "That's good enough for me."

Gilligan stretched out his collar, placed the lobsters down his shirt front, and settled them as comfortably as he could. He took one last look up the rock face, then he straightened his hat, set his jaw, and resumed his perilous journey through the jungle.

A few moments after Gilligan and the lobsters had departed, a loud, booming wail came thundering out of the bushes at the top of the rock face, a wail full of disappointment and frustration followed by the clanking of an empty bucket being thrown forcefully to the ground.

"Giiillliiggaaaaaaannnn!"