I'm not sure how much sense this makes, but here's the drunken shenanigans. Stay tuned for the fallout. :D

The Night Before

"Come on, Gilligan! Just one more time. Please?"

"You really like it, don't you?"

"I love it."

"Aren't you tired?"

"No."

"Well, I am. I've already done it, like, five times."

"Oh, come on, Gilligan! Besides, I need to practice."

"Fine. This time you have to help."

"Okay, but slow down. I can't keep up with you."

"Okay. You ready?"

Mary Ann nodded eagerly. Then, taking a deep breath, they began to sing. Loudly and in two drastically different keys.

"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip! That started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship!"

Gilligan had rushed to teach her this song after a rather disastrous attempt at getting through the old shanty about what to do with a drunken sailor, which Mary Ann found hilariously appropriate for the situation at hand. During the verse about putting the poor guy in bed with the captain's daughter (which isn't actually a person, but Gilligan's Freudian slips don't adhere to pirate slang), Gilligan accidentally changed the lyric to "the farmer's daughter" and Mary Ann teased him relentlessly. His face turned redder than his shirt as she informed him that she knew exactly what she'd do with a drunken sailor and he just had to be patient to find out. He finally distracted her by offering to sing her the song he had written about their shipwreck that he never shared with anyone else.

Now while performing his own composition, Gilligan took a solo as Mary Ann cackled with delight. She fell against his shoulder as she sat beside him in the sand next to the bonfire they built. "The mate was a mighty sailin' man, the Skipper br–," he stopped and giggled, unable to resist Mary Ann's infectious laughter. "You really like my song?"

"It'll be stuck in my head for the next forty-six years. Although I do have one question." Mary Ann narrowed her eyes and leaned into him, their noses very nearly touching. "How come my name's last?"

She intimidated him similarly the first time he sang the song all the way through, having labeled her and the Professor as "the rest" at the end of the last verse. Gilligan claimed that there were too many of them and the rhythm didn't work any other way. But Mary Ann pouted up at him with her best manufactured look of doe-eyed heartbreak and he quickly found a way to get everyone's name into the song. Now, of course, she wanted to know why she was last.

"Oh. Well, y–you know. You're supposed to save the best for last."

A radiant smile broke across her face. "You're sweet, Gilligan." Mary Ann quickly rubbed her nose against his in a traditional eskimo kiss and got up to wander down the beach.

"You're twice as sweet as ..." Gilligan nearly went cross-eyed trying to see his tingling nose, so he abandoned the rest of this sentence to leap to his feet and trot after her.

Mary Ann turned to walk backward for a few steps so she could address him, nose turned to her shoulder. "Your shirt smells like you," she decided and turned around again, almost tripping in the upturned sand, but saving herself at the last minute.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I like it."

It was for his own sanity, not merely an act of chivalry, that had made him insist she take his shirt after falling into the underbrush and inadvertantly taking her down with him. His shirt hung long on her, but since he was so skinny she still filled it out nicely. Gilligan was only slightly less distracted by this than he was by her ruined dress. He caught up to her, his gray t-shirt still tucked formally into his pants, and grabbed her arm just as she was on the verge of tripping again.

"The Skipper says sometimes I smell like a beached whale covered in barnacles. I don't know how he knows what one of those smells like, though."

Mary Ann suddenly stopped and swung in toward him, wrapping both her arms around his middle. She peered up at him, leaning her chin on his chest. "You're drunk," she announced.

Gilligan pouted down at her indignantly. "So are you."

"Ginger says you're a shy, frightened fawn," she informed him bluntly, not knowing the sentence was going to come out of her mouth until it appeared of its own accord. Gilligan looked appropriately stunned and she giggled. "Yeah, like that."

Gilligan drew up taller and rearranged his features to set his mouth in a confident line. "I am not."

"Sure you are." Mary Ann beamed at him.

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are." She poked him in the stomach and practically skipped back down the beach.

"I am not! I'm tough and brave and – and I'm a deer, not a fawn! A buck! With great big antlers!" Gilligan stomped through the sand to where Mary Ann was smiling into the fire, holding her hands out to the warmth. "I'm a mighty sailin' man. It says so in the song." Mary Ann sensed him striking a very heroic sailor pose behind her. She almost turned around, but he lost his balance and nearly tipped over before she could.

"Remember when I jumped in the lagoon when I heard you screaming? I didn't even think about it, I just jumped right in. I'd do it again, too. It's not my fault you panicked and almost drowned us both." Gilligan watched the firelight flicker across her features. When she didn't say anything, he plowed ahead. "And then the next day I saved you all from that headhunter! Even though I thought he was the Skipper, I still saved you." He suddenly thought of something that he knew would get her and he smirked. "If you recall, I was wonderful twice that day."

Mary Ann turned to find him watching her with one raised eyebrow, skinny arms crossed confidently across his chest. She hadn't realized he had been listening to her so closely all these months. "I remember."

"And I was wonderful when I saved Emily from getting eaten by the – no, that was in my dream." He looked embarrassed and Mary Ann's mouth opened in surprise. "Watubi!" he continued quickly, hoping that she didn't catch that he not only had dreams in which she featured prominently, but also found him praise-worthy. "My Watubi was wonderful, too. And when I fought off the supply hut robber – you thought that was marvelous!" Gilligan crossed his arms again and fixed her with his best 'so there' look. She was quiet and he shifted uneasily. "Fawns aren't marvelous."

Mary Ann waited another moment to see if he was through, and then took a step toward him. She stood unnecessarily close to him as she delivered the news: "She meant with girls."

Gilligan's face fell. "What?"

Mary Ann stood up on her toes to address him covertly. "She meant you're shy with girls."

Gilligan squirmed uncomfortably in the sand, but couldn't uncross his arms with her pressed against him. "That's ... that's not true." Mary Ann patted his shoulder and turned away. "What about that thing with Duke? I did pretty good, right?"

"Magnificent." Mary Ann humored him with a smile from where she had sat down in the sand beside the fire. Gilligan frowned and trudged over, plopping down next to her. "Oh, stop pouting, Gilligan. I think it's charming."

"I don't," he muttered with the biggest pout she'd ever seen. Suddenly, he sat up straight again, indignation fueling his confidence. "Well –! Well ... what would Ginger do if she showed up right now and saw me doing this?" Gilligan faltered, having clearly not thought out exactly what 'this' was. Finally, he seized Mary Ann's hand, laced his fingers through hers, and raised both their hands triumphantly in the air.

As much as Mary Ann loved it when he held her hand – when he helped her over a fallen log in the jungle, when he got so excited to show her something he literally dragged her away – she couldn't help but smirk. "Well, gee, Gilligan, don't give her a heart attack." Gilligan frowned and tried to take his hand back. "No, Gilligan, I'm sorry!" Mary Ann held on tight to his hand and pulled it toward her. "She'd be very impressed."

"No, she wouldn't. Plus, the guys have been teasing me all day."

"About what?"

"You."

"Oh."

"They think it's funny when you pass me stuff at breakfast. Mostly the past few days. I donno why. They said it's –," Gilligan paused to try to recollect the exact words, scrunching up his face as it seemed to help him think, " – highly indicative." He shrugged. "Whatever that means."

"Yeah, whatever that means," Mary Ann repeated quietly and finally released his hand. She was silent for a moment. "Ginger told me just to be sweet to you."

Gilligan looked at her as if she had just told him that the sky was green. "But you're always sweet to me."

"Thanks, Gilligan." Mary Ann picked up the bunch of flowers that lay beside her on the beach. She tightened the blue ribbon that held the bouquet together and lovingly fixed the bent and flattened petals.

Gilligan wasn't so clueless as to not see how disappointed Mary Ann was that it wasn't his idea to send her the flowers earlier. So after they stumbled out of the Howell hut that night, he gallantly picked her the biggest and most beautiful floral bouquet she had ever seen. It took well over an hour, with him leading her far off the main trail to search for the perfect blossoms, coordinating colors, and lecturing her the whole time about which flowers smelled the best, which butterflies preferred which flowers, and which color flowers looked best with her complexion.

Apparently he had thought about that at some point.

"You're always sweet to me, too."

"Oh, well, you're twice as –." Gilligan stopped, face twisting in confusion. That sounded familiar.

He decided to keep quiet, not wanting to wear out his one good line. But it still seemed to be working and Mary Ann smiled and linked her arm through his. The action sent an unusual tingle down his back and he shivered to shake it away.

"Gilligan, you must be freezing. Do you want your shirt back?"

"No! No, I'm fine. You keep it," he insisted as she put her flowers down and began rubbing his arms below his short sleeves to warm him up.

"You're going to get sick," she persisted.

"But then you'll make me soup and tell me stories." Gilligan made a weak effort to escape her touch, but Mary Ann ignored him.

"And whenever you get sick, I get sick because no one else can put up with your whining long enough to take care of you. And then I have to take care of myself."

"I'll tell you what, Mary Ann. Next time you get sick, I'll cook and tell you all about my Aunt Sarah's trip to Atlantic City. It's a good story. She won three dollars in the casino and ended up in jail with a chicken and..." Gilligan trailed off as Mary Ann released his arms and inexplicably climbed into his lap. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and laid her head on his shoulder. Gilligan was speechless for a moment, staring past her through huge eyes as he felt her forehead against his neck. "What are you doing?"

"The Professor says that body heat is the most effective way to stay warm."

Gilligan's brow furrowed. "Since when do you discuss body heat with the Professor?"

"Are you warm?"

"Yes. I mean, no! I mean – I'm fine. I like being cold." Gilligan gently pushed her out of his lap and onto the sand in front of him.

"Well, at least sit closer to the fire. You're going to get some crazy island pneumonia." Gilligan shifted closer to the blaze, scooting around so he was sitting across from Mary Ann as she moved her flowers and a near-empty champagne bottle out of the way. She pondered the green bottle for a moment. "Do you think Mr. Howell'll be mad that we drank this one too?"

"Nah." Gilligan took the bottle from her and began looking around for something in the sand. "If he wanted it, he wouldn't have left it in the stream when he took the other one." He continued digging through the sand and victoriously unearthed the two empty oyster shells that they had used as makeshift cups earlier. "Besides, most of it ended up in the sand, remember?"

Since they never got to eat anything at the Howells', Gilligan and Mary Ann's stomachs were grateful when they somehow ended up at the oyster bay after wandering for over an hour building the bouquet. They collected some fruit and dined under the stars on a meal of oysters, mangoes, and the other bottle of champagne they found in the stream next to the gorgeous orange hibiscus that were now in Mary Ann's new bouquet.

Gilligan even found a pearl in one of the oysters, which he gave to Mary Ann and was promptly rewarded with a squeal and a spontaneously hearty kiss. It was in his pocket now, though, since she had commissioned him to make her something with it.

The whole scene would have been incredibly romantic if they hadn't been too busy laughing hysterically at Gilligan's failed attempts to keep any champagne in his shallow oyster shell cup. Every time he filled it up, the liquid would slide out as he turned to put the bottle down in the sand. Mary Ann would giggle like a maniac when he turned back to find the shell empty. He'd glance around in confusion, then glare contemptuously at the shell before starting the whole process over again.

In the glow of the firelight on the beach, Gilligan started to pour some champagne, but stopped himself and handed the items to Mary Ann. "You do it this time. I'm clumsy enough normally." When he took the filled shell from Mary Ann, he thrust it high in the air. "I want to make a toast," he announced, wincing as half of the liquid splashed out of the shell and into his hair. "To twenty years of harmony and bliss. And the perfect marriage."

They clinked their shells together in a toast, tried to take a sip and stopped short. They hadn't noticed all the champagne slide into the sand as the shells collided. They pouted down into the empty shells, Gilligan glancing around the sand and patting his wet hair in confusion.

Mary Ann sighed as she tried to fill the shells again. "Poor Mr. and Mrs. Howell. I hope they make up."

"They always do."

Mary Ann suddenly giggled. "What do you think they'd say if they saw this?"

Gilligan's face split into an impish grin and he adjusted his invisible ascot. "I say, boy!" he exclaimed in an uncanny Mr. Howell impression and Mary Ann immediately spilled the champagne she had just poured. "What's the meaning of this?"

His eyes suddenly flew open and Gilligan's voice rose three octaves. "Thurston!" he trilled and Mary Ann nearly choked with laughter. "What's going on, Thurston? What have the children done now?"

"Dipped into my private stock, Lovey! What nerve! What gall! I mean, really!" Gilligan picked up a thin stick from the cool outskirts of the bonfire and brandished it in the air as Mr. Howell does his walking stick. "I demand that boy be keelhauled! Make him walk the plank!"

Gilligan abruptly broke a short section off of the stick and held it up next to his face. He looked Mary Ann up and down through his imaginary lorgnette and sighed. "How terribly inappropriate, Thurston. Out here without a chaperone. And to think it's all our fault!"

Mary Ann was doubled over, laughing so hard she was no longer making any noise. Tears sprung from her tightly shut eyes and she waved a hand in the air to get his attention. "Gilligan, stop!" she finally gasped.

But he was on a roll. "Shenanigans!" he thundered and another laugh exploded from her. "Lunacy! Tomfoolery, balderdash, and nonsense!" Gilligan waved his prop walking stick in the air, punctuating each statement with a jab.

"What should we do, Thurston? The Captain will be furious! Oh, but I do hope they'll let me plan the wedding!"

"He'll be demoted to mess duty for this! I'll see to it! And that one!" He turned on Mary Ann and she laughed all the harder. "We'll send her to the nunnery!"

With one last dramatic wave of the stick, Gilligan lost his balance and fell over backward in the sand. He lay still for a moment, his prop having flown over his head and into the foliage, the only sound being of Mary Ann desperately trying to catch her breath.

Gilligan opened his eyes when he felt something tickling his face and saw Mary Ann leaning over him. Her hair hung down past her shoulders and gently brushed his cheeks. "Oh, Gilly," she gasped between laughs. "You're so silly," she added and laughed harder when she realized she'd made a rhyme. Mary Ann leaned down and kissed him emphatically on the cheek.

When he sat up, Mary Ann saw in the firelight that she had left a pronounced red lipstick mark on his otherwise pale cheek. She reached out to rub it away, but succeeded only in smearing it across his cheekbone instead and she laughed.

"What?" Gilligan reached up to wipe his face, but she grabbed his hand from midair and steered it away.

"Stay still." Mary Ann took his chin in her hand and pressed her lips to his other cheek, smearing that lipstick mark out in an identical line. She narrowed her eyes and peered at him like an esteemed art critic, turning his head from side to side.

"What are you doing?" Gilligan managed before she covered his ears with her hands and yanked his head down so she could reach his forehead. Mary Ann spread the lipstick over his forehead with her thumbs as Gilligan went cross-eyed trying to see the print she had left on his nose.

"You'll see. Just wait." Mary Ann took him by the neck with both hands and pulled him toward her again. She had been aiming for his chin, but he was squirming and so she collided with his lips instead. When she released him, he blinked rapidly as she continued drawing patterns across his skin with the lipstick.

"Mary Ann!"

She shushed him from where she was adding a few more to his cheeks, jaw, and neck. He had frozen, muscles tense, until he suddenly squealed when she hit a sensitive spot below his left ear.

"Stop!" Gilligan laughed, making a half-hearted attempt to squirm away. "That tickles!"

Mary Ann finally sat back to study her handiwork, leaving a few of the lipstick marks unsmeared just for her own amusement. She peered at him for a moment before she burst into a fit of hysterical cackles.

"What's so funny?" Gilligan demanded, now a little indignant.

"You look like a Marubi."

Gilligan's eyebrows shot up and he lept to his feet to hurry to the water's edge. Mary Ann was close behind as he waded into the ocean. The bonfire and the low full moon made it easy to see his reflection in the gently rippling waters. Mary Ann peered over his shoulder as he bent to peer at himself.

Gilligan gazed at his mirror image in silence for a moment. He was a marked man. Mary Ann had decorated him in red waxy war paint like an ancient tribesman. He had two prominent streaks of red sweeping up his cheekbones, patterns across his forehead and cheeks, and lines down his nose and chin. He wasn't sure what the unsmeared lip-shaped marks signified in Marubi tradition, but he thought he looked pretty neat nonetheless.

Gilligan stared at his reflection for another moment before he began laughing. It started small, but soon bubbled up and poured from him in waves. He suddenly gasped and shot up straight, causing Mary Ann to instantly quiet as well.

"What?" she breathed.

"Marubi collect heads."

"Well, yeah. So –." Mary Ann stopped as she noticed the poor grammar, even for Gilligan.

He grunted. "Already have blonde one."

Mary Ann raised her eyebrows as she realized what he was doing. "Oh, really? Who's that?" she demanded, hands on hips. Gilligan narrowed his eyes and took a menacing step toward her.

"Oh, no!" she suddenly wailed melodramatically, deciding to play along. "Out here all alone with an evil Marubi! What ever am I going to do?"

Gilligan broke character, face twisting in disapproval. "Well, for starters, Mary Ann, you should leave the acting to Ginger." Mary Ann smirked and punched him in the shoulder. "Ow. And, secondly: you should run."

With that, he lunged for her, but she took off and splashed out of the water. She made a wide arc up the beach around their bonfire, being sure to carefully avoid the messages and artwork they had scrawled in the sand that evening.

Hours earlier, Mary Ann salvaged a broken bamboo pole from the beach and began scratching something in the sand. Gilligan tried to peer over her shoulder, but she kept him at arm's length, even accidentally elbowing him in the ribs once or twice.

He resorted to jumping up and down to sneak a peek and was able to see her note for a second before she blocked his view again. "West Germany?"

Mary Ann swatted him playfully. "Those are your initials."

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I forget I have a first name." Gilligan found the other half of the broken bamboo pole and moved a few feet down the beach, inspired to compose his own message.

"What are you writing?" Mary Ann asked, close behind him.

Gilligan spread his arms secretively. "Nothing."

"Let me see."

"No. It's personal."

Mary Ann rested her chin on his back and peered up at his ear, which may or may not have been turning a faint shade of crimson. "Is it about me?"

He hesitated long enough to inform her that he was going to lie. "Absolutely not."

Mary Ann stared at his gray cotton-clad back for a moment before reaching out and tickling him in the ribs. Gilligan yelped and jumped three feet in the air, twisting away from her. He tossed the pole aside and rushed her before she could read his message and she let him chase her straight into the ocean. She shrieked with laughter and spun around to splash him with the cold salt water. But Gilligan merely lowered his head and charged, his shoulder connecting with her abdomen. He hooked his arm behind her knees and lifted her effortlessly from the water, slinging her over his shoulder. She shrieked again and clutched at his back, her feet futilely kicking at the air as he carried her back to the beach.

Now the evil Marubi was hot on Mary Ann's heels until she deftly lept over a piece of driftwood that Gilligan didn't see, sending him sprawling to the sand face-first. Mary Ann glanced over her shoulder to see him scramble to his feet and charge after her again.

When he didn't catch up to her in the next few seconds, Mary Ann spun around to steal another glance behind her and was surprised to find him much closer than she anticipated. He tried to stop, but her hesitation and his momentum sent him skidding into her. She hit the sand hard, landing flat on her back with him on top of her.

After recovering her breath, Mary Ann looked up at Gilligan, who was still in character, propped up on his elbows and glaring down at her. She arranged a look of heart-melting wide-eyed terror on her face. "What are you going to do with me?"

Gilligan grunted. "Take to island. Throw in volcano."

"Hey!"

"Okay. Second thought. Take to island. Make bride."

Mary Ann shrugged with surrender and linked her arms around his neck. "Okay."

Gilligan sighed dramatically. "Mary Ann! You're supposed to, like, scream and cry and try to run away and stuff."

"I'm sorry. But you're kinda cute for a bloodthirsty headhunter."

Gilligan harrumphed once and pouted into the sand annoyance. Mary Ann suddenly grew quiet and he glanced up to find her staring at him intently.

He wasn't sure if it was because of the weight of her arms around his neck or if she was actually pulling him toward her, but he quickly became very aware of her brown eyes getting closer.

He saw her eyes close and felt her lips barely brush his, gently, different than before, and then again, a little more confidently. The last thing he remembers with any sort of certainty is feeling like he'd just been electrocuted and then closing his eyes.