Hi! If you're still reading this far, thank you SO MUCH for the support. I know the last chapter was a bit angsty (because it's really fun to put comedic characters in something other than comedy), but from here on out, it should be a little more lighthearted again. Mostly. ;)

If you have any favorite parts of the fic, I'd love to hear them! (And sometimes jokes that are funny to me actually miss the mark, so I enjoy feedback.)

Thanks again for reading- Enjoy!

One year later, on little Annie's first birthday, Mr. and Mrs. Howell (mainly the latter), were in the midst of planning a grand party to celebrate.

In the months following the sickness outbreak, everyone had fully recovered; even MaryAnn. She was back to fixing meals and the Howells had even given up their afternoon siestas, renouncing all rumors of becoming 'elderly.' Life had carried on, each day looking a little bit different because of the new baby, but also because of a mischievous toddler—who decided that 'no' was the code word for a fun challenge. When the Skipper had caught his littlest buddy playing with a fishing hook, everyone had decided it was probably important to babyproof the island. The machetes were placed on high shelves, the knives were kept in drawers, the coconut guillotine was forever dismantled…

Having children around was something none of the Castaways had ever really experienced. Every simple tool and gadget became a toy—or a hazard. Jonas seemed particularly drawn to the hazards, which kept the lazy afternoons lively.

However, Jonas' curious nature wasn't the only cause for excitement on the island.

Only a few days earlier, Ginger had whispered a suspicion to the Professor, but then tried not to get too hopeful. However, the validity of her guess seemed to be confirmed with each additional day, and now she couldn't stop smiling as she helped Mrs. Howell set the table for Annie's birthday party.

"And then Thurston and I should be in charge of gifts, while MaryAnn organizes dessert of course, and then—" Mrs. Howell glanced up from the table, tapping her lips with a finger. "Dear me…did I already ask the Captain to speak? He gave such a nice toast for Jonas' party, it seems only fitting to invite him to continue the tradition."

"I think you asked him last night. Maybe. I wasn't paying much attention honestly," Ginger confessed. She smiled widely, picturing the table with ten plates. Yes, ten was a good even number.

"Did I say something funny, dear? After every word I say you look like you're about to start laughing," Mrs. Howell accused, sounding a touch indignant.

"Oh no, Mrs. Howell. I understand that you're being quite serious," Ginger said quickly. But she just couldn't help that smile! She started grinning again, even as she tried to look repentant. "It's…it's just such a beautiful day."

Mrs. Howell supposed it was indeed a nice day. However, when almost every day was sunny and warm, the niceness started to become mundane. It was like shopping with hundred dollar bills. A perfectly nice activity, but yet so common that Mrs. Howell had grown bored of such trips back when she was a teenager.

"Hi ladies!" MaryAnn walked over, carrying Annie on her hip. "The table looks great! Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"Well, dear…"

"Ooh, you can help me!" Ginger blurted, unable to contain her news any longer. "I'm going to have to start resizing my dresses. Or sewing new dresses, since most of mine are meant to be worn tight." She beamed at both the other women. "I do have a lot of dresses, so we'll have to go through them all."

MaryAnn shifted Annie to her other hip. "Oh! Oh, Ginger! Does this mean…?" She broke into a grin as Ginger began nodding.

"I knew it! I knew there was something suspicious about you today!" Mrs. Howell declared. "And naturally you'll also have a daughter. I have a French silk scarf just waiting to be made into a skirt."

"Congratulations!" MaryAnn laughed, hugging her friend tightly. "Why, I'm so excited for you, I could just burst!"

"Thank you, thank you," Ginger said, feeling for a fleeting moment like she was back on stage in Hollywood, receiving a long-awaited award. "The Professor's going to think I'm silly for telling you already—I'm only a couple weeks along—but I just…I just know that I'm expecting. And it's funny how I want everyone else to know too."

MaryAnn just grinned, like she understood perfectly. Mrs. Howell was already waving her hands about, planning for the baby shower. "How does the end of November sound, dear?" She counted on her fingers. "That should be at least a month before your due-date, correct?"

"Right," said Ginger, sighing a little. "January feels so far away!"

"Oh, but it'll go by fast," cautioned MaryAnn. She hugged Ginger again, laughing.

Gilligan then walked over, eating a banana. "Hi everyone! What's going by fast?"

"Nine months," said Ginger.

Gilligan just nodded. "And ten months, and eleven months, and twelve months…and even a whole year!" He then blinked at Ginger again, realization beginning to dawn in his face. "Uh…is there any particular reason you mentioned nine months?"

Ginger only smiled, carefully resting a hand over her very flat stomach.

"Oh boy…" Gilligan's eyes widened. "You'd better tell the Professor."

Ginger clicked her tongue. "Oh, Gilligan. He knows."

"What about the Skipper? And Mr. Howell? And Jonas?" Gilligan frowned. "Maybe not Jonas. I don't think he would understand."

"What's going on over here?" asked the Skipper, wandering over. "I thought I heard my name."

"Well Skipper, she's—" Gilligan pointed at Ginger, then immediately fell silent. "Nevermind. I shouldn't say anything."

Mrs. Howell apparently was worse than Gilligan when it came to secrets. "Oh, Captain! What the boy was trying to say is that Ginger is expecting a daughter."

"Oh boy…" The Skipper's reaction was almost identical to his first mate's. His eyes widened in surprise, then he beamed at Ginger happily.

"No Captain, oh girl," Mrs. Howell corrected. "I'm always right on these things you know."

"Of course! A Howell is always right!" called Mr. Howell, as he too joined the conversation. Jonas plodded along beside him, looking fascinated by the millionaire's shiny cufflinks. "What are you right about today, Lovey?"

"That Ginger and the Professor are having a girl! Such lovely news, right, Thurston?"

"A girl!" Mr. Howell sniffed. "No, no, Lovey. In this situation you're not correct. But only because I'm betting that they're having a boy." Mr. Howell wrinkled his nose, then pointed at Ginger. "Good heavens, did you say she was expecting?" He raised his eyebrows in the actress' direction. "She certainly doesn't look like it."

Apparently summoned by all the noise, the Professor came from his hut and joined the group as well. Before he had time to ask what was happening, the Skipper shook his hand.

"A hearty congratulations, Professor." The Skipper said. "Our plan to keep the world going, is well, going well!" The Skipper patted his friend on the back, laughing.

"My apologies that I'm not sharing my cigars with you, Professor," said Mr. Howell. "I didn't offer any to Gilligan, thinking they would be choking hazards for him, and well, you know I now have to keep things even-steven." The millionaire tapped his fingers together, wrinkling his nose in amusement.

"Er, that's fine, Mr. Howell," said the Professor. He raised his eyebrows at Ginger, not all that surprised that she couldn't keep her news a secret for very long. "Thank you, everyone," he added, smiling at the rest of the group. "We're, as expected, quite happy."

Of course, assuming that Ginger really was pregnant and there hadn't been some sort of miscalculation. The Professor didn't even want to think about what that would do to her hopes.

But then, he shouldn't have worried so much. Annie turned one, and then one-and-a-half, and by that point, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Ginger was expecting. She had spent months vomiting every morning, then months talking about how she was getting 'fat.' Unfortunately during that phase, anyone who had agreed with her was then subjected to violent wrath or tears, depending on her mood. As she headed into her final trimester though, her attitude reverted to the joy she'd had at the start. Every time she played with Jonas and Annie, she would leave practically glowing with excitement.

"Only a little longer, Roy. Then we'll get to do arts and crafts with our child," Ginger commented one evening. She was standing at the hut window, watching MaryAnn and Gilligan clean up the makeshift crayons the Professor had made for the kids.

The Professor couldn't quite force his tongue to respond. With each passing day, Ginger was only coming closer to danger. The Professor often found himself waking in the middle of the night, gasping as he imagined something going wrong during Ginger's delivery. She was going on thirty-eight. Things were bound to be more difficult for her than they'd been for MaryAnn…and MaryAnn had nearly died the last time!

The truth was, the Professor had finally admitted to himself that he loved Ginger. And not because he knew he ought to, or even because she was a good friend, but because…he just did. Ginger was funny, creative, terrifyingly beautiful, and yet somehow…she even loved him. He could see it in her eyes. And knowing the depth of her affection only made him want to do better. To be better. To protect her from any pain or suffering or potential harm.

But of course, having a child—his child—would put her through everything he feared. The Professor ran a hand over his face, hating the irony of such a situation. If only he could've placed that risk and suffering on himself! But that wasn't the way science worked… He would just have to be prepared for the worst.

"Roy…" Ginger frowned as she turned to face him. "You look upset. What's wrong?"

He shook his head a little, as poor of an actor as ever. "Nothing's wrong. What could possibly be wrong on such a nice night?"

Ginger rolled her eyes, figuring he was worrying over her again. If only she could kiss his concerns away, then he'd be the happiest man around. But no…it was that logical brain of his again. He was insistent on torturing himself with 'what ifs.'

"Please stop thinking about all the ways I could die," Ginger begged him. "Just for one evening. What's that phrase that MaryAnn's always saying… 'If a cow can do it, so can I?'"

The Professor frowned, not entirely sure what point she was trying to make. "Are you comparing yourself to a cow?"

Ginger looked appalled. "Are you thinking that I'm comparing myself to a cow?"

The Professor was losing track of the question…but also sure that if he answered wrong, there would be a lot of apologies on his part. Instead of responding he just blinked. "What?"

"What?" Ginger repeated. Unexpectedly, she then burst into laughter, sitting down beside him. As her giggles faded, her tone grew serious. "Please Roy. Stop worrying so much. It's all going to be fine." She reached for his hand and pressed a quick kiss against his palm. "I'm going to survive. I promise."

And though the Professor knew perfectly well that no one could control such a promise, he found himself nodding, hoping desperately that her words were true.

Once MaryAnn finished tucking in Annie for the night, she wandered over to Jonas' bedside, where Gilligan was telling the boy a story about a gorilla.

"And then, I told the Skipper that the gorilla had lots of avocados, but he didn't believe me. Which was probably fair, because the gorilla didn't really have avocados—but rather grenades. BOOM!"

Jonas giggled at his father's facial expressions, then clapped his hands. "Again, again!"

"BOOM!" Gilligan repeated. "But then, since the gorilla had the avocados—no, grenades—"

"Boom again!" Jonas requested. "Boom!"

"BOOM!" Gilligan said again, catering to the boy's wishes.

As cute as it was, MaryAnn sat down on her bed, frowning. Everyone on the island was guilty of spoiling Jonas—herself included. But now that he could talk…he really enjoyed getting his way. Especially with the Skipper and Gilligan.

MaryAnn tried to remember when she was three-years-old. Hadn't her family started teaching her farm chores at that age? There obviously wasn't a farm on the island, but their daily life still had plenty of work. She wondered if it would be good for Jonas to start helping…in small ways.

The following morning at breakfast, the thought was still on MaryAnn's mind. She decided to bring it up with her companions, wondering their opinions on child-rearing.

"Do you think we spoil Jonas and Annie too much? Especially Jonas. I think I might be the only one who ever scolds him…" MaryAnn admitted.

"I scolded him once," Ginger said. "When he was about to grab the knife Gilligan left on the table."

"And there's nothing wrong with spoiling a child," Mrs. Howell said. "I mean, Thurston always got his way as a boy and just look at the man he is now!"

"Thank you, Lovey." Mr. Howell nodded courteously to his wife. "I daresay you were a bit spoiled as a child too."

"Of course darling. All the most wealthy children are."

MaryAnn chewed her bottom lip a little. "Mr. and Mrs. Howell…you're both wonderful. Yet Jonas and Annie aren't ever going to be rich and successful like the two of you. If they're going to survive after we're all gone, they're going to have to learn to work hard."

The millionaire couple looked horrorstuck, but the Professor nodded.

"You're perfectly right, MaryAnn. All of our children are in for difficult lives. It's only right for us to teach them everything we know. And the sooner we start, the better."

The Skipper looked supportive as well. "It could be kinda fun! I'd love to teach my Littlest Buddy a thing or two about the ocean. And even sailing. Maybe one day we'll build a proper raft. Just for a short, fun trip."

"Jonas can help me carry the firewood," said Gilligan, grinning. "Meaning the kindling."

MaryAnn smiled at her husband, appreciative. "See, that's the perfect sort of activity. And then the kids will hopefully feel involved. Like they're just as much a part of the group as we all are." She glanced across the clearing, where Jonas was entertaining Annie with a palm frond. "Because they are a part of us. They're our future."

Mr. and Mrs. Howell still didn't look too enthused, but reluctantly Mr. Howell raised a hand. "I suppose I can enlighten an economics class. And we have already been teaching Jonas the numbers. That counts for something, right? Ha! Counts for something… Did you hear that, Lovey?"

"If we're following the usual childhood school routines, Jonas is almost ready for pre-school," the Professor said. "By the end of the next year, he should know colors, numbers, and the alphabet. I daresay we can throw in some practical life skills as well."

"Unfortunately all our books aren't really geared for children," Ginger said, frowning. "What Kindergartener is going to be reading 'Hamlet'?"

"We have a few journals between the lot of us," MaryAnn said. "Maybe we can write a few very simple stories."

"Ooh, about gorillas riding motorcycles!" Gilligan looked inspired. "I volunteer to write a story!"

"Gilligan, you can barely spell," chided the Skipper.

"So? If the world is gone except for us, why is spelling important?"

"Because the whole point of this repopulation plan is to preserve civilization," the Professor reminded everyone. "We need to pass on everything we know. Not just about our own experiences, but as much world history as we can remember."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Howell said. "I can hardly remember my governess' name, much less whatever things she was paid to teach me." She put a finger to her lips. "French, maybe?"

"You mean you learned French?" Ginger clarified.

"No, no dear. I believe that was the lady's name. Ms. French."

"Did she ever fry food using ketchup?" Gilligan asked. "Because then you could've walked into the kitchen and hollered, 'French fries with ketchup!'"

Mrs. Howell looked bewildered. Mr. Howell slapped the table, laughing.

"Okay, okay," MaryAnn tried to return the conversation to her original point. "So we're all in agreement? We're all willing to help teach Jonas, Annie…and their future friend?" MaryAnn said, grinning at Ginger's baby bump.

When everyone nodded, Mrs. Howell held up a hand. "I know you want the children to be industrious little things…but may I still spoil them a teensy-tiny bit? That's my first role as a grandmother, after all!"

MaryAnn laughed. "All right. I guess we can allow that." There was a sudden crying noise and MaryAnn glanced across the clearing to see Jonas smacking his baby sister with the palm frond.

While MaryAnn jumped up and ran to scold her son, the Skipper frowned around the table. "Teaching the kids is one thing. But maybe we also need to have a discussion about discipline."

"Right." Gilligan said. "Because you can't just smack a kid with a hat for every little thing."

"Exactly," agreed the Skipper. He then realized everyone was smiling at him. "Oh Gilligan. This isn't about you! You're not a kid." As if to prove his point, the Skipper took his hat off, causing the first mate to flinch.

"But Gilligan's right, Skipper," the Professor admitted. "Children learn mannerisms by watching the adults in their lives. If they see you smacking Gilligan all the time, they're going to think it's perfectly fine to hit each other whenever they feel like it."

Gilligan tipped his head, looking quite self-satisfied. The Skipper glowered a little. "Oh, all right Professor! I get your point." The Skipper glanced over his shoulder, where Jonas was still being lectured by his mom. The Skipper took off his hat quickly and whacked Gilligan across the head.

"Hey, ow! Didn't you just say you weren't going to do that?" Gilligan rubbed his hair, pouting.

"I had to do it once more, Little Buddy. You know, to get it out of my system."

"If you makes you feel better, Captain, I'm sure you can still smack Gilligan in private," Mr. Howell supplied.

"Oh, you're not helping," Ginger chided. "And no one should be smacking my baby…except for me. Or maybe the Professor."

"Spanking, not just…smacking," the Professor corrected.

"My father used to hit me with a belt," said Gilligan. "But only when I was being really really dumb."

"You poor thing," Mrs. Howell said. "Whipped with a belt every day!?"

Gilligan frowned. "No. Only when I…" he trailed off, then crossed his arms. "I can be smart sometimes!"

"Yes, and no one should be whipping anyone," the Professor said quickly.

MaryAnn returned to the table just then. "Oh dear! What are you all talking about?"

"Why Gilligan probably needs psychiatric counseling?" suggested Mr. Howell.

Ginger leaned across the table, answering MaryAnn sincerely. "We were just saying that smacking babies isn't a very good disciplinary solution."

MaryAnn sank into her seat. "Goodness. I should think not."

"Or smacking adults," said Gilligan, still watching the Skipper warily. "We have to stop hitting each other."

"Gilligan!" MaryAnn looked horrified. "I don't hit you."

"No no, my dear," Mr. Howell supplied. "The Captain."

"I don't hit him either!"

The Professor buried his face in his hands, trying not to sigh. Ginger started laughing.

It was just an ordinary breakfast discussion on a sunny day in the South Pacific.

On another sunny morning a few months later, the breakfast discussion was far more strained. Mrs. Howell munched on one piece of pineapple, then shoved her plate away, looking worried. "Oh, I don't think I can eat at a time like this!"

"Skipper, do you think I should be pacing?" Gilligan asked as he fiddled with an uneaten banana. "I know it's not my wife or baby, but maybe I should pace on the Professor's behalf, since he's busy."

The Skipper was already wandering in circles, tired of sitting still. "Sure Gilligan. Go ahead."

"All right. Mr. Howell, will you count for me?"

"Fine, my boy, but I doubt you'll have time to beat your record. It's already been almost six hours, right?"

"Seven," the first mate corrected. "The Professor woke us up in the middle of the night, wanting MaryAnn's assistance. I told him that I could help too, but he told me to go back to sleep." Gilligan shook his head. "I suppose that's probably for the best. I'm sure I'd faint again."

Jonas suddenly came running out of his family's hut, carrying Annie awkwardly in his arms. "Hi, ebberybody," he said, his smile showing all his tiny teeth.

"Er, Joe, you can't go in there," the Skipper moved in front of the door to the Professor and Ginger's hut.

"Whyyy?" Jonas set Annie on the ground. "We wanted to play widd Aunty Ginger."

"She's busy today, dear. Having a child truly interrupts one's social calendar," said Mrs. Howell.

Jonas still looked confused; even more so when a pained moan sounded through the hut walls. "Is Mama inside too?"

"She's helping," the Skipper tried to explain. "Why don't you play with your sister out here. With us?"

Jonas just stared at the hut, looking bewildered. What could possibly be happening in there that sounded so…scary?

Inside the palm frond walls, Ginger was dealing with similar questions. "What's…happening?" she gasped to MaryAnn between breaths. "Is it supposed to hurt this much?" The actress' face wrinkled in pain and she moaned into her pillow. "I'm…I'm going to pass out!"

"No you're not," the Professor instead answered, looking pale. "Just keep breathing. You're almost there, my dear."

"The pain's normal. You're doing completely fine," MaryAnn tried to reassure Ginger. Privately, she wondered if Ginger's pain was actually worse—maybe because she was older? But then again…MaryAnn also knew that out of the two of them, Ginger was by far more dramatic. Perhaps that was a contributing reason for the woman's extra moanings and groanings.

As interesting as it was to be the nurse, MaryAnn almost wished that she was the one having the baby. The pain was not great, but there was almost less pressure; certainly less thinking involved. At the moment, MaryAnn was nervous that she was going to do something wrong.

Not that there was really much to do… But still.

"Water," Ginger rasped, her throat indeed sounding hoarse. "Can you please get water?"

That was something MaryAnn could manage. With a nod to the Professor, she headed outside and found the others, anxiously hovering around the clearing. Even Jonas and Annie were there, looking concerned.

"Everything's going quite fine," MaryAnn told them. "Well, aside from the fact that the Professor's getting a few more gray hairs."

"Will we really habb a baby to play widd?" Jonas asked, his eyes big.

MaryAnn smiled at her son. "I certainly hope so."

Within the hour, such hopes were confirmed. As MaryAnn's fingers went numb—from Ginger's desperate grip—the Professor held up a squealing baby girl. MaryAnn didn't think she'd ever seen the man cry before. As Ginger sobbed as well, MaryAnn freed her hand and wiped her own eyes.

Maybe there were some good moments in being a nurse…

Sweet little Penny already had a tuft of orange hair—which clashed a little with her scrunched red face. Nevertheless, Ginger proclaimed the baby the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"I'll let the others come in," MaryAnn said, after she'd helped the Professor clean up the afterbirth. "I know Mrs. Howell will be excited that the baby's a girl."

Sure enough, the woman was ecstatic. "Did you hear that, Thurston? I've now won two bets! Two!"

"As long as the money's staying in the family," he mumbled. "But the next child will be a boy. I'll continue my wagers!"

"I bet she's going to be just as beautiful as you, Ginger. And just as smart as you, Professor," complimented the Skipper. Jonas and Annie were beside the Captain, peering at the squirming newborn in curiosity.

"This'll be fun," Gilligan told MaryAnn, after congratulating the parents. "We get to have another baby around, but this time we don't have to wake up when she cries at night."

MaryAnn laughed a little. "You mean we don't have to get up. We'll probably still wake up. Unless we're sleeping with pillows over our heads."

Mr. Howell apparently heard that idea. "Now there's a thought. I could put Teddy over my face. As long as he doesn't suffocate me and try to collect an early inheritance."

Gilligan raised his eyebrows. "You put a stuffed animal in your will? I didn't know that was possible."

"When you're as rich as I am, you can place anything or anyone in your will," Mr. Howell sniffed. "Just don't tell my auditor that. He's been hinting for years that he deserves a share."

"But Mr. Howell, your auditor's dead, remember?"

The millionaire's eyes widened in recollection. "Good grief! You're right my boy. I can stop having nightmares about him accusing me of fraud. Such nerve anyway…" Mr. Howell cleared his throat. "I say, this calls for a celebration!"

MaryAnn didn't know whether he was talking about the healthy baby or the dead auditor. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Ooh, a party?" Mrs. Howell's eyes lit up. "Yes, wonderful idea." She beamed at the Professor and Ginger, who were both still admiring their daughter. "Penny can be the guest of honor."

"I don't know if she'll be up for giving a speech though," Gilligan pointed out, watching as she began to squirm and fuss.

Jonas raised a hand. "I like speeches!"

"That's my Littlest Buddy," said the Skipper proudly.

Jonas grinned and turned to MaryAnn. "Watt's a speech, Mama?"

The good mood was contagious; everyone began to laugh.