Dale turned from the door and looked at Chip. He was about to chatter at him,
but then he said calmly,
“Um, sorry, Chip. Perhaps we *do* need a break.” Chip, too was about to begin speaking with a high volume, but Dale's tone muted him.
“Yeah, Dale, I'm sorry too. You-you don't *have* to go up on stage tonight. It looks like you still need a little time to-”
“No, I don't, Chip. Look, I miss Foxy, but she's gone and she won't be back. I already moved on, and the Comedian was left behind, too. I may not tell jokes anymore, but-perhaps-I *could* use a laugh or two:” He trailed off as he padded back to his room, oblivious of the four sighs of relief that were breathed in the living room. So, it finally seemed that Dale was about to get back to his old fun-loving self again. Could it be that things would actually be getting back to normal?
“Wow, six years?” asked Chip to himself. “It seems more like four decades since we last saw Clarice! It will be nice to see her up on stage again-whoa!!!” Upon hearing that name again, Gadget suddenly laid her ears back, stiffened her tail, grabbed Chip's left paw, and dragged him to her workshop. Zipper looked at Monterey quizzically, to which he replied,
“Don't look now, mate, but I think Gadget's eyes jus' turned from blue to green!!”
“Oh, great, that's all we need now. ANOTHER soap opera in this house!!”
In the workshop, a jealous mousemaid and a confused chipmunk had just arrived,
with the mousemaid slamming the door shut.
“Gadget, what's wrong?” asked the confused chipmunk. The jealous mousemaid released him, looked at his eyes, and asked,
“Chip, how do you feel about Clarice?” Chip looked at her for a moment with slight suspicion. What had come over her now? He replied,
“Clarice? Well, she's an old friend! She doesn't seem to have changed much since we last saw her. It looks like she's still quite a flirt-”
“From the way she kissed you?”
“Well, she's like that.”
“And what did you think about that?”
“About what?”
“The kiss.” Chip turned slightly, lowered his ears a trifle, and stuttered,
“Um, well, gee, it-it was unexpected, but she's like that with everybody-”
“Did you like it?” she insisted. Chip then saw that something was obviously bothering her,
“Gadget, why are you asking me this? It looks as if you don't like Clarice too much.” Gadget turned and shook her head,
“Oh-golly, Chip, I-I know she's an old friend, but-but I don't know her, and she suddenly waltzes in here and kisses everyone--I--I-felt like dismantling her!!!” Chip stood back at this.
“*Dismantling*? Why?”
“Because--because--she-she kissed you.”
“Gadget, she kissed *everyone*.”
“The *way* she kissed *you*. Chip, I may be naÔve, but I'm not blind. Did you and Clarice ever have-a-a-re-relationship??” Chip simply could not figure out why Gadget was asking him this. Also, the look in her eyes showed pain, as well as a touch of anger, and-and-
Jealousy?
“Gadget, Dale and me met Clarice seven years ago back upstate. We were-a bit reckless back then. It was obvious that we both had feelings for her, but I really doubt she had any feelings for either of us. She-she toyed with us, for a while, but she never fully gave herself to either of us, or anyone for that matter. I *would* have liked to have a relationship with her, but looking back now, I can see that she was just a flirt, to us, to *everyone*. She doesn't mean any harm, that's just the way she is.” He turned and continued, “I *may* have had feelings for her, *especially* during spring-but not anymore.” He turned back to her, “She's still my friend, mind you, but I-I-” He padded up to her, looked into her beautiful china blue eyes, and stated, “Gadget, I don't *love* her, I'm not *in love* with her, not anymore, if *that's* what you're asking.” With that, Gadget sighed as her fit of jealousy subsided. She raised her ears, relaxed her tail, turned, padded back to her chair, and sat down. Chip, however, turned the tables and continued, still with low ears, “Now, Gadget-why? Why? What-what came over you that you had to ask me all of this?” Gadget slowly turned to face him, waited a moment, laid her ears down again, and replied,
“Chip, I'm-I'm sorry I questioned you like that. It's just that I-that I-had never felt so jealous before.”
“Jealous? Of what?” Gadget sighed, stood up, and padded back toward him.
“Chip, three weeks ago, when Fat Cat was about to kill us all, and when you offered your life in order to save the rest of us, I-I suddenly realised-some things-some--feelings I had--feelings-I had-for you. So, when Clarice came in here and kissed you, I felt-I felt as if she was-was-stealing-from-from--*me*, Chip-stealing-*you*-from me.” The sciurid sighed and turned away. Pain was now developing in *his* chest now. His tail drooped. “It became clear to me the night of the kidnapping, Chip, but only now did I actually see the whole picture. Also-also-the day Dale came back, we had a little talk. He told me some things-which confirmed what I felt just now.” Chip perked his ears up and looked at her rather surprised now,
“Things? What *things* did he tell you?” Gadget took a deep breath and tried to reply,
“He told me-he told me-that-that-that you loved me-Chip Maplewood.” The tamias turned away again in unexplainable pain, as his ears drooped again. “Is-is that true?” she insisted. “Chip, *do* you love me?” When the tamias turned to reply, the mus could not understand *why* the same pain she saw in Dale's eyes were now in *Chip's*.
“Yes,” he replied, with a very pained voice. And as he continued, he turned away again. “From the moment I saw you take off your helmet when we first met you, I have loved you more than you could *ever* imagine, Gadget Hackwrench.”
“Oh, Chip-” Gadget extended her arms and was about to embrace him, but for some insane reason, the sciurid dodged her embrace, confusing the murid *again*. She looked at him quizzically, and was able to utter only one word in response to this action,
“W-what?” With a pained sigh, Chip looked out the window, and asked,
“Did he tell you anything else?” Now Gadget was on the receiving end of the interrogation. She stumbled,
“He-he told me that it would mean the world to you if I loved you back--that he didn't want to see you fighting for me anymore--that I should *at least* give you a chance-that you *deserved* a chance-and that *I* deserved a chance with you, too-and that if I loved you I would make you the happiest chipmunk on earth-and that I would be very happy with you, too-” Her voice trailed off as he slowly padded toward the window. Confusion of infinite proportions was coming over her now. She padded up to him and held his left paw, “Uh, Chip, I-I've been thinking about what Dale said, and-and with what happened today, I-I r-really want to give you a chance-to give *us* a chance. To make both of us *happy*.” Still Chip would not turn toward her. Instead, he looked down now. So, she padded around him, held both of his paws, and continued, “Chip, really, I-I-guess that all this time I had also loved you, but I didn't know that until recently-” He felt cold, *very* cold. And he still would not look at her. “Chip, isn't this what you also wanted? For me to love you back?” Still there was no response from him, his pained eyes showed that he was thinking about something else. “Chip, what's wrong with you??!!” she asked, beginning to get annoyed, both at her confusion *and* his lack of response, “Don't you *want* me to love you? Why are you so cold all of the sudden?” The sciurid then looked up at her, and replied softly,
“Gadget, do you *really* think that I haven't noticed your advances?” The murid looked at him, somewhat surprised, perking up her ears a trifle. Chip chuckled ever so slightly and explained, “And did you also know that if your had told me this three weeks ago, I would be over the moon?” The mousemaid's expression changed from surprised to surprised *and* more-confused-than-a-crashed-computer's-memory. “Gadget, I hate to tell you this, but-Dale *also* had a talk with me.” He turned away and looked at the floor once again, much to Gadget's frustration. “Didn't you hear it?” he asked.
“Well, yes, but you guys yell so fast we can't understand a word you say.” Chip sighed,
“Well, among other things, Dale told me that-that I-that *we*-have hurt him.”
“Hurt him?” The mousemaid was not going to accept that easily, unless Chip was only referring to *himself*-
“Gadget, you've never considered Dale to be *very* intelligent, have you?” Now that was definitely a monkey wrench for her. Her ears lowered.
“Well, um, uh, I, er, not-*too* intelligent, I suppose-”
“Gadget, for a long time, *all* of us have thought of him as stupid, as a clown. I mean, who of us *hasn't* cringed when he has offered to help us?” This last question was enough to drain all of her blood to her foot-paws,
“B-but Chip, when he has helped us, things-um-”
“Get screwed up, by his clumsiness, I know. But not *all* the time. I-*we* have pushed him-*typecast* him to the role of Clown and Klutz. For a long time he's been trying to go beyond that, to *truly* be serious when things needed to be-and *still* we rejected all input from him. We automatically rejected every comment, clue, and reasonable doubt that came from him and labelled it as worthless. Gadget, it has gone *far* beyond bonking. We've made him feel worthless and insignificant. There were many times when he wanted to protest against us, even against *you*, Gadget, but he chose not to do so. He didn't want to hurt you. He never wanted to hurt anyone. All he ever wanted was to make others feel better. And when Foxglove came along, he finally had an outlet; he finally had someone who believed in him, something *we* failed to do.” To Gadget, it seemed as if a meaningless blueprint was suddenly acquiring meaning, but in this case, it was a *very* scary meaning. Her mind suddenly flashed back to Brazil, and then to France, with every single word she said to Dale playing back loud and clear.
*Golly, could Dale be right after all?*
*Well, if you believe the theory that everything happens for a reason, then it wasn't your fault. Technically, however, you're-a _Goof-up_.*
She suddenly realised that she had *hurt* someone she cared about. She had deliberately caused PAIN to someone else, something she swore she would never do, not after all the pain *she* went through. She even took steps to avoid pain herself, *and* made sure that neither Chip nor Dale got broken hearts from her, either. And now, her invention, which she thought would work with no problems, had suddenly exploded in her face.
She had become a monster.
And this monster had hurt a loved one.
And what was worse, she was practically the last one to know about it.
Her ears at tail drooped more.
Her eyes began to sting.
“But even then, he-he found out many things about himself which he knew would be a danger to both him *and* Foxglove. And-a-also, in that talk, Dale asked me a question, a hypothetical question, and I haven't been able to get that question out of my mind for the past three weeks.” Gadget shakily took one step forward,
“W-what did he ask you?” Chip looked up for a moment, turned to her again, and continued,
“Dale was-explaining to me-why I made the right decision in leaving him behind. He fainted on his *wife*, Gadget, and though it wasn't his fault, he can't ever forgive himself for doing that, and he also realised that his foul-ups would be lethal to *all* of us now, and to his *wife* and *cubs*. But then he went on to explain the other reasons why he could never marry Foxglove; he mentioned his 'family curse'-and then he mentioned our enemies. Gadget, Fat Cat saw a chance to get all of us, and he made as best use of that situation as he could.” He looked down as his paws trembled momentarily; the torturing question surfacing from his memory banks. He looked at Gadget again, and trembled with stiff ears, tail, and clenched incisors, “And then he asked me, 'Can you imagine what would have happened if he had got not only Foxy, but also my three cubs and *your son*??!!'” The two rodents looked at each other, in complete silence. Gadget's mind raced as she visualised that situation, momentarily forgetting her own actions against Dale: Fat Cat kidnapping Foxglove, along with Dale's three cubs, and-and-
*_Her_ son.*
What would *her* reaction have been in that situation?
“Dale then said, 'There's no way we could get married, not with danger being all around us!!' So, Gadget, I've-I've been giving-us-some thought, and-and I kept thinking of how our families would be raised, and-and-I came-to the conclusion that this is really not the right environment to raise a family.”
“Chip, how can you say that-!!!???” also stiffening her ears and tail
“GADGET!!!!” he chattered. Calming down for a moment, he continued, “D-dear Gadget-I don't want my cubs to stay up late at night wondering if their parents are going to come home or not!! And what's more, I certainly don't want my cubs to be ANYONE'S target!!!”
“But Chip, it *doesn't* have to be like that!! We don't *always* have to be Rescue Rangers-!!” The sciurid's tail relaxed, but his ears remained drooped.
“Gadget, if you wish to move on and have a family of your own-well-I can't stop you. I love you and I want you to be happy. But I can't let my emotions come in the way of fighting crime. The Rangers have helped many animals and humans; we just can't end that!”
“Chip, there are *plenty* of policemen out there with families of their own! Even FBI and CIA agents have cubs-er-children too, you know!! Chip, why are you afraid? We've all made mistakes, but it doesn't have to be as Dale thinks it will be!! Please! Let's give *us* a chance, at least!!”
“Gadget, you don't know how much I've been wanting to accept that, but I've been thinking *everything* over as best as I could, and-and I *can't* come up with anything other than the fact that we just can't raise a family here! There's no way it can be done while keeping them safe from our enemies! I don't want me *or* my cubs to go through what Dale and Foxglove went through-*do you??!!*”
“Chip, you know I wouldn't wish that on our worst enemy. But even if it does happen, Chip, they won't be alone. Foxglove had *us* to help her, and even when we failed, there was Dale and his new friends. Chip, we have plenty of enemies, but I think that our friends outnumber them. Our family will never be alone, not even in the times of danger! But please, Chip, give us a chance. Give *yourself* a chance!!!” She then padded up to him, took his paws in hers again, lowered her ears and tail, and stated with all of her heart, mind, and body,
“Chip Maplewood-I love you, too.” Chip's countenance acquired even *more* pain. His jaw quivered for an instant. He was *far* from being the happiest chipmunk on earth.
His tail wasn't moving.
“Gadget, you don't know how much I've wished that you would have told me that three weeks ago. But-I've made my decision, and-and-in our times of danger, I don't want *you* to worry about *me* more than you would worry about *Zipper*. It just wouldn't be fair to you-or him-or me. I can see now that it wasn't fair to Dale or Foxglove. And I can also see that with our line of work, I can't have the relationship I so desperately longed to have with you-nor with *anyone*-without placing you in additional danger than the rest are in, as Dale did with Foxy.” He sighed with immense pain, and concluded, “I am going to write to my parents and tell them that I simply cannot give them grandcubs-that I *never* can now. I *do* wish that there was some other way to deal with this, but there isn't. Dear Gadget, I love you with all my heart, but our love can never become what we want it to be. It's better if we leave things as they are-as-as they were before. It was wrong for us-for me-to try to change them. I'm sorry, Gadget. I'm sorry for competing for your attention, and for all the times I bothered you and made you uncomfortable because of it, and for forcing you to choose between Dale and me. And I assure you that it will *never* happen again. Gadget, I love you, and I'm sorry.” With the same pain Dale had three weeks ago, he softly kissed her forehead, released her paws, and padded toward the door. Suddenly, a monster stiffened her ears and tail and growled,
“I'LL KILL DALE FOR THIS!!!!!!”
“He already beat you to that,” he replied quietly, turning toward her as he opened the door. “But don't worry, he doesn't hold anything against you, or any of us. Now, I think we should get ready to leave. I'll see you later.” He closed the door and left, leaving behind the dream he had longed for three years now, leaving it behind forever:
Gadget, meanwhile, suddenly realised what she had just declared.
The monster wanted to KILL.
The feelings she thought she had reserved for the bad guys had suddenly been transferred to someone she *cared* about.
She had *hurt* Dale.
*And* Chip.
She slowly padded to the table, trying to sort out what she felt and why she felt it, trying to figure out why this invention failed-
She saw a small mirror tile on the table.
In it, she saw a monster.
A monster that wanted to KILL.
In an attempt to separate herself from the monster, she grabbed the tile and threw it to the wall, where it shattered and fell to the floor, but now, on the floor, there were a hundred monsters where there was only one before.
All manner of logic and calculation shut down at this point. She slowly backed up from the monsters until she reached a corner of her workshop, and there, she collapsed to a sitting position, drooping her ears, tightly hugging her legs, and wrapping her tail around herself, trying to isolate and protect herself from the monster, from that which wanted to hurt her loved ones-
From this monster named Gadget Hackwrench.
She began crying again, without reason, thought, or analysis:
Much the same way a little mousemaid cried when her father died, several years ago:
She just cried, cried, and cried like never before:
:that afternoon, two more hearts had just been disintegrated:
DEKATREIS - DESESPERADA
Foxglove drooped her ears and tail, read the printouts for the NTH time, and
then crumpled them up before throwing them aside. With total anger, disappointment,
rage, and grief, she turned away from the bats, the rat, and the guinea pig.
“Foxy, I'm sorry,” said the rat, beginning to approach her. “But that five percent match on each sample simply means that they are verspetilionids just like you!!” The infuriated batmaid covered her head with her wings, as if she were trying to shut off all sound from this know-it-all-while-being-absent-minded rat. She was a bat, however, so it didn't work. “None of them even come close to being a cousin ten times removed!! They just are not related to you in any way other than the fact that they are bats!!!” Foxglove remained with her head covered, so Sparky decided to give up. He turned to the other chiropterids and said,
“So, I suppose all of you are disappointed, too?” The others also had sad ears and tails. Janice replied, crying,
“More than you can imagine, Sparky. Foxglove, you don't know how much we wished you were our daughter, but even with this failure, you have proven to us that *all* of our daughters are truly dead! Foxy-you-you gave us peace-after twenty years, Foxy, we finally have peace-knowing that our daughters are resting.” Buzz added,
“I suppose this means that you were the daughter of the couple that died. Foxglove, I'm sorry-” Suddenly, she turned and pleaded,
“Did you know them??!! Did ANY of you know them??!!” The other chiropterids just stood in total silence, a silence that to a bat was akin to being dead. “Their NAMES,” she insisted. “Did anyone know their NAMES, their LAST NAMES, at least??!!”
Silence.
“PLEASE!!!” she growled. “Did ANYONE echosound at them??!! Smelled them??!! Or LOOKED at them, at least???!!!” Here, Dawn took a deep breath, trying to sort out her memories. She padded up to Foxglove, and began,
“It was the same evening in which we lost our daughter. We can't remember them exactly, Foxglove, but all we heard was an owl lady swooping down on a bat couple, with the mother dropping her daughter just as the owl lady captured her and her husband. The owl lady was too swift, so our warnings were too late. The owl lady landed on a building, but this was only to deposit her prey. We immediately flew down to try to rescue the infant but then the owl lady came in and attacked us. We were able to dodge her, but then she made a swoop and knocked my daughter off me. When we levelled off, I heard her dive and grab something, and we heard her carry off our daughter and someone whom we thought was the other infant. The bats had-your fur colour, I suppose-they-kinda sounded and smelled like you, though we can't remember exactly now. All we can remember is detecting a couple and their cub. We never knew their names. Foxy, we're sorry, but your parents are truly dead. You don't know how s-”
“No!!!” she blurted. “Uh, no,” she repeated, trying to sound more polite, “please, don't feel sorry for me. I mean, I gave you peace when you found out your daughters were truly dead, so-I guess-I guess-*I* now have peace knowing that *my* parents are dead and that I will never see or hear them again and that I will never know my real name, ever. But-but please, don't feel bad about me. I'm sorry I made you go through all this trouble for nothing. Dusk, Dawn, thanks for saving my life.” She then hugged the bat couple. Releasing them, she sighed, “I-I guess I should be going now. Well, it was nice meeting you-”
“Foxglove, please don't talk that way!” exclaimed Janice, mother-like. “We *did* get something out of all of this, we got the truth, even though it's painful. And you got something else: you got plenty of friends now. You can stay here in Boston and *we'll* be your friends and-and-family, if you want-”
Foxglove shuddered.
“Go and live with the other bats:::Find your family!! Find your past!!!:::You *may* like it better over there-you may like *them* better-than me.”
And now she was feeling terrified when she realised she was actually beginning to feel better. She was actually *getting* *over* ***DALE***.
The gorgeous tamias was now heading toward the darkest recesses of her memory:
And what was worse, she realised that Dale had been *right* in letting her go.
“Foxglove, it's not the end of the world,” said Otis. “Look, you've been through hell, and while none of us can share the pain you felt, there's no reason why you should not start something new.” Feyyanna added,
“Thayat's raght!! Ah mean, eff yew heyelpt udders ess a Reskew Rainger, yew kinn stiyill heyelp udders!! Ah mean, yew juss heyelpt awll uff theyese bayats fannd peece!!” Marcus continued,
“She's right. And you *do* know the phrase, 'Happy are the peacemakers'-” The look and echosounding Foxglove gave him made Markus' blood freeze. She may have given them peace, but she *certainly* did *not* look or sound happy. Otis then added,
“Look, Foxglove, now that your search has ended you need to start a new one, one which will enable you to help yourself as well as others.”
“But I don't know what to do now!!!” she exclaimed.
“Well,” said Curtis. “Other than detective work, what else can you do?” Foxglove thought for a moment, and replied,
“I-I suppose I can do anything any other bat can do: see in the dark, use echolocation-”
“Yew kinn allso flaye kwite a disstensse!” added Feyyanna with a smile, perking her ears up a trifle. Foxglove calmed down, but she didn't smile back. She replied as-a-matter-of-factly,
“Well, yes, I can. My time with the Rangers got me in shape-and-” Her memory clicked in. “I also speak some Laotian, and some Spanish now.”
“*You* speak *Spanish*??” asked Sparky, incredulously, perking up his ears. “Where did you learn *that*??”
“Gadget gave me a short-wave radio-” Her throat tightened as painful memories came back. She tried to recover, “I-uh-I learned other languages through-foreign broadcasts. I-may be a bit rusty since-since-I haven't heard-the short-wave for sometime now-a lot has happened to me-lately-I suppose-” Sparky smiled,
“Oh, I don't know about that! One of the scientists here is from Florida, and he brought a tape with Spanish music. And much as I've tried to translate it myself, I just can't seem to get the hang of foreign languages. Now, I'm dying to know what some of those songs are saying, because the music is rather lively. Do you think you can help with that, Foxglove?” The batmaid thought for a moment and replied,
“I'll try, but I don't guarantee that I'll be able to get it all, Sparky.”
“All right then!! The tape and player is in the next room. Follow me!” The bats thusly followed the rat and guinea pig. As they scampered/flew to the next room, Otis told Foxglove,
“If you speak good Spanish and Laotian, maybe you can learn other languages as well. You could become an interpreter!”
“Well, I was beginning to learn some French and German so I could help the Rangers-I was on my way of becoming their linguistics engineer-when-everything happened.”
“Don't feel bad about that. You can *still* be a top linguist *and* help others through that. That *could* be your new quest now.” Foxglove raised her ears, echosounded at his handsome face, and was lost in it for a moment, before she replied,
“Thanks, Otis. Thank you for everything.” And neither seemed to mind being somewhat closer to each other-
“Here it is!!” exclaimed Buzz. The mammals gathered around the small tape player on the table as Sparky inserted a tape and pressed play. A song was ending, apparently one dealing with electricity, but it sounded more like a jingle. All the bats winced and covered their ears, however, but neither Sparky nor Buzz knew why. Dusk then padded up and turned the volume down to a comfortable level, bringing the rodents to a sudden reckoning,
“Oh, sorry, guys.” They then heard the DJ say,
“*Este es Equis Hache Ene Ele, ciento cuatro punto ocho mega hertz, en frecuencia modulada. Y ahora, aquÌ está Martha Sánchez.*” Everyone looked/echosounded at Foxglove, expectant-like. Suddenly realising what she was supposed to be doing, she perked up her ears and translated,
“Um, this is-uh-he gave the station ID, on FM, I think-and, here's-uh-he named the performer, I think. Oh, Sparky, I told you I was a bit rusty!”
“Well, Foxy, don't feel bad about this. It will all come back to you! And if you need to, we'll just rewind and play the song over in case you get stuck on some parts.” he replied, smiling.
But again, she did not smile back.
Even Sparky was beginning to wonder what had come over this batmaid.
Then, the song began. It was a rather lively rhythm, or lively at least, to people that were feeling more than blue, though it had just a touch of mellowness. The main instrument appeared to be a flute, but Foxglove's keen ears and her experience with listening to Dale's music told her that the sound was synthesised. Then, a woman began to sing in Spanish, in a near rap-style. Also, she was pronouncing her Z's and soft C's like “th”, characteristic of an Iberian accent nonetheless:
“*Ho, yeah!
Ho, ho, ho---!
Soy una mujer normal,
Una rosa blanca de metal.*” Foxglove stumbled as her vocabulary tried to come in sync with the Latin beat,
“I'm-uh-a normal woman-a white rose of metal-? Um-”
“*Pero en este amanecer,*”
“But in this-er-dawn-”
“*El dolor me vuelve de papel.*” Now that line did not make sense, at first,
“The pain turns me into paper?” But nevertheless, something began forming in Foxglove's chest again.
“*Camino bajo el sol.*”
“I-I walk under the sun-”
“*Pero es invierno en mi corazón.*”
“But it's-um-winter in my heart-?” Something began forming in her throat as well.
“*Así estoy yo:*”
“Th-that's how I am-”
“*°Desesperada!*”
“-Desperate-um, a desperate one-er, woman-” The rest stood stone still, not necessarily to hear the music or its translation.
“*Porque nuestro amor,*”
“Be-because our love-” Her ears and tail drooped again.
“*Es una esmeralda que un ladrón-robó.*”
“Is-is an emerald that a *thief*--um-stole-” Her voice cracked here.
“*¡Desesperada!*”
“D-desperate-woman-” Something about this song was pulling something from within her, something *painful*:
“*Porque ya no sé,”
“Because I don't know anym-” Her last word was cut off. She couldn't seem to translate fast enough.
“*Donde están mis sueÒos ni por qué se fue.*”
“W-where my dreams are nor why-why he left-” But still, identifiable emotions were *definitely* surfacing now.
“*No tengo a donde ir.*”
“I-I have nowhere to go-” All right, who wrote this song, anyway??!!
“*¡Sin ti!*”
“Without you-” She seemed to almost shiver here.
“*Sólo puedo repetir:*”
“I can only repeat-”
“*¡Desesperada!*” This word required no further translation. It was now slowly sinking in to Sparky and Buzz that something was not completely right around here. Maybe if they let the song play on they would be able to figure it out:
“*¡Pero tengo que seguir!*”
“But I have to go on-” She suddenly straightened up, as her vocabulary was now fully on line, driven by both memory and emotion.
“*Queda mucha vida por vivir:*”
“There's a lot of life left to live-” Dale's words drifted into her memory again,
“*¡En mí!*”
“In-in *me*-” *Don't go back to your old life. Start a new one:*
“*¡Oh-ooh! ¡Y de pronto llegará!*” She stumbled a trifle, as the performer suddenly cut off the phrase,
“And-and suddenly-um-something will arrive-”
“*Un amor que no se marchará:*”
“A-a *love* that will never march-I mean-will not leave-” Otis wasn't sure if she stumbled because of grammar or pain.
“*¡Jamás!*”
“--N-never-” He suddenly held his breath.
“*Seré feliz con él.*”
“I will be happy with him-” Foxglove appeared to be echosounding at him, but she had a rather distant look in her eyes.
“*Y en su mirada yo me perderé.*”
“And I will be lost in his gaze-” Otis became nervous as he realised she was echosounding *and* GAZING into his eyes now.
“*Y no estaré:*”
“And I won't be-” He lowered his ears a trifle.
“*¡Desesperada!*” He wasn't too sure what she was thinking now. What was more, he wasn't too sure he wanted to find out.
“*Porque nuestro amor,*” The chorus repeated with back-ups hooh'ing
softly, and this time, she translated without faltering.
“Because our love-” Her gaze and echo was distant again, looking and echosounding toward the past, toward what had brought her to this point.
“*¡Es una esmeralda que un ladrón-robó!*”
“Is an emerald that a thief stole-” It had been Fat Cat's fault. They all knew that now.
“*¡Sí, sí, sí-Desesperada!*” There was no need to add all the “yes's”, but Foxglove *knew* what she had turned into now:
“Desperate woman-”
“*Porque ya no sé,”
“Because I don't know-” Though it was perfectly logical at the time, it suddenly did not make sense now:
“*Donde están mis sueÒos ni por qué-se fue.*”
“Where my dreams or why he left-” Why he left you. Why you left him. Why he let you go.
“*¡No tengo a donde ir!*” Foxglove suddenly realised she had no true destination in life,
“I have nowhere to go-”
“*¡Sin ti!*” The ooh's became more insistent, as well as Foxglove's pain.
“Without you-”
“*Sólo puedo _repetir_:*”
“I can only repeat-” She was without Dale, and had now become what this song declared,
“*¡De-ses-pe-ra-da!*” The main instruments then hushed, leaving only the drums to accompany the performer, making the lyrics even *clearer*,
“*Pero tengo que salir.*”
“Uh, but I have to get out?” She stumbled again, as this new verse suddenly introduced Spanish colloquialisms,
“*¡Tengo que escapar al fin de ti:!*”
“Um-I have to escape finally from-from you-” Escape from Dale? Could that have been what he wanted all along?
“*¡De mí!*”
“F-from me-?” Or, escape from *herself*?
“*¡Oh, sí! Y dejar la oscuridad,*”
“And-and leave the darkness-” Whether nocturnal, or of a dark and obscure life, from which Dale had rescued her:
“*Sepultada en la profundidad:*”
“Buried in the depth-”
“*¡Del mar!*”
“O-of the sea-” This was what the others recommended. What Dale wanted. To bury her old life:
“*Camino bajo el sol,*”
“I walk under the sun-” Under the sun and under the earth as well, at night:
“*Pero es invierno en mi corazón.*”
“But it's winter in my heart-” Forever winter, forever cold, the warmth of love stolen from her like an emerald stolen by a feline thief:
“*Así estoy yo:*”
“That's how I am-” Now, and forever:
“*¡Desesperada!*” Janice echosounded at her, again. Maybe, just maybe if she let the rest *help* her-
“*Porque nuestro amor,*” Now the performers eeh'ed and ooh'ed, but
Foxglove had unfortunately committed the chorus to her permanent memory,
“Because our love-” It was more than clear now.
“*¡Es una esmeralda que un ladrón-robó!*”
“Is an emerald that a thief stole-” Rescued, and yet stolen:
“*¡Sí, sí, sí-Desesperada!*” Even the performer was beginning to sound desperate.
“Desperate woman-!!” At this point, her breathing pattern began to falter. The pain was building up to unbearable levels.
“*Porque ya no sé,”
“Because I don't know-” Feyyanna and Janice began approaching her, but they weren't too sure what to do now, whether to let the song continue or to stop it immediately-
“*Donde están mis sueÒos ni por qué-se fue.*”
“Where my dreams nor why he left-” She would never know, ever.
“*¡Oh! ¡Oh! ¡Oh-Desesperada!*” Her wings were now curling into tight balls.
“*¡Porque nuestro amor!*” The other performers insisted with
the eeh's, as did Foxglove when she translated the chorus again, as her output
was now coming from her heart and not her head.
“Because our love-” Her voice began acquiring a desperate tone as well.
“*¡Es una esmeralda que un ladrón-robó!*”
“Is an emerald that a thief stole-” And she was speaking through clenched teeth as well.
“*¡¡Sí-Deeeeeseeeeespeeeeeraaaaaaaadaaaaaa!!*” It almost seemed as if the performer was publicly declaring Foxglove's condition, like a “kick me” sign pasted on her back for all to see and hear. She couldn't bring herself to say that term again. But the performer insisted, in what Foxglove could only interpret as being a degrading label, an insult, a ridicule, a mockery of her situation,
“*¡¡De-_SEEEES_-pe-ra-da!!*”
“Desperate wom-” Foxglove suddenly took off and flew out a window. Otis and Feyyanna took off after her one second later, leaving the others behind. Then, the rest of the chiropterids flew out the window as well, leaving behind the rat and the guinea pig with their tape player, as the performer faded out,
“*Hoooooooooooooooh-
¡¡Woo hoo:!! Yea-yea-yea-yea:*”
“Was it something I said?” asked Sparky.
Fly, fly, fly, fly as far as you can, as fast as you can, away from that accursed
mocker, from that accursed song, from that accursed place, from the pain, from
the one who left you because he loved you, just fly, fly, fly, and never go
back, never speak to anyone again, to never feel pain again, to never again
be a *desesperada*-
“Foxglove, wait!!!”
Fly; away from the handsome one who just COULDN'T be your brother, fly, to never fall in love again, to never retrieve that stolen emerald-
But, even though the black hole and the hexagonal knot came back, she could not will herself to cry, for some reason.
“FOXY!!!!!!!!” Suddenly, she heard Otis on her right, panting. “WILL YOU STOP FOR A MOMENT???”
“Otis, please, just leave me alone!! I'm sorry I bothered you all!! I won't bother anyone again!! But just go home!!!!”
“What?-pant, pant-I thought *you* were already doing that!!!”
“Huh?”
“Why are YOU going home, then??!!!” he screeched.
“I'M *NOT*!!!” she screeched back.
“Then why the hell are you flying back to New York???!!!” Suddenly, Foxglove hovered, ears up, making Otis overshoot her. She echosounded all around her, and realised that this was indeed the flight path that led back to New York City. As to *why* she was doing that, she did not have the foggiest idea. The other verspetilionids then caught up to her, also panting.
“I think I'm getting old,” gasped Curtis.
“No-gasp-she's juss a Reskew Ranger. She kin flayye reelly fass-[gasp]-yew knewe.” When Otis came back, Foxglove lowered her head and ears and apologised,
“Uh, sorry guys, I didn't mean to fly out on you like that. It's just that-that-”
“Say no more,” said Dusk. “We should have stopped that song before it began.”
“Foxy, we're sorry about your parents, and about what happened to you. But please, you've got to put more control on yourself,” said Janice.
“Now, then, why were you flying back to New York? Were you headed for the UN so soon?” asked Grace.
“The what?”
“The UN,” explained Otis. “United Nations. A place where interpreters are highly valued?”
“Uh, well, I don't know. I just took off, I didn't know where I was going, but-”
“Hey, wait a minute!” exclaimed Richard. “If you're an interpreter, and if you're headed for the UN, then you could be of great use to the Rescue Aid Society!!” Foxglove winced when she heard the word “Rescue”,
“Huh?” Richard explained,
“The RAS is an organisation that helps animals all over the world from natural disasters, illegal hunting, you name it. I have a ferret friend who joined last year, and he told me that they are always looking for interpreters. Perhaps you'd want to check out that place?” Foxglove just hovered, as her emotions began storming within her again. Here were new friends, offering her a new life, a life free from danger, a life that Dale wanted her to have-
So she would be *happy*-
The strange thing was that even though everything was falling into place now, she was FAR from feeling happy.
In fact, she felt unbelievably scared:
*Dale had been _right_.*
“Foxy, if you want to, Feyyanna and me will take you back to New York and look for the RAS. But we only ask of you that you don't isolate yourself. We'll help you start a new life. *We'll* be your family now.” Foxglove echosounded at Otis for a moment, and replied,
“O-okay, Otis. You can come. I suppose I need to stop being a loner again. Thanks.” Otis smiled,
“You're welcome. But could you fly a little slower this time, maybe?” Foxglove didn't reply. Instead, she appeared to be lost in something she was echosounding at:
DEKATESSARES - THE NUTSHELL
The nightclub was under a fancy restaurant in Broadway. It was spacious, with
a dance floor surrounded with about 30 rodent-sized tables, all facing a large
stage. There was some space for a small orchestra on the back part of the stage,
just in front of the blue curtain. Most of the tables were occupied, with animals
of various species: mice, hedgehogs, chipmunks, squirrels, guinea pigs, gerbils,
ferrets, birds, and an occasional Chihuahua dog. The front door opened, and
two chipmunks, two mice, and a fly entered. The maitre'd, a well-dressed mouse,
padded up to them,
“The Rescue Rangers, I believe?” They nodded, silently. “Yes. Miss Tamiassara reserved your table up front. Follow me.” As the murid led the Rangers to their table, they looked around the club, admiring it. However, by the expression on their faces and by their limp tails and sagging ears, they didn't appear to be very happy to be there. Chip appeared to be in pain; Gadget appeared to be angry, sad, and pained at something, or someone; Monterey appeared worried about something, or someone, or some others; Zipper appeared to be worried about Monterey; and Dale was simply stone-faced. They sat at their table, in an unhealthy silence.
Chip could not believe that earlier today he had blown off the chance of a lifetime to have a lifetime with Gadget, even after she pleaded with him. But it had been the logical thing to do, no matter the amount of horrible pain:
Gadget could not believe that Chip had rejected her nor could she believe that she and the others had hurt Dale in such a horrible way, so horrible, that she had no idea how to bring herself to apologise to him and much less make amends with him especially now that he had acquired a new personality:
Monterey could not believe that the new soap opera had affected the mousemaid he had sworn to protect, not to mention the chipmunk he *knew* she loved. He could not believe how the simple death of a “Comic Relief” had affected all of them so deeply:
Zipper could not believe how the entire team seemed to be falling apart right in front of his eyes, like one of Gadget's no-problem inventions. It was as if someone had pulled out a proverbial stone that no one knew held the entire structure together until it fell to pieces:
Dale could not believe they were here. All he wanted to do was to oblige Clarice by attending tonight, and then just get out of here, out of this place that at one time he would have gladly enjoyed, but now it was a place that was completely alien to his new personality:
Forty-five seconds later, the celebrity chipmunkmaid, still in her light blue dress, joined them,
“Hey, guys!” she exclaimed, “Did someone die and not tell me? Why all the long faces?” Chip replied,
“Huh? Oh, it's nothing, Clarice. We just had a slow day.”
“Well, don't you worry, sugar. We've got some ten comedians waiting backstage, and with luck, they'll have you laughing in no time!”
“Luck?” asked Zipper.
“She means that they're amateurs,” explained Dale, coldly. Clarice then blinked seductively at him,
“Well, maybe we would have a pro if a certain chipmunk would just change his mind-” Dale just looked at her, almost robot-like. Clarice felt uneasy now, and she sat back on her chair. For the first time, a male did NOT respond to her advances. “Uh, sorry, Dale. I was just hoping-um, never mind.” She was saved by the lights, however, as they dimmed and a spotlight shone on centre stage. A male squirrel, wearing a black jacket, padded up from stage left to a rodent-sized mike stand (the mike was a clip-on type fastened to a Tinker-Toy wheel and stick), and declared,
“Welcome, males and females, mammals, birds, reptiles, and amphibians, once again to The Nutshell! Tonight, as you know, is Comedy Night, and we've decided to make it an Open Mike night, though this mike looks somewhat closed here, ahem-” A rim shot declared that last phrase to be a joke, though some animals in the audience moaned at it. “But really, folks, we have a great evening planned out for everyone-I just hope our plans don't backfire-[rim shot, moaning] and we have lined up a great cast of the best amateur comedians in town-if there is such a thing-[rim shot, more moaning]. Ha, geez, it sounds like someone here needs some antacid or something-[rim shot with same results]. Oh well, I'd better get off this stage before I throw our plans out the door. Okay, now, here's our first victim-I mean 'comedian'. He's a highly respected mouse from Queens, so let's give a big paw tooooo-Mortimer!!!!” As the squirrel skipped off to stage left again, Dale commented,
“He's not bad as an emcee, but I doubt he knows how to combine it with comedian.” The others looked at him for a moment, not too sure of what to make of this comment. Then, a mouse with a turquoise and red chequered shirt padded up from stage right. The applause was polite at best, and the mus began,
“Hey, is this an audience or what-I mean an instant photo?” No one in the audience laughed.
“Bad delivery,” commented Dale, just above a whisper. Mortimer continued,
“Boy, this is going to be tough. And I thought MY family was skeptical. I told them I wanted to be a comedian, but they laughed at me. And now, no one is doing that!!” He flung his arms wide and smiled rather nerdishly, but again there was no response. Even the drum player missed his rim shot cue.
“Incorrect punch line,” analysed the robotic chipmunk, looking at the would-be comedian. Chip wasn't too sure what to do about this. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
And a long night it was.
The emcee had been correct, there was no such thing as a “best amateur”. The comedians: mice, squirrels, rats, and even a blue jay, came on stage, honestly trying to make some animal laugh, but the best they got was an analytical review from a certain rodent:
“He failed on his set-up.”
“Wron' delivery again.”
“She doesn't know the meanin' of the word 'timin'.”
“Excessive set-up, vague punch line.”
“Too much pantomime.” One squirrel, however, said the following,
“Well, ###### ###### ###### ###### audience and ###### ###### ###### ###### ###### ###### ###### don't give a ###### ###### ###### ###### ###### ###### for ###### ###### ###### to make ANY ###### ###### ###### ######!!! HA HA!!” To which Dale commented,
“He shouldn't laugh at his own joke.”
“You call that a JOKE???” spat Chip.
“Well, it *did* have a hint of absurdity, didn't you notice, Chip?”
“I think that the only 'int was that this lad 'ung around too many sailors!!” added Monterey.
“What'ya mean 'sailors'? That sounded more like stable-talk to me!” buzzed Zipper.
“I've heard more laughs at a funeral!” moaned Gadget.
“At this rate, a funeral *would* probably cheer everyone up!!” said Clarice.
“Well, mate, if this keeps up, those jokes will prob'ly kill this audience, if that lad's tongue doesn't do it first!”
“Does that mean that the best is yet to come?” asked Chip, smiling. Clarice replied,
“Sure, the best part will be 'good night, y'all'!” She smiled, and for a moment, the others were about to start chuckling, but then, they saw Dale's face. Uneasily, they settled down and said nothing. At this, Clarice sank back into her chair. Dale became slightly confused at this event, and stated,
“Hey, *that* was funny.” The others looked at him with slight surprise.
“It was?” asked Zipper.
“Sure it was.” Chip then asked,
“Then why aren't you *laughing*?” Here, Dale suddenly became aware of something. He had actually heard a spontaneous joke that was actually amusing, and his only response to it was an analytical commentary. His train of thought was shaken a trifle as he tried to reply-
“Clarice, you've GOT to help us!!” interrupted the emcee. She turned to him and replied, quite annoyed,
“Help YOU?? Hey, I didn't hire those guys!! And where did you get that last one? From the pier? And aren't there anymore back there?”
“Sorry, but the rest saw what's been happening and they all ran out the back door!! Can you save this night, please?”
“But darling, I'm a singer, not a comedian!” The emcee sighed and calmed down.
“Well, sorry, Clarice, and guys, I'm sorry that your first night here was such a flop. But if you ARE the Rescue Rangers, do you guys think you can rescue this night? Do any of you know any professional comedian we could call on at this time of the night?” The Rangers and Clarice looked at Dale, and he looked back at them, with no expression on his face. Chip sighed and replied,
“Sorry sir, but we don't. It looks like you're going to have to throw in another act.” He looked at the stage, thought for a moment, and suggested, “Hey, there's a band here, perhaps you can change this from Comedy Night to Musical Night?”
“HEY!!! OF COURSE!!!” exclaimed Clarice. “Honey, warm up the band, and tell them that I'll be coming up in a little bit.”
“Gotcha.” The emcee then ran backstage. Dale looked at the chipmunkmaid and asked,
“You're goin' to sing, Clarice?” She fluttered at him and replied,
“No, darling, WE are going to sing.”
“Huh?” asked Gadget. Clarice then asked,
“Chip, do you still play piano?” Gadget tried to interrupt,
“Whoa, hold on there-”
“Well, it's been a while, but I'm sure I can remember.”
“Dale, can you still play bass?”
“Bass?” asked Gadget. Dale lowered his head and replied,
“Clarice, I know what you're tryin' to do. But I can't go on stage. I told you, I don't do com-”
“You're NOT going to tell jokes, you 'munk!! You are going to play bass and sing with me!!”
“Uh, Clarice, I'm a little rusty. And I *really* don't think this is such a good idea.” The chipmunkmaid then took his paws into hers and looked into his eyes,
“Dale, I came all the way from Vegas to see an old friend celebrate and have a good time. *I* am now trying to give you and your friends a good time. Won't you come up and sing with me, for old time's sake? It's been so long, and-and-I've really missed those times with you and Chip. Please, do me this favour.” By the way she was looking at him, Gadget thought that she was trying to seduce him or something, and she lowered her ears slightly. Dale, however, was simply looking at her with sadness, and apparently deep in thought. There was something in her eyes:
“Okay, Clarice, I'll do this as a favour to you. But remember, I haven't played the bass in a long time.”
“All right, wait a minute!!” exclaimed Gadget. “Dale, since when do you play bass?? You're not going to dance, are you? Hey, where are you going?” The sciurids stood and left, except for Chip,
“Gadget, it's a long story. We'll tell you later.” With that, the last chipmunk left, leaving behind two mice and a fly unbelievably confused. On stage, a male shrew padded up on the drums, and a male squirrel took one trumpet. A few moments later, the emcee padded in from stage left and announced,
“Well, sorry, folks, for that facsimile of 'comedy'. But don't worry, we have a back-up plan. We have a very special surprise guest with us, who in turn has *two* very special guests with her. So, males and females, won't you welcome with me, from Las Vegas, Nevada: CLARICE!!!” The applause was much louder now, with whistle calls, as Clarice curved her way from stage right up to the microphone, while Chip and Dale entered behind her and took their positions.
“Thanks, sugar, and thank you, you lovely mammals and such. I'm glad to be back here in the Big Apple, because I came to see two *very* special friends of mine, and I'm sure some of you know them, in good terms, I hope. Would you welcome with me, on piano, from upstate New York, Chip Maplewood!!!” The spotlight then shone on Chip, who was sitting at the rodent-sized grand piano on the left side of the stage. He nervously waved his left paw to the audience. “And would you also welcome with me, on bass, also from upstate New York, Dale Oakmont!!!!” She didn't dare pronounce his new middle name. The light now shone on Dale, standing next to the piano, and holding a bass made from a pencil and a matchbox. The only expression on his face was a let's-get-this-over-with one, as he also waved to the audience. Clarice continued, “So now, we're going to perform a song for you, one that the three of us played a long time ago back on another night-club, a song that brings back to me a *lot* of pleasant memories, not just of my friends, but also of our wonderful state of New York. Okay, guys, hit it!!”
The lights dimmed and the audience hushed. The other Rangers had no idea what to expect, so it was more than obvious that Gadget was shocked when she heard Chip begin playing a soft 50's jazz song. As it had happened six years ago, Clarice began padding provocatively on the stage, and sang,
“*My-y destinyyy-!!
Is to be in love wi-ith you-doo-doo-doooo, doo-doo-doo!*” Gadget's temper rose at this line, as her ears and tail showed, but sort of levelled off when she saw her looking at *Dale*, who for some reason did not respond.
“*Makes no difference what you say-y or do*-hello, Big Boy!” she cooed at Dale, on the side. Dale, however, just looked at her, straight eared, stone faced and stone tailed. Clarice stood shocked for an instant, lowering her ears a trifle. This was something that did *not* happen six years ago. Almost instantly, she recovered and continued,
“*I must stay in love wi-ith you, doo-doo-doooo-doooo, doo-doo!*” She turned to Chip as she sang this, but he, too, did not respond. Something was wrong here. She would have to take more drastic measures.
“*That's my de-estiny-!!*” She sat on the piano, swinging her legs. Plenty of males in the audience were whistling at her, but it seemed that Chip and Dale were too concentrated on their instruments.
“*Is to be with you,
Can't come true, doo-doo doooo-doooo, doo-doo-doo!*” It seemed that the song was right. Well, she could fall in love with either of them, but they weren't responding. She got off the piano and leaned closer to Dale,
“*I belong to you both heart and soul,*” *And all of me as well, honey,* she thought, with her ears down and tail quivering.
“*With a love beyond control.*” Dale looked coldly at her once again. She seemed to be fighting against an ice wall. Quickly recovering again, she continued, a trifle slower,
“*They say nothing is sure!
Even the sea runs dry!*” She padded over behind the piano and pulled out a small rose from a vase.
“Yes sir, hah!” Padding back, she looked Dale over, but couldn't find any pockets on his shirt. She would have studied his physiology in general, but she had a song to sing.
“*One, one thing is sure,*” She finally settled on placing the rose on Chip's jacket pocket, causing Gadget to squirm again.
“*Love like mine,*” But again, he did not respond.
“*Can never die-*” *It _can't_ die,* she thought, to one chipmunk in particular. *You know that I'll always love you.*
There was a moment's icy pause.
Chip, ears and tail stiff, was nearly growling at Dale because of his coldness.
And he was just about to jump off the piano stool and give him a very large knuckle sandwich-
Clarice suddenly looked at him, ears and tail down.
She was pleading with him, with *both* of them. She knew they were both about to fight again, but this time it wouldn't be over *her*:
Chip exhaled to himself, deciding to calm down, for now. He then swept his paws on the piano as he did six years ago, while Clarice continued a trifle nervously, looking longingly into Chip's eyes,
“*Tha-at's wha-aaat
Every love has to be, doo-doo-doooo, doo-doo-doo!*” Chip, once again was not returning her insinuations. What was wrong with these 'munks, anyways?
“*You are everything in life to me.*” *You are, you _truly_ are!*”
“*You are my _destiny_!*” *And that's why I came back!!!* The song speeded up now, and Chip ran his paws through the piano, in a lively instrumental.
“That's right!” she exclaimed, trying to liven up the song a trifle. She raised her ears again and even swung her hips and tail a trifle at the beat of the song, smiling nervously. Again, the males did not respond.
“*Hide-in our destiny!
You are everything to me!
You are my destiny!*” Again she gazed into Dale's eyes, only to be met by an icy reflection. This would have been enough to make her forget her lines, but fortunately for her, here was where the main instrumental kicked in. Chip ran his paws faster on the piano, pulling forth an aggressive sequence.
Dale, eyes on his bass, played that exact same sequence.
Chip returned with another complex sequence, and Dale repeated it again. Chip, however, noticed that Dale was not exactly happy about playing with Clarice again. In fact, Dale's countenance was stone like, unmoving; his performance: mechanical. There was no feeling, no interpretation, no emotion, no soul; just a mechanical mimicry. His eyes simply shifted back and forth from the piano to his own instrument.
Angered by yet another example of character assassination, Chip laid his ears back, stiffened his tail, and countered with an aggressive sequence, almost smashing his paws on the keys. Dale, unfazed, repeated the sequence like a CD player. Chip was about to interrupt the song altogether to give Dale a good bonk, but then the rest of the band joined the song and Clarice padded up to the chipmunks.
Like she did so many years before, she gave a small kiss to both of them, giving them their cue *and* attempting to calm them down again. Chip snapped out of his silent fury, and Clarice sat on the piano again. Now Chip turned to Dale, pitched his voice lower, and sang with a scowl,
“*Little girl,
You're the one girl for me!*” And Dale countered, also with a low pitch, and also returning the stiff features and scowl,
“*Little girl,
You're as sweet as can be!*” Then they both sang together, scowling at each other,
“*Just a glance at you made love from the start!
And oh, what a thrill came into my heart!*” Gadget, meanwhile, was not sure what to make of this. Seeing Clarice kiss the chipmunks *again* brought more questionable feelings out from within her. That, combined with what the males were singing, was almost enough to make her turn red. However, Chip's expression calmed her down even though it was obvious that he was not paying much attention to the lyrics and that he was *quite* angered at Dale's performance, who sang excellently but with no emotion whatsoever. Then, Clarice sang, in an attempt to regain control of the song,
“*Little _boy_,
With your cute little ways-*” She tickled Chip's chin for a bit, infuriating Gadget even more, but Chip *still* didn't respond. He was *still* angry. Clarice then turned to Dale,
“*I am yours
For the rest of my days.*” She played with his headfur for a moment, but his cold stare remained in his eyes. At this point, however, Chip noticed that Dale's expression had shifted ever so slightly. He was still stone-faced, but his stone-face was looking, almost staring, at Clarice. Clarice jumped off the piano and placed her arms around both of them as best as she could. Both felt cold, but more so Dale. All three sciurids then concluded,
“*And this great big _world_
Will be divine, little girl!!
I'll be livin' in a whirl-with the love you're givin'!!*” Which, of course, was not the case right now. Both males had rejected love *twice* now. Now came the big finish,
“*Little girl-little girl-little girl!!
When you're mine,
All miiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!!!!*” And the song ended. The three were in a group hug, but neither attempted to kiss her now, adding to her shock and disappointment that she displayed through her tail and ears. Chip, however, was ready to give Dale a good bonk, but for some reason, it just didn't seem to fully rise out of him now. Maybe it was his *own* coldness. The audience, meanwhile, stood on its foot-paws to give them a well-deserved round of applause. The other Rangers stood and applauded moments later, more out of surprise than out of actual reward for the performance:
DEKAPENTE - DEAD INSTINCTS
They were kissing again, kissing and embracing *very* passionately, with both
tails in a blur again. This was what she always wanted, and now she had her
chance one more time, to let her nose fill itself with his musky scent, to feel
his soft fur on her wing membranes, to have their muzzles together, to finally
consummate their love for each other-
Something was different.
Something was nagging her, way back in her subconscious mind; one item which was keeping her from fully enjoying herself with her husband. But what? After all, they were together, and they would *always* be together-
Her nose then caught something odd. Dale, for some reason, didn't smell so woody at this point. It seemed that her own scent had combined with his, somehow, creating a third scent while cancelling Dale's altogether. This new scent reminded her of something, of some *one*, totally different. It was a trifle like her own scent, only it was deeper, stronger, more musky-
She broke off the kiss to stare into the deep and gorgeous ebony eyes of-
OTIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Foxglove gasped into consciousness.
She, Feyyanna, Otis, and Richard and Rosie had finally arrived back in New York City. They were roosting on a tall pine, with the couple hanging from a separate branch. The other three were hanging on another branch, keeping a respectful distance from each other, and with Feyyanna between the two.
Foxglove rubbed her face for a moment, trying to understand why her dreams had changed so suddenly. True, Otis was quite handsome, but she had already decided that she would not fall in love with him, or anyone else. However, it appeared that her subconscious mind had decided otherwise. She *was* love-starved, after all. But perhaps, if she could *try* a little harder and consider him a brother, then maybe these dreams would finally stop:
Richard and Rosie had awakened, for she could hear them speaking. She did not echosound at them, due to politeness, but could still see and hear them fairly well.
“Slept well, Hazeleyes?”
“You know I always have sweet dreams when I'm next to you, Rose.”
“Yeah? Well, just how sweet *are* those dreams of yours, Ricky?”
“Not as sweet as the real thing I have in front of my ears, *Rosinna*.” Foxglove was overcome by a wave of jealousy when she heard this. That was something she would never have, ever. Love was apparently reserved for some sort of elite group, a select group that she was part of once, but because of love itself, she was painfully expelled from such group.
“Ooh, you called me 'Rosinna'. Are you sure that this is the right time and place for these things?” Tails swished at this point.
“Well, I know it's not fall, but with you around, who needs the seasons?”
“Oh, I love it when you talk out of instinct!”
“Well, you *know* I don't need instincts for this.”
“*I'll* show you instincts, you bat!” More jealousy, anger, sadness, and frustration came over Foxglove as she continued hearing this, bringing sweet yet painful memories back again. Oh, how she loved Dale, how she loved the way he embraced her, the way he kissed her, the way he spoke, the way his whole body sounded, the way he tenderly held her wing with his paw, the way he laughed, the way he joked around, the way he helped fight crime:
Her emotions were abruptly truncated, however, when she heard Rosie, eyes and ears locked with her husband's, take his right wing in both of hers, craftily extend his thumbclaw:
And *kiss* it.
Another memory flashed into Foxglove's mind, one of two years ago, of her criminal days, one of shortly after she fell in love with a certain rodent whom her boss wanted to destroy:
She heard herself pleading with Winifred, begging her to let her retrieve the
moon rock from the Rescue Rangers, so the witch wouldn't hurt Dale----or the
others-
“I'll get it for you, Winifred!! Just don't hurt him--uh--*them*!!”
“All right sweetie,” she replied, while stroking Foxglove's chin, “you go get it for me.”
“I won't fail you!”
And then, she kissed the witch's *thumb*.
She never understood why she did that. She always thought it was perhaps a subliminal
suggestion on Winifred's part, perhaps a salute that was custom made for their
particular organisation. Since she associated that particular gesture with her
evil days, Foxglove decided to ignore that impulse whenever she was around Dale.
That had worked quite well, and sometime during their first winter together
that impulse disappeared altogether, “freeing” her from the last link
she thought she had with the witch and her criminal past, enabling her to further
concentrate on Dale.
But now, she suddenly saw that kissing someone's thumb had *nothing* to do with who your employer was.
It *was* a chiropterid instinct.
A gesture of *submission*.
Could things have turned out differently if she had done that with Dale? Would he *still* have let her go? Would she still be with him if she had not suppressed-*killed* her instincts?
The other pipistrells awakened; their yawns breaking the married couple out of their romantic moment. Richard and Rosie flew toward the young ones and Otis asked,
“You sure you don't need to sleep any longer?”
“Well, no,” replied Richard. “But I thought *you* needed to. After all, *we* weren't the ones huffing and puffing on the last mile!”
“Hey, it's not *my* fault Foxglove flies so fast!!” Foxglove thought she would blush at this, but for some reason, she didn't.
“Geepers, cossin, Ah thought yew wood hayav alreddy got yewsed tew thayat!”
“Well, maybe I haven't *eaten* that much lately!!”
“Say, guys, why don't we get something to eat, then?” asked Rosie.
“But wait,” said Foxglove, “Shouldn't we be getting to the RAS now?” Richard replied,
“Oh, don't worry Foxy, they operate twenty-four hours a day. Their sessions usually go on all night, and I think that they do it in shifts. When a REAL emergency does arise, they pull out all the stops and hardly anyone goes back to sleep until the problem is solved, or so I've heard. We'll get there soon enough.”
“All right. Come on, guys, let's go feed.”
“Wait, Foxy,” said Otis. “ We *are* all kinda tired, and I *was* kinda hoping to rest somewhere else. In a place where maybe we could get some drinks and insects that are actually cooked?”
“Yew meen a resst'rannt?” asked Feyyanna.
“Hey!” exclaimed Rosie, “Rick, do you remember that place we went to before Aurora was born?” The pipistrell looked at his wife and asked,
“Do you think it's still open, honey? They had great grasshoppers, but it's been nearly two decades.”
“Well, we *could* at least go check. And if it's not there, well, there *are* other places in Broadway.”
“What would I do without you-” he cooed. Taking a moment to themselves, the pipistrell couple embraced and simply looked at each other's eyes and locked their sonar on each other. Suddenly hearing a shift in the breathing pattern of a certain batmaid, however, caused them to suddenly break.
“Oh, sorry about that, Foxy,” said Richard, a trifle sheepishly. “We got carried away for a moment. We didn't mean to-”
“Uh, it's okay, Richard. I-I-don't mind that at all.” She quickly tried to change the subject, “Now, what's the name of this restaurant you mentioned?”
“Well, I hope it's still called The:”
DEKAHEX - I'LL BE WATCHING YOU
The tamii rejoined the other Rangers at the table.
“Well, what did you think, guys?” asked Clarice. Gadget, still shocked and with low ears, tried to answer,
“Dale-Chip-you-you-you were--”
“That was great!!!” buzzed Zipper.
“Too right!! You blokes jus' stole the whole show, 'ere!”
“Hey, what can I say, that song was a hit back at Club Acorn,” said Chip.
“Yes, it was an excellent song.” Dale's almost robotic tone popped everyone's bubble again. They all looked at the red-nosed chipmunk for a moment, incredulous of his emotional immobility.
“Dale, are you all right?” asked Chip.
“Never better, why?” he replied mechanically.
“Don't tell me you're feeling fine, stupid!! I know that something's wrong with you, and HAS been wrong with you ever since you came-”
“Chip!!” Clarice interrupted his temper, for Dale's sake. “Still the same old hothead, I see?” she mocked, lowering her ears and stiffening her tail. “Please, just back off from this, will you?” Chip, stunned at Clarice's statements, was suddenly speechless. But then he noticed a certain look on her face, one that she did long ago, one that he suddenly remembered as meaning, “I'll handle this.” Both then relaxed their tails, but Clarice kept her ears down. She then turned to Dale and said, “You know, Dale, the night's still young, and we *are* in need for more entertainment.”
“Clarice, I told you, I *cannot* and I *will not* go up there and tell jok-”
“I'm not asking you to tell jokes!! Perhaps we could do another number?” Dale thought for a while, and replied with sad ears and tail,
“I-I don't think so.”
“Oh, please, Dale! You know that you loved being up there and being the life of the party.”
“That-that was the old Dale-”
“Old, schmold!!” she scolded. “Dale, could please go up there and do another number, just for me?”
“You mean by myself? Clarice, you-you're askin' too much. I just simply *can't* do that anymore. I'm a little rust-” She put her paw on his paw and said,
“Dale, you just played bass better than any other animal I've heard. Don't tell me you're rusty, because you're *not*. But, please, as a Rescue Ranger, rescue this night. Do a number for the night, for me, please.” Her tail quivered a trifle. Dale looked into her blue eyes and replied,
“You mean you just want me to go up there and play a song straight off the top of my head? Clarice, I'm--I'm not random anymore--” Clarice lowered her tail now. She felt as if he had just told him that her best friend was dead. Not random? But randomness was an integral part of his personality! What on earth had come over this chipmunk? Did this have to do with Hastahah-?
Dale, however, was giving in, for some reason. Something about Clarice's eyes was getting to him, finally; it was something he wanted, something he *had* once but was gone now, something he *needed*:
“Um, all right,” he said, raising his ears, but still with cryogenic speech, “But I'm only doin' this as a favour to you.” With that, he went up on stage again. He then grabbed the bass and went to speak with the band members for a moment. The mouse looked backstage and called someone, and moments later a ground-squirrelmaid took her place at a rodent-sized electronic keyboard. Clarice, meanwhile, had motioned the emcee to come to her table, and she whispered briefly with him. With a nod, the emcee padded up to the stage, where Dale looked at him, and gave him a nod. He was ready. The audience hushed as the emcee made the introduction,
“Ladies and gentlemen, for another musical number, here's Dale Oakmont!” Padding up to microphone again, Dale waited for the polite applause to die, and explained,
“Okay, this is a totally improvised number, because this is the only song I know in which the lead vocalist is also the bass player. I'm doin' this song as a request for the lovely Clarice over here, so I hope you enjoy it. Please bear with me; this song is completely off the top of my head. Uh-well, I heard it once a long time ago, and for some reason it popped up in my head recently and I haven't been able to get it outta there-so I guess this will help kill it once and for all.”
Chip did not like the tone of the word “kill”, as his ears and tail showed.
With a shrug, Dale turned around and went to talk to the band again. One minute later, he padded up to the microphone, and began:
“Are you sure they serve good grasshoppers here?” asked Foxglove,
turning to the others before opening the door.
“Positive,” replied Rosie. “And I hope they still have good music, too! Hey, the band is starting to play. Let's hurry!!”
Foxglove was the first to enter The Nutshell, just as the lights shut off.
It wasn't any problem for her, since she was a bat.
The problem began when the spotlight lit a certain bass player on the stage.
She saw the performer.
She echosounded at the performer.
*Pierre?* she thought. *He's still in town? And he plays bass here?*
The song began.
Chip's heart stopped when he suddenly identified the song Dale was playing.
There was *NO WAY* that song could have just come off the top of Dale's head.
The other verspetilionids entered and met a Foxglove who stood frozen when she realised who she was looking, and echosounding at.
It was *Dale*, all right, and yet, it was *not* Dale. His echo was different, a trifle louder and clearer, more defined, indicating that he was more solid than when she last heard him. His shirt was also smaller, tighter, and not as loose as the one she had heard before. But it was his face, his *face* which was different, yet the same. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, and it was doubtful she would, because she was too far away from him. Dale, meanwhile, could not see who was near the entrance because of all the spotlights shining on him, nor could he smell her because the air conditioning was coming *from* the stage, thus his scent was also torturing the batmaid.
With the introductory instrumental finished, Dale began:
“*Every breath you take,*” His voice was low, coarse, *pained*:
“*And every move you make,*” Chip, with stiff features, was frozen as well when he realised that his best friend would now be very literally pouring his heart out with this song.
“*Every bond you break,*” Foxglove winced at this, and drooped her ears and tail.
“*Every step you take,
I'll be watchin' you.*” Chip wanted to strangle whoever was working the lights at this moment, because they were being turned on and off around Dale, casting macabre shadows across his face in various angles. It almost seemed that the whole place had turned black and white. Dale, meanwhile, plucked on the bass mechanically for a moment, and continued,
“*Every single day,*” Upon seeing Chip's reactions, Monterey, Zipper,
Gadget, and Clarice were shocked as well, as their features showed. They would
have been even more shocked if they had bothered to turn around and see who
else was frozen in place.
“*And every word you say,*” Her voice, how he loved her voice:
“*Every game you play,*” She loved his games as well:
“*Every night you stay,*” The nights, how they *loved* the nights:
“*I'll be watchin' you.*” When he said that last line, Dale looked straight ahead, straight into Foxglove's eyes. He couldn't see her, but it seemed to her that he was staring into the deepest part of her soul. He chorused:
“*Oh, can't you see-*” Yes, she could see *and* hear him quite perfectly.
“*You belong to me?*” Yes, she belonged to him, and she always would. Though he had released her, she would always be his.
“*How my poor heart aches
With every step you take!*” Yes, he was in pain. Chip knew that. Foxglove knew that. Clarice knew that. The other Rangers knew that. Dale, on the other paw, was not feeling a single thing as he sang this. He was just another CD player.
“*Every move you make,*” Wherever she went.
“*And every vow you break,*” **OUCH!!!!!**
“*Every smile you fake,*” No, she had not smiled, not since the night she left. But if she did, she *knew* it would be fake.
“*Every claim you stake,
I'll be watchin' you.*” Chip felt as if he was going to scream. He hoped against hope that Dale would not sing what he *knew* was coming next, that Dale would condense the song and skip the next segment, that he would improvise and switch to the techno version of this song-
*Don't sing the bridge, don't sing the bridge, SKIP THE BRIDGE, PLEASE, _SKIP_ THE BRIDGE, ###### IT!!!*
A beautiful electric guitar chord introduced the bridge.
*NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
Dale stiffened his ears and tail, and his countenance turned into that of pained anger as he sang into his friends' souls:
“*Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace!*” The Comedian
was lost. Lost forever.
“*I dream at night; I can only see your face!*” He, too, had dreams about her, but he would not admit that to anyone. Not now, anyways.
“*I look around, but it's you I _can't_ replace!*” Clarice winced at this. She *knew* he still had feelings for Foxglove, and now, even though he was technically fair game, he seemed so far away, so distant, so out of her reach-
“*I feel so cold and I long for your embrace!*” Foxglove wanted to jump on stage and wrap her warm wings around him again, so he wouldn't feel cold anymore. She would explode if she did not do that. But she did not move. She could *not* move, not a single muscle-
“*I keep cryin': 'baby, baby, please-'!!*” A tear then formed in Gadget's eye. *Oh, Dale, you still love her, you are still crying out to her:*
Dale raised his ears and relaxed his tail, and turned his attention back to his bass, as he played another instrumental sequence, while the other performers did soft oo's in beat to the music. All that was going through Dale's mind was the sequence of notes that he had to pull from his instrument. The melody, the rhythm, the lyrics, the key, and nothing else. He was truly a furred CD player. Foxglove, meanwhile, began trembling. She *knew* he played the bass, but this was the first time she actually heard him perform in front of an audience. It was also the first time she had seen him pour his heart out in this manner. She knew he wanted her back, and she *wanted* to come back to him, but now, they both knew why it could never happen. They could never get back together:
:because they loved each other.
“*O can't you see-
You belong to me?
How my poor heart aches
With every step you take!*” It seemed that *all* of the Rangers had black holes in their hearts now. They were feeling his pain, the pain that he could not express but that was deep within him, and which was now surfacing in this song. The other chiropterids, meanwhile, did not know what to make of this. Otis took a while to recognise Dale, and even longer to hear Foxglove's reactions to this performance, and then he, too, stood frozen. This was something which was *definitely* out of his wings at the moment. Dale then repeated the second verse,
“*Every move you make,*” *Every move _you_ make, Cute Stuff:*
“*And every vow you break,*” *Every v-v---*
“*Every smile you fake,*” *If you ever fake a smile:*
“*Every claim you stake,*” *All the cases you solve:*
“*I'll be watchin' you.*” *Dale, _I'll_ be watching you:* Dale looked into her eyes one more time.
“*Every move you make,
Every step you take,
I'll be watchin' you.*” *Dale, _I'll_ always be watching you, in my dreams, I will _always_ watch you:* The other performers then softly chorused as Dale concluded,
“*I'll be watchin' you-*”
“*Every breath you take,
Every move you make,
Every bond you break-*” And together:
“*Every step you take.*”
“*I'll be watching you. *” *Dale---*
“*Every single day,
Every word you say,
Every game you play,
Every night you stay-*”
“*I'll be watching you.*” *Dale-_my_ Dale--I'll always love you--now and forever-*
“*Every move you make,
Every vow you break,
Every smile you fake,
Every claim you stake-*”
“*I'll be watching you.*” Her brain then ordered her eyes to cry. But she couldn't. Her lachrymal glands had been shut off ever since that horrible night:
“*Every single day,
Every word you say-*”
“*Oo-*” Though it was momentaneous, that high-pitched moan sent shivers through everyone's spines, not because it was off-key (it was actually done excellently), but because it was the closest Dale would come to actually crying. Foxglove shivered most of all, because it sounded oh so beautiful, and suddenly it was gone, gone forever, and imprinted forever in her brain to torture her soul forever:
“*Every game you play,
Every night you stay-*”
“*I'll be watching you.*” Her heart was collapsing in her chest: the pain, the pain, the pain:
“*Every breath you take,
Every move you make,
Every bond you break,
Every step you take-*”
“*I'll be watching you.*” Feyyanna padded up to Foxglove and put a sympathetic wing around her shoulders. Foxglove winced. *I'll--I'll be watch-watching--*
“*Every single day,
Every word you say,
Every game you play,
Every night you stay-*”
“*I'll be watching you.*” *D--Dale---*
“*Every move you make,
Every vow you break,
Every smile you fake,
Every claim you stake-*”
“*I'll be _watching_ you.*” *---C-Cute Stuff---*
“*Every single day,
Every word you say,
Every game you play,
Every night you stay-*”
“*I'll be watching you.*” *---watching y---*
“*Every breath you take,
Every move you make-*”
“*Oo-*”
This was more than she could take. She whirled around and bolted out the door, nearly knocking over the other bats in the process. They immediately straightened up and flew right after her, while at the same time, the performer ended his song and the entire audience stood and cheered, except for two chipmunks, two mice, and a fly.