A/N: Why is it that every time I'm sure I'm done with this story I somehow end up thinking about it again. Why does this stupid parody-not-parody demand to be written. In any case, it's still technically summer (despite Starbucks dropping the pumpkin spice latte for the Fall), so I also somehow continue my steak of only writing this during the summer.

/

The castaways watched, awestruck, as a crew of only two men disembarked from the ship.

In front, the bold silhouette of a well-dressed man sporting a shotgun and a disarming smile. Behind him, a shorter and stockier man, examining the castaways with distrusting eyes.

The man in front greeted the castaways without hesitation: "Why, hello! I apologize; I had no idea this island was inhabited."

"It's not," Skipper said, awestruck.

"I mean, it wasn't," Gilligan added.

"Before us, that is," Mary Ann tried to clarify.

"Well, that's not technically true," the Professor added. "There was somebody."

"For Heaven's sake," Mr. Howell said, rolling his eyes, "they're trying to say we've been shipwrecked."

"Shipwrecked?" the gentleman asked with wide eyes. "Maybe you all had better tell me your story."

And so they did, with no small amount of discord and confusion. Everyone seemed to have something to add that they believed warranted talking over somebody else. Still, the gentleman listened with remarkable patience, speaking up only to ask the occasional question, and then again when the story was done.

"So," he said thoughtfully, "you're from that Minnow ship that went missing. It was international news. I can't believe you've survived this long. The whole world thinks you seven are dead."

The group exchanged uneasy looks at the thought of this. Then, determined to put their minds at ease, the gentleman offered a smile, and with a shake of the Skipper's hand, finally introduced himself.

His name was Jonathan Kincaid, and he believed everything they said. Even Gilligan's slightly embellished details of the mystical wildlife on the island and Mr. Howell's account of sea monsters did not seem to faze Kincaid, who admitted that he was a big game hunter and that the whole reason he was here was because he'd heard that the wildlife on this island was like that found nowhere else.

"You got that right!" Gilligan exclaimed with wide eyes. "We've got murder parrots and deer with three eyes and probably all kinds of other spooky things that will get you in the night!"

"Good," Kincaid said with a confident smile, drawing his shotgun. "That's exactly what I came here for. I'm sick of buffalo, sick of lions, sick of antelopes… Heard the animals here will actually pose a challenge for once."

"Where did you hear that?" Professor asked, frowning. "Seems this island's been abandoned for a century."

"Folklore, I'm guessing." Kincaid shrugged. "Met a lady once, at a bar. She spoke with such conviction and the prospect sounded like paradise for a hunter like me that I decided I might as well check it out. Do you know how dull life gets when you feel you've conquered all there is to conquer? I had nothing to lose. I thought the lady had a few screws loose at first, but what matters is that it seems she was actually right."

"What matters is you've got a ship!" Mr. Howell blurted out the thing that everyone was thinking. "What matters is we can finally go home!"

This notion seemed to give Kincaid pause. He thought for a moment, then looked up at the sky, one hand shielding his eyes from the always-unforgiving sun, as if looking for answers in the heavens. Then, "Tell you what. I braved some pretty rough seas to get here. I've never seen this island listed on a single map, and trust me, I've looked. To be frank, it's a miracle I made it here in the first place. If I take you all home now, I don't know if I'll ever find this place again. And I've searched too long. I'm sorry."

Everyone was silent. Here was their savior, with a fully functional ship, and he was leaving them on this isolated, nightmarish island.

"Tell you what," Kincaid said, his voice confident and comforting despite what he'd just said, "we'll help each other out. You all show me around, tell me about the local wildlife, show me the biggest and most dangerous game, and I'll keep you safe until I've had my fill. Then, we can all go home together."

"Or we could take your ship and leave you here," Ginger counteroffered. "You know, since you seem to love it so much."

Kincaid gave a good-spirited laugh but declined. His was their only option, and it was certainly better than nothing.

Indeed, they were better off with Kincaid and his strong but silent assistant Ramoo when night fell. As they all huddled around the campfire, Kincaid did not flinch from the howls or the rustling in the jungle; he seemed to be roused by it, and everyone was happy to be under the protection of his well-polished shotgun.

He had some stories to tell himself, briefly regaling them of tours of plains and deserts and the deepest of jungles and the tallest of mountains, but he quickly took an interest in the castaways.

"Tell me about yourselves," he said, turning the conversation back to them. "You must have struggled to survive. It's been months. Very impressive. Did the world out there prepare you for the world here?"

"Not much to tell," Skipper said, shaking his head. "We got lucky finding the old Captain's things. I guess I'm just a failed seaman now."

"Give yourself some credit," Kincaid said with the confidence and bravado that was making everyone feel so safe. "It's clear to me that everyone here looks up to you. That everyone is well-fed, taken care of… Alive, and then some. You must be an excellent leader."

"I don't know about all that," Skipper said, trying to sound modest but unable to hide his smile.

"I've helped a lot, too," Gilligan said hopefully. "I can fish and hunt a little and I trained a wild dog to guard us at night." After a pause, he added, "Well, he wasn't really wild, according to the Professor, and he doesn't really guard us, but we're friends."

Kincaid raised an eyebrow. "Sure. You must be a valuable member of the team, so young and spry."

He eyed Mary Ann with a curious look. "You look quite… fit, too. What's your story?"

Mary Ann glanced awkwardly from Kincaid too the Professor to Gilligan and back. "I'm…"

"She's part of the reason we're all still alive, too! She can fish and cook and…" Soon, Gilligan was raving about all of them. Professor's brains and the Howells' and Ginger's ability to adapt and how they all found him when he ran off and how they all learned to fish and—

"Impressive… Very impressive."

/

Mrs. Howell took a particular liking to Mr. Kincaid. He was kind and confident and he knew when to hold his tongue, unlike her husband. It was she who accompanied him into the jungle for his hunting expeditions, so long as she was quiet when he needed it and didn't spook the wildlife.

He kept a keen eye out for the wildlife the castaways had described, and to Mrs. Howell's delight, she witnessed him drop a rainbow of sharp-beaked murder parrots all while discussing the delights of high society. They discussed fashion, literature, cinema, poetry, and history. Kincaid, of course, had made idols of the gentleman hunters of American history, like Theodore Roosevelt, Karamoja Bell, and Fritz Duquesne.

Kincaid was the first dignified man Mrs. Howell had interacted with in months, and despite how surprised she'd been at how much she enjoyed the company of the rest of the castaways, she enjoyed the intellectual pursuits Kincaid offered far more than foraging and fishing just to stay alive. At some point after the botched rescue, the days had begun blurring together, and she'd become uncritical of the passage of days. She'd accepted her fate to listen only to the biggest news on the society station and never more to participate.

But Kincaid had brought her back. Real life was still out there, and now it was glowing on the horizon.

Sure, her husband was rich enough to get into any society club he wanted, as was Ginger Grant, but neither was classy enough to ever want to. They both lived in ignorant, animalistic hedonism, and Mr. Howell told Kincaid so. He shook his head, and commented on what a shame it was that they shouldn't use their positions of wealth and privilege to become the best versions of themselves that they could be.

"Have you ever heard of the Connell Club?" Kincaid asked, nonchalant the unusual bird that used to terrorize the castaways.

"I can't say I have."

"Makes sense. It's still getting off the ground and very hush-hush."

Mrs. Howell smiled.

Kincaid fastened the murder parrot to his hunting belt and motioned for them to keep moving. "I'll send you more information when we get back. I suspect you'll be interested. Maybe you can invest. I think your husband might do well there, too."

Mrs. Howell laughed. "Then you don't know him at all. Still, I'd like that very much."

/

It didn't take long for everyone to grow impatient. Somehow, waiting for rescue when it was a sure thing was more excruciating than when there was no hope of rescue at all. After long but pleasurable days trekking through the jungle with Kincaid, Mrs. Howell would unwind at the campfire only to be greeted by tense and scowling faces.

From their very first day, the Professor obsessively studied the specimens Kincaid brought back, marveling at their taxonomical implications and evolutionary advantages. Some of the murder parrots, he remarked, bore tags on their legs similar to the one on Irving's collar. He was devastated when he first discovered this, realizing that surely someone else had staked a claim to this island's scientific discoveries.

After Kincaid brought back a myriad of murder parrots, a horrible black reptile that only loosely resembled an alligator, and the impressive mossy pelt of a mysterious little wildcat, he was itching for bigger game.

He had asked Gilligan countless times about the seven-foot deer, and done night when he returned empty-handed, Mr. Howell entered the hut with Ginger at his side.

Mrs. Howell would never admit it, but she had always felt a tug of anger when she saw the two together. Ginger was too young, too sexy, and too shallow for her husband to resist, and Mrs. Howell suspected all three of them knew it.

But the more time she spent with Kincaid, the less she thought of her husband. Now, she barely batted an eye at the pair. And now, it seemed, he wanted something from her.

"What are you waiting for?" her husband asked impatiently.

"As usual, I haven't an idea what you're talking about."

Mr. Howell and Ginger exchanged a look. "Why are you taking so long to convince that Kincaid fellow to take us home?" Mr. Howell clarified as if it was obvious. Then, "Why else would you be spending so much time with him?"

Mrs. Howell smirked to herself as she noticed her husband gritting his teeth. "Perhaps because I care for him? Perhaps because he's the best company available on this island. He's clever and strong and he doesn't—"

"Honey, if you're not seducing him to steal his boat keys, I will," Ginger interrupted.

Mrs. Howell didn't break eye contact with her husband. "Be my guest," she said carelessly.

She watched as Ginger and Mr. Howell left the hut.

She smiled to herself.

She and Kincaid were above it all. Let the others try what they might.

/

And try, they did.

Kincaid confided in Mrs. Howell about how Ginger had attempted to seduce him into leaving the island before he bagged the buck.

He left out a few details, however. How far he and Ginger had gotten before Gilligan strode by and unwittingly clued Kincaid in by innocuously exclaiming, "Wait, I thought you had a thing for the Professor. I was way off!"

Mrs. Howell didn't need to know about any of that.

He did, however, provide her with the full details of how her slime of a husband had tried to bribe him into forgetting his quest and taking them all home and how he'd made threats to take legal action when he found Kincaid couldn't be bought.

"I'm more interested in accomplishments than wealth," he said.

"I couldn't agree more," Mrs. Howell said with a smile.

Unfortunately, the schemers' influence was spreading.

The next day, the Professor was approached by Ginger with a plan.

"Come on," she said after the Professor failed to express interest in leaving the island without Kincaid's knowledge. "With your big brain? You could hotwire the boat easily. And bring us all home again! Oh, you'd be a real hero. Maybe they'd make a movie and you could be played by—"

"Ginger," the Professor cut in sternly. "While I do know a little something about nautical engineering and marine propulsion, I just don't feel right leaving Kincaid and Ramoo on the island all alone."

"They can obviously fend for themselves. And we'd come back for them," Ginger said. "Eventually."

The Professor shook his head. The moral quandary was convenient for him; when they got back to civilization, she would be whisked back to Hollywood, and he would be thrust back into his academics. The prospect of which was much less exciting now that he knew he might not be able to assemble a research team to investigate the island's mysterious fauna or to publish his findings on them. He doubted he would see any of his fellow castaways again; the Howells, too would return to their upscale lives, Gilligan and the Skipper to the sea. Perhaps he'd see Mary Ann again, if she chose to reenroll at the University, which he found doubtful.

Professor had read the studies that suggested loneliness literally killed, whether consciously or unconsciously. Now, appropriately, after nightly bonfires and comfortable fishing sessions, he found the prospect of loneliness more terrifying than the murder parrots or the menagerie of frightening animals Kincaid had acquainted the Professor with.

So he refused to hotwire the boat for Ginger and the rest of his friends, and he inwardly hoped that Kincaid would take his time discovering the fabled buck.

But it could not take forever, which might have been the reason Professor found himself in the middle of an especially pleasurable talk with Mary Ann.

They were laughing at the exploits of their fellow castaways. Gilligan, Mary Ann informed him, had somehow been roped into the scheming as well.

"Mr. Howell talked him into trying to steal the keys to the boat," Mary Ann said, sounding embarrassed at the fact that she was laughing about it. "Ramoo caught him, of course. Poor guy thought he was going to get a spear to the head."

"What did he expect?" The Professor laughed, too, and shook his head. "They don't really think we're going to leave two other people here, do they?"

"Oh, I don't think Gilligan was thinking that far ahead," Mary Ann said tenderly. "He's, um, easily influenced."

"That's one word for it."

Mary Ann laughed. For a moment, they looked at each other and silently wondered if they were the honest two on the island, which was confirmed when they overheard the Skipper trying to win the keys to the boat from Ramoo in a game of cards.

"The man doesn't speak," the Professor reasoned. "How is he going to play poker?"

"We could play Blackjack!" the Skipper replied before following the silent but imposing man away.

The discussion between he and Mary Ann had left the Professor a bit more warmed up to the idea of returning home.

Mary Ann, too, had read into the conversation.

Which brought her to Mrs. Howell, who wasn't the warmest, but who she'd been told had been charitable and who had had small flashes of maternal affection and reassurance when Mary Ann said something stupid in her innocence. And, better yet, she had no outstanding feelings for Gilligan or the Professor or Ginger.

So much so, in fact, that Mary Ann had a hard time getting her alone. Her only outstanding feelings, despite being married, seemed to be for the Kincaid fellow.

Mrs. Howell and Kincaid, much like Mary Ann and the Professor, had been laughing at the misguided attempts of the castaways to get their greedy hands on the boat keys. So she was more than a little suspicious when Mary Ann came to her for advice.

"Come on, what do you really want?"

Mary Ann, who seemingly didn't realize she was being scrutinized, said honestly, "Ok. Fine. I want to know if there's any chance for the Professor and me. Or if maybe I should move on to… other people."

Mrs. Howell raised an eyebrow. The farmgirl was too earnest to try anything, she realized. An unexpected pang of affection washed over her. The thought of this girl going to her for advice… it was all so filial.

Sure, the girl was frivolous and classless, but she was also sweet and innocent and charming in a corn-fed way. She found herself wanting to give real, honest advice as Mary Ann elaborated.

And the truth was that the Professor seemed too cold and professional to ever give her the kind of warmth she put off, and that Mary Ann seemed too young to be worrying much about the matter altogether.

"In my experience," Mrs. Howell said earnestly, "men will just drag you down, darling. You're bright and hardy and adorable. Be on your own for a bit. And let the men come to you. Because eventually, the men will come to you."

She was wondering if, after decades of marriage to a man who dragged her down, the right man had finally come to Mrs. Howell.

/

There was no shortage of scheming from Mr. Howell and Ginger and the Skipper and, by extension, Gilligan. But none could hurry fate, and after an excruciating twenty-one days, Kincaid and Mrs. Howell returned from the jungle, triumphant, the ultimate trophy in tow.

To everyone's shock, Gilligan had not been mistaken or even exaggerating. The shadow-black buck was seven feet tall, eerily slender, and upon its forehead was the slit of a third eye.

It had been field dressed by Kincaid, a task Mrs. Howell was both intrigued and revolted by, and he intended to mount the head when they got home and roast the flank for their dinner that evening.

"You can't do that," the Professor argued while the rest stood slack-jawed at the beast. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime scientific discovery!" Despite the fact that this one, too, had been tagged (H/DM, 090121), the Professor couldn't stand to let the discovery go to waste.

Kincaid held up a hand. "Transference, my friend. We consume the beast, its strength and will is absorbed into us. And we will all need strength for the days ahead."

Skipper nodded, claiming that the voyage home would be long and difficult, before hurrying to help Kincaid prepare the venison.

"The meat will be a special treat," Kincaid announced grandly. "Mrs. Howell and I agreed that the coming occasion should be celebrated with a party tonight. A farewell party!"

Excitement gripped the castaways. They heard Gilligan gasp jaggedly.

"We will share in the meat! I have champagne on the ship that I've been waiting to open for just such an occasion! We can eat and drink and dance and prepare for the bracing challenges that lie ahead!"

A rush of laughter, relief washing over everybody.

"Get your affairs in order, my friends! Tomorrow, everything changes!"

A raucous applause broke out, cheering and leaping and dancing that couldn't wait for the farewell party.

/

Sometime after dinner, the party began to quiet down. Everyone was beginning to take a turn, despite Kincaid's promising declarations.

Skipper was drilling Gilligan as if he was an officer back in the Navy. With the journey now on the horizon, Skipper insisted that even though Kincaid and Ramoo were captaining their own ship, he and Gilligan had to be ready to step in if something went amiss again.

Ginger was suddenly more interested in Kincaid's champagne than her friends, or even the prospect of returning to Hollywood.

The Professor was hungry and moping about the scientific accomplishments everyone else had so brazenly eaten. Mary Ann was watching him, too timid to approach.

Kincaid and Mrs. Howell were the only two still in a party mood, and even they had gone quiet, lingering close to each other and leaning against the wall of one of the huts.

Which, of course, left Mr. Howell scowling after them. It wasn't just that Mrs. Howell was his wife; he had been unfaithful before, he had never expected them to be snuggled up to each other like that. No, there was something else. Without his realizing it, Mr. Howell had expected that in their time of isolation, in their time of need, perhaps they would find each other for the first time.

This was proof that he had been wrong.

And he wasn't the only one facing heartache, he realized in the next moment. His own bitter thoughts had been interrupted by the whispers of Mary Ann Summers. She sounded emotional, which was not unusual for Mary Ann, but it was still interesting enough to pique Mr. Howell's interest.

A better man would have let this private conversation be private, but he was no stranger to eavesdropping, so he didn't feel bad at all tuning into her hushed conversation with the Professor.

"I just… I agree. With what you said before. After all this, I'll need to be on my own and figure things out. Oh, but I'm excited to be friends once we get back to the mainland."

"Really?" The Professor sounded surprised. "Do you… Do you think we could do that?"

"We've been doing it for months now, haven't we?"

A beat. Then, "We have. Excited to meet up with you in Hawai'i, then. Maybe we can form a research team at the University and try to get our hands on some of this island's unusual and uneaten specimens."

Well, that was boring. Mr. Howell had been more in the mood for a blowout, the type of drama-filled screaming match that would liven up the party. Instead, he got a mature conversation about the future between two adults. How disappointing.

The cherry on top was when he finally looked back at his wife and saw her face being caressed by Kincaid.

"Can't you grope your own wife?"

The words came out before Mr. Howell realized he was saying them.

Kincaid raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

All the sudden, Mr. Howell's blood was boiling. There was something about the way Kincaid was looking at him the way one might look at a lesser being; a bug or a small animal. "I said grope your own wife, you flaming fraud."

"Thurston!" Mrs. Howell chided.

"Really! I don't mean to come across as ungrateful, but this man has kept us living in the wild, squatting in huts and eating non-perishables for days! He leaves us for hours at a time and—"

"Oh, please, Mr. Howell, he is going to save us!" Mary Ann pleaded.

"Took his sweet time. He's no gentleman," Mr. Howell said, eyeing his wife the entire time, "that's for certain."

Nobody wanted this fight to break out, but everybody had thought it in the days before. It had been selfish of Kincaid to wait this long. Only Mrs. Howell opened her mouth to defend the hunter.

"That's alright, Lovey," Kincaid said, raising one hand before Mrs. Howell could start. "He's right. I may not always act like a gentleman. But now at least I don't have to feel bad for what I'm going to do next." The tone in his voice had turned icy, and everyone's stomachs turned. Even Gilligan could read the room well enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Ladies and gentleman, your presence here has meant more to me than I could ever tell you. I have been looking for an opportunity like this for decades. I've tried to engineer it, to buy it… And then the opportunity of a lifetime just falls into my lap." He smiled to himself. "It must be fate."

"What are you talking about?" the Skipper asked, fists clenching at his side.

"I've conquered all the big game across the world, but none are intellectual pursuits. Nature provides no challenge for me anymore. Once I realized that, I realized that to challenge myself, to become the best and strongest and smartest and fastest version of myself… I must track down and kill the most dangerous of all prey—"

The castaways held their breath.

"—Man."

Silence from the awestruck castaways. Mary Ann and Ginger were huddled into the Professor's arms. Mr. Howell stood, chalk-white and unable to comprehend. Mrs. Howell was still behind Kincaid, looking confused and disoriented and also quite pale. The Skipper shook, trying to think how best to protect his castaways. Gilligan trembled and leapt at every syllable, but backed his Skipper up. The fire popped and crackled. Behind it, Ramoo sharpened his spear with a dreadful scrape.

"And now," Kincaid continued, thrill in his voice, "God has provided me with six perfect such animals to hunt."

The Skipper stepped forward, ready to resort to violence. He doubted he could best Kincaid in a brawl, but he had to try.

Without flinching, Kincaid raised one hand and summoned Ramoo, who put a spear against the Skipper's throat as Kincaid retrieved his rifle.

"Please," he scoffed. "Don't make this that easy on me. You could, of course; I'd get the trophy all the same. But I'd prefer you make it difficult, as that's rather the point. In fact, I'll be giving you a head start. Who ever said I'm not a gentleman?"

Nobody dared to say a word, not with the spear still against the Skipper's face. When Kincaid flicked his wrist, Ramoo backed away, only to lunge forward again and spook the castaways. Half of them cried out, and they all scrambled to escape the weapons.

"You have until daybreak to run," Kincaid's cold warning rang out from over the trees.