Gilligan looked out the window, tears pricking at his eyes.
The fifteen minutes had long passed. Not a single one of them was back, with or without the Professor.
He turned his head to look at Mary Ann. She'd awakened, and gazed at him through half-open lids.
"Gilligan," she asked, shifting uncomfortably, "are you sure the Professor said I'll be alright?"
He swallowed, a grand lie swelling up in his throat like the tears were in his eyes. All he could do was nod.
She curled up again, chills visibly wracking her body. His heart throbbed.
"J…just a second Mary Ann. I need to get something."
He rushed out of the hut, barely beating his tears as they started down his cheeks, fat dollops of salt water leaving crusty paths behind them. In between two he sucked in a mouthful of breath, almost as if he were swimming.
Normally he had no problem at all showing his emotions in front of other people. It was the way he communicated, practically. He'd never understood stoicism—or how Perry Mason could always keep such a straight face.
But right now, it seemed like the right thing to do. Why should he cry when Mary Ann herself wasn't?
Wiping ferociously at the wetness with his arm, he started for the huts the tidal wave had wrecked earlier that day. Out front were the sorted piles of debris and what they actually wanted.
He saw it immediately. Stepping up his pace, he leaned over to pick it up.
Miraculously, it was dry.
With it tightly in his arms, he made his way back to the hut.
"Mary Ann?" he said, looking at her huddled figure, "this…this was my parents' wedding quilt. My mother gave it to me when I started working for the Skipper. She said someday I'd find someone special to share it with. And now I have." He draped it over her shoulders.
She gave him a weak but sincere smile as she smoothed the faded colors of the wrinkled fabric.
"I…I'm honored, Gilligan."
The two of them were silent for a time before she whispered, "Gilligan, would you do me a favor?"
He almost dropped to his knee at her bedside. "Anything."
She had a sad, wistful look in her eyes. "Would you go out and skip a stone on the lagoon for me? One of your twelve-timers, maybe?"
He grinned faintly. Whatever else he did wrong, he was a professional stone skipper.
"Sure thing, Mary Ann. I'll be right back." He thrust open the door and stepped out, being careful to leave it open so that maybe, by some miracle, she could watch him.
And that was when he saw him.
###
"Pro…Professor?"
The older man looked up, lifting his head out of his hands.
"Gilligan? I…I heard that the Skipper had volunteered to do the operation. I was wondering if I might be of assistance. Where is he?"
The first mate looked up at the teacher. "Out looking for you, Professor. They all are. Where were you? Why'd you come back?"
There seemed to be an almost accusatory note in his voice.
"I…I…" the scientist stammered.
There was no way to justify what he'd done, plain and simple. He swallowed. Something in the pit of his stomach exploded, and for a moment he forgot that it was Mary Ann who had appendicitis, not him. His eyes began to glisten, and his voice shook as he spoke.
"T…there's no way I can explain. Not now. Is…is she still in the hut?"
He nodded, and the Professor took his bamboo medical bag from where he'd left it earlier on the table. He started walking gravely towards the hut. Then he came to a stop. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Change out of your swimming trunks, Gilligan. I might need you."
The sailor nodded and dashed off in the direction of the trashed huts.
Roy began inching towards Mary Ann's sickroom again, his stomach growing heavier with every step. Creeping through the door, he gazed at the girl upon his pallet—sweat bathed, and yet lovingly wrapped in a worn quilt.
She looked up at him as he entered. He sighed.
Don't make this hard. For either of us…
"Hello Mary Ann. I hear you're having chills?" She gave him a slight incline of her head.
"Has there been any other progression in your symptoms?"
"I feel sick." She said simply, pulling the quilt tighter about her.
"Nauseous?" he asked, hoping to clarify her definition of "sick." She gave him a quick nod in response.
"Alright. Now if you'd just relax for a moment, I'd like to run a few more tests." She complaisantly closed her eyes and lay back.
He put a hand on her forehead, then pulled it away, shocked at the heat. There was no need to get an exact temperature; it was obviously her fever had risen.
Pulling out his stethoscope, he set it up and looked at his watch. He started counting. At the end of the minute, he swallowed.
"Cough for me, Mary Ann."
Her eyes opened.
"Cough?"
"Yes, cough."
She expelled a small amount of air in that form, then looked up at him for approval.
"Did that hurt?" he inquired gently. She nodded, letting her eyelids droop again.
"Gilligan?" he called. A few moments later the first mate stuck his head through the window.
"Yeah?"
"Here," He handed his bag to the sailor. "I need you to sterilize all of these instruments. I think a few bottles of the Howells' liquor survived the tidal wave."
"Professor, do you mean…?"
"Yes, I do. It...it can't wait." The second part came out in a fearful whisper.
Gilligan, understanding written all over his face, slipped out towards the wreckage. Roy proceeded over to his cabinet and pulled out a half full bottle which contained a substance mimicking the qualities of ether.
He brought in a deep breath. There was no time to make a topical patch or set up equipment. He'd have to have her inhale it.
His jaw was clenched as he walked over to her, clutching the vial so hard as to turn his knuckles white.
"Mary Ann, you can open your eyes. Now, when I put this bottle under your nose, I want you to inhale deeply. Just focus on that—I'll worry about what comes next. Don't fight it if you feel sleepy—that's normal."
"Okay, Professor."
Looking through the window to see Gilligan coming back with the sterilized instruments, he carefully brought the bottle to her face.
God, please tell me I'm doing this right…
The moments until she was out were suspenseful for him. He had no idea how long it took, but when he stepped back, she was unconscious.
As he looked down at the girl in front of him, he felt himself choke up. So innocent, so young, and yet to be taken by peritonitis…
No. He wasn't going to let it happen.
He's right, Hinkley. Where were you? There's a girl dying here and you've been out playing catch-me-if-you-can in the jungle. We've been stranded together for three and a half years. Don't I owe her this much?
He gently stroked her face.
"Don't worry, Mary Ann. I'll get you through this alive if it's the last thing I do."