Dale took his seat with the others again. They just looked at him, with low
ears and tails, and with their hearts in their throats, speechless, immobile,
and oblivious to the cheering and clapping around them. Dale took a sip of his
apple juice, and sighed in exhaustion as he sat back in his chair. He closed
his eyes for a moment, and then looked at the others. He finally noticed the
look on their faces, and their low ears,
“What?” he asked. Clarice stuttered,
“Uh, Dale, that was-that was-uh, great!!” Dale looked at her for a moment, and then he looked back at the others, sensing something was amiss.
“Is somethin' wrong, guys?” Monterey was the first to raise his ears and break out of the spell.
“Well-no-nothin' Dale! You jus' kinda caught us off guard with that song. We didn't know you could sing solo *that* well!”
“Thanks Monty, but again, it just came off the top of my head. I hope I didn't mess up any part of-”
“No,” said Chip, incredulously. “You-you *didn't* mess up. You played excellently. Uh, Dale, um, *why* exactly did you choose that song?” Dale looked at his friend again and repeated,
“Chip, I told you, that song came right off the top of my head. Since I hadn't actually heard it in quite a while, I was afraid I would mess up with the lyrics or melody. But, it seems that everyone liked it-except *you* guys.” The Rangers finally snapped out of their spell.
“Oh-no--D-Dale, it was great!” exclaimed Gadget. Zipper buzzed his agreement as well. All ears and tails relaxed once more.
“Well, guys, I'm glad you liked it, then. And, since this night has been most thoroughly rescued, I believe our job here is over. Clarice, thanks for the lovely evenin'.” He shook her paw. “And again, I'm sorry you came all the way here for nothin'. Good night. All right, guys, let's go.” His emotionless words seemed to hypnotise them somehow, and so they all stood to leave.
“Yes. G-good night, Clarice--and thanks for visiting-” said a stunned Chip. The rest also bid her farewell, and they all headed for the door. Clarice lowered her ears as she saw her friends about to disappear from her life one more time-
No.
She would *not* allow that to happen again. She immediately stood and ran up to them.
“Uh, Dale, could you stay here for a minute? I need to talk to you.” The Rangers turned and looked at the celebrity rodent. She looked back at them and added, “It's all right, guys, he'll be right with you. This won't take long.” With the spell diminished, Chip said,
“Uh, okay, Clarice. Good night.” He then kissed her goodnight. Following this example, Monterey and Zipper did the same.
“It was nice meetin' you, Miss Clarice.”
“Same here,” buzzed Zipper.
Gadget hesitated.
Finally, she decided to stop being so jealous and shook Clarice's paw.
“Good night.” With that, the Rangers left the nightclub. Dale and Clarice padded back to their table and sat down again. And for a while, they just looked at each other; Dale looked at her with emotionless eyes, while she looked at him with a yearning. Finally, she spoke,
“Dale, I'm sorry about what happened to your wedding, and your fiancée.”
“Don't be, Clarice. It wasn't your fault.” For a moment, Clarice felt like shaking some feelings into this 'munk, as his robotic tone was driving her nuts. But then, he continued with a sigh, “Clarice, I've always wondered about somethin'.”
“What?”
“Well, back at Club Acorn, why did you send a card to *both* of us?” She also sighed, as pain then came to *her* face now,
“Dale, I--I just wanted to see you two fight over me--you two--were the only ones that ever did.”
“What?” he asked, quite in shock. She stuttered,
“You-you two were the only ones that cared for me so much that you were willing to fight each other for me.” The male almost had a stunned look creep onto his face.
“We--we were?” She explained,
“When I was ten, my father left home, and he never came back. My mother blamed me for that, for some reason. I was in--a bad situation at home. I sought refuge in the spotlight, and when we met-well-you were the only ones who actually *loved* me.” Dale thought he felt compassion for this soul now, so he replied,
“Clarice, I'm sorry to hear that. But that's in the past now. And didn't you say that you now have every single male droolin' for you?” She shook her head, drooped her ears and tail, and looked down as memories rushed through her head,
“When-when my career took off and I left New York, I-I saw the male reaction. They *wanted* me, sure, but they didn't *love* me. And--and all this time, I've had memories of *you two*-but even *more* memories of--of *you*, Dale.” He appeared to be surprised at this bit of information.
No way.
Then he frowned, stiffened his ears and tail, and scolded,
“No!Idon'tbelievethat!Notonebit!IsawthewayyoukissedChipandthewayyouwerelookin'athimjustnowsodon'tgotellin'meotherwise-!!!” She held her paws up, trying to calm him down.
“No, Dale, no--” As more memories surfaced, she took hold of his paws, “You see, Dale, when-when I read in the papers that you were about to get married-my heart broke. I came here thinking that you were still taken--that Foxglove was still *with* you.” Pain was added to her words as it accumulated in her throat, “That's why I *hugged* you and *kissed* Chip--when I kissed Chip-I was pretending he was *you*-” Her tail quivered slightly aga-
No.
No female had ever come back for him other than Foxglove, and it was *certainly* NOT going to happen again, not after all he had just gone through:
“Don'tgivemethat!!” he chattered, ignoring the tears she produced at this point. “IKNOWthewholetruthnow!!ItALLbecamecleartomerecently!ChipwasALWAYSthebetter-lookingone-!!”
“Dale--!!!” The pain in her words was sufficient to stop him cold. “It-it was my time away when I realised that I wanted *you*--that I had *true* feelings for *you* and *you only*!! Look, I *know* you've been through hell, and so I *don't* want to get you on the rebound, but--but please, don't be afraid to love again!” Dale calmed down at this.
Could it be true? Could *another* female have come back *just for him*, again?
He looked down for a moment, also drooping his ears and tail, almost as if he were ashamed of himself, and then he softly said,
“Clarice-I'm-I'm not the same chipmunk you knew. I've changed-a lot-especially after everythin' that happened. I'm a Rescue Ranger now, and after what happened with Foxglove, I--I had to kill the Comedian-*that's* why I couldn't go up on stage. Please, Clarice, it--it's not worth it. *That's* why I let go of Foxy--*that's*-why I won't seek another-again--” One more time, Dale pulverised another heart. And what was worse, he *knew* he had done it again. Clarice's eyes flashed in pain and anger as her very soul was dashed to pieces, AGAIN. Ears and tail sagged, and tears poured from the sudden burst. Knowing what he had done, he continued, “Uh. See? I've hurt you now! That's *all* I've ever done to EVERYONE--!! I've-I've been hurtin' others for so long--it has *always* been my fault--Clarice, I'm-I'm so sorry--I didn't want to hurt you--or Foxglove--or *anyone*--*everyone's* better off if they didn't love me. The pain isn't worth it, Clarice, so please do yourself a favour:” He looked into her eyes, and pleaded with every fibre of his being, “*Please* don't love me. I'm not worth it. I'll only hurt you if you do. And what's worse, you could get *killed*. Foxglove--and Dale--were killed because of me.” Confusion seemed to slap Clarice's face at this point, as she could not comprehend what he had just declared. Fuming and trembling, she replied,
“It's your choice, then!! But-but in the meantime, here's something that *could* be yours, *if* you would only *try*.” She then looked deeply into his pained eyes, gently held his head in her paws, drew him closer, and kissed him.
For one brief and shining moment, Dale felt something, something that was lost and was now found again, yet incomplete. His tail and ears twitched, but only momentarily. The feeling was there, but it was different, different paws, different scent, different fur:
And then he stopped feeling anything.
She, however, was completely lost in it, her ears perked up and her tail in a blur, as she could only remember all the times they had back at the other club. Her mind also explored what *could* be, what *could* happen, what *could*-
She broke off when she suddenly realised he was not reacting in ANY way. His heartbeat did not even speed up. He was just looking at her, as if she were some distant memory. This was now the first time a male did NOT react to her advances of *this* kind. He was too far-gone in his own pain, too far away from her; he was beyond her reach, and would always be-
“So, you're a Rescue Ranger now, Hastahah?!” she asked, quite angered, her ears and tail stiffening again. “Then I'll do something for the Rescue Rangers, then!” She then leaned over and whispered in his ear:
DEKAOKTO - ANOTHER SECOND CHANCE
Fly, fly, fly, fly away, away from the chipmunk who loved you, from the song
that was poured from his soul and that was now tormenting yours, away from that
nightclub, away from this city, from this life-
“FOXGLOVE!!!!!!!”
Away from the one who took his place in your dreams, away from pain, from love, from everything and everyone-
This time, however, Otis was angry enough to actually catch up with her. He flew above her, and grabbed her shoulders with his foot-paws. She was immediately destabilised, and both fluttered down to a rooftop, landing rather hard and tumbling in the process. As Otis angrily regained his footing, he looked at the batmaid with stiff ears and tail and scolded,
“Just-just *what* the hell do you think you're doing??!!” Foxglove stood, echosounded at him, and tried to reply,
“Otis--Otis I'm s-” As she said this, however, she padded up to him, wrapped her wings around him, and kissed him, doing so without any hint of rational thought. Otis, naturally, was completely shocked by this. Even though it was something that he actually *wanted* to do, way in the back of his head, this was certainly *not* the way he had it planned. Foxglove, meanwhile, had her mind and tail racing the 100-metre dash, and her ears were laid back a trifle. She tried to grasp the memories that were cascading down her mind, trying to grab something that would make the pain go away, that would perhaps make her sleep better at days, and then she caught the memory of Dale kissing her-no---no--it was slipping away, something was pulling that memory from her mind and tearing it to shreds, something did not add up, the scent was not the same, the fur was not the same, the wings were not the same-
Wings?
“Dale--”
Her rational thought was yanked back on-line as she realised what she was doing. She opened her eyes, and when she saw and heard Otis' face, she immediately broke and staggered away, with limp tail and ears again. Otis echosounded at her, and his anger faded when he heard her facial expression, and relaxed his ears and tail.
“No-no, Foxy, I'm *not* Dale. I'll never be Dale. There's no way I can replace him-”
“Otis-Otis--I'm--I'm sorry--!” she stuttered, covering her muzzle with her wings, trying to anchor her confused mind to any kind of rational thought. “I--I didn't mean--to do that-!! I--I--” She covered her entire head with her wings, and turned away from him. His voice was soft, *too* soft, almost as if she was actually beginning to *like* that voice, beginning to like *him*--
He, however, was taking more pity on her now.
“Foxy, please, you can't solve this problem by running away! I *know* this is tough for you, but *that's* why you need to roost with the bats again! If you run away, you will eventually kill yourself!!” She stiffened her features, turned and echosounded at him from under her wings, with fury and pain.
“*I'm* *al-ready* *DEAD*,” she chattered. Stunned for a moment, he then laid his ears down a trifle, and held out a friendly wing,
“Foxy, *please* don't say that. I-*we* can help you start a new life, *that's* the reason why we're here!! I know you'll always have Dale in your heart, but that's no reason why you can't pick yourself up and try again!” Her wings and ears quivered at this statement. Echosounding at the cement, she whimpered,
“Otis-I--I *don't*-want to fall in love *again*-” For a moment, Otis thought that his heart broke, by the way his ears and tail sagged, but his feelings were not important right now. The current priority was Foxglove's problem, which was easily solved, or so he thought.
“You-you don't *have* to.” She sighed in pain,
“No. Otis--you're not exactly making it *easy* for me. I don't--I don't want to fall in love--with you.” Here, Otis knew that he could not exactly hug her in order to console her, for she had made her choice. Still, he said,
“I'm-I'm sorry, Foxy, I never intended to make any moves on you-”
“No-no, the problem is that you're *here*, you know, and-and Dale *isn't*-” She trembled for a moment, features sagging again. “This would be a whole lot easier for me if you were truly my brother.” It was here when he finally understood.
“You need Dale, yes. Dale and the Rangers were the only family you had, Foxy. I know you need a family now, and I really *do* want to help you, but with Dale gone, then perhaps you don't need a husband-or a boyfriend-right now.” Foxglove echosounded at him, a trifle confused. “Since your parents are gone, then perhaps you should start a family with--a *brother*, maybe?” Her ears perked up a trifle.
“B-brother?”
“Foxy, I don't want to see you in pain anymore. If it will help you, I will take you in as my little sister, and I *will* be your brother. I *would* take you in as a daughter, but I don't think I'm old enough for it, maybe Richard and Rosie can help you with that. But for now, would you consider being my sister?” At this point, it seemed as if one third of the pain disappeared from Foxglove's chest. If she could not have a husband, then perhaps another type of family *was* what she needed. And-and-she actually felt *better*.
She then rushed up to him and hugged him tightly, pleading,
“H-help me-b--*brother*--please--I need--*help*--” Otis wrapped his wings around this tormented soul and whispered,
“I will, *sister*, thanks for letting me help you.”
“Wanna bey mah sesster tewe?” Both verspetilionids echosounded up and heard Feyyanna, Richard, and Rosie standing on the edge of the rooftop. Breathing a trifle easier, Foxglove replied,
“Well, um, sure! Why not?” but still without any smile, though her ears and tail were back to normal.
“And when can we get to the parent thing?” asked Rosie.
“Uh, let's take this one step at a time, please,” she replied, emotionally exhausted.
Foxglove closed the door and took her seat at her assigned booth; later it would
be reconditioned so she could hang from the ceiling. She placed the earphone
next to her left ear and lowered the volume on the knob in the panel in front
of her. She saw through the glass in front of her the Rescue Aid Society Assembly
Hall, where small mammals from all over the world came together to try to solve
problems for both animals and humans. The audience consisted of small mammals
from almost all species, but they were mainly rodents. She saw a large flying
fox, male, but remembered her decision. Her “brother” and the others
had taken her here to the UN, and Richard introduced her to a vole named Kyle,
the chief interpreter. A brief interview landed her this job, one that could
help others and that was of absolutely no risk to her at all. Kyle had noticed
that this young batmaid could learn languages rather quickly, and the UN was
the best place around here where one could do so. Thusly, here she would continue
to develop her talents as an interpreter (which was very rare among chiropterids,
as she found out), and be of help to others. Otis was relieved that she agreed
to take this job, because here she would be able to socialise not only with
bats, but with many other species as well. However, she asked him if they could
roost in New Jersey and not New York. It seemed that some chiropterids and other
animals appeared to recognise her from her night with Fat Cat and she really
did not want to give any explanations about why she was not with Dale anymore.
He was a trifle disappointed, but he knew that it would be a necessary arrangement
for now. She needed time to recover and be social again. It would be gradual,
naturally, she would make a friend here and there, and just basically have a
normal life. She was in a situation similar to when she was with the Rangers:
she would help others who were in need, but without all the danger-
Or Dale.
Dale. She could not stop thinking about Dale, or that song. Not now, at least. And she could not stop dreaming, either. With Otis' “adoption”, Dale was once again visiting her during the day. She needed to put her mind on other things, things that could help others, that could solve problems, and maybe *her* problem would be solved in the process.
Solved?
Rosie suggested that perhaps after all had settled down, that she and Dale meet again to *at least* try to speak to each other again, to try to have them be friends again and somehow continue to stay in touch with him and the Rangers-
No.
*She* was the one who left, and *she* must be the one to come back to him.
And she could *never* go back to him, ever, *nor* would she court anyone again. Have plenty of friends? Maybe. But now, she had a brother and a sister to establish ties with, and then perhaps a mother and father.
But not a husband.
Not a fiancée.
Not a boyfriend.
Not *now*, not *ever*.
And now, she would begin to focus her mind on other things.
On the main platform, she saw an exotic mammal, with “scales”, pad up to the podium. He adjusted his microphone, and she did the same. The pangolin began speaking in Laotian, and she began translating to English,
“My friends, we are in urgent need of help in:”
As she leaned forward, she couldn't help but notice that her shoulders were a trifle sore. Maybe it was because Otis had grabbed her too hard that other night. But in the back of her mind, she knew that the soreness, the *pain* had begun creeping in just after that tragic night, and that it was fading in and out of *all* her joints, not just her shoulders. She ignored it, at first, but every time the pain came back, it was just a trifle stronger:
DEKAENNEA - A BROKEN SPIRIT DRIETH THE BONES
Rat Capone, a short and fat and well dressed rat, stood next to his thugs; Arnold
Mousenegger, a *very* large and well built mouse, who was holding a large bag;
and Sugar Ray Lizard, a thin reptile that could punch very fast and very hard.
One metre in front of them stood four mean-looking hamsters, one of which had
a bag as well. The group was standing in an badly lit parking lot, well away
from any lights that would reveal their presence. Still, both groups knew who
each other was, since they could smell the stench of each other rather well,
and that caused them to stiffen their features. They padded closer, closing
the gap between them.
“You've got the stuff, yes?” asked Capone, with his gangster accent.
“It's all here,” replied one hamster. “Ready for distribution.”
“And to be handed out, too?” asked the not-too-bright mega-mus.
“Just switch bags, will ya, Al?” asked the lizard, slightly annoyed. With a nod, Arnold and the hamster were about to exchange bags when suddenly a piercing shout rang out,
“DROP IT!! YOU'RE SURROUNDED!!!”
“######!!!!” growled Capone. “We've been-” His expletive was cut off when he suddenly saw Sugar Ray go down, with a plunger dart in his face.
“RESCUE RANGERS AWAY!!!!!!!” cried the good guys.
“The 'Refuse Strangers'??!! How did they find us??” asked the rat. Arnold was about to answer him, but he suddenly found Dale standing in front of him. With lightning speed, the sciurid clasped both of his paws together and swung them as hard as he could on the murid's jaw. A resounding crack rang through the parking lot, and Arnold fell to the pavement, hard. Before the other hamsters could scatter, Monterey grabbed two of them by their heads and smashed them together, knocking them out. Another carefully aimed plunger dart knocked out the third hamster.
“The last one's yours, Zipper!!” cried Gadget, seeing the fourth hamster running to the street.
“Aye aye!!” Zipper then grabbed the drug bag that one hamster dropped, flew up into the air, and with expert aim, dropped it on the last hamster. Chip, meanwhile, had planned on taking Capone himself, but Capone was busy speaking with Dale about the way he had knocked out Arnold so quickly.
“Hey, see, where'dya learn to punch like that??” Another crack rang out, and the gangster was the last to fall.
“I read it somewhere,” replied Dale, coldly, while shaking his right fist. For a moment, Chip almost felt cheated out of all the “fun”. He had expected Dale to take longer with Arnold, but his awesome speed left him empty-pawed. Still, he couldn't help but feel proud of his team. They had carried out their plan to the letter, and had done it so quickly that the enemy practically had no reaction time at all.
Blitzkrieg.
“Great work, guys!!” he exclaimed, perking up his ears and moving his tail a trifle, as Monterey brought the fourth hamster back. As they assembled the fallen crooks, and had the animal police emerge and gather them up, Chip saw that Dale was *still* shaking his fists in pain. In fact, Dale actually winced when he moved one paw to his shoulder.
“Dale, are you all right?” he asked.
“I think so. But I might have hit Arnold too hard; even my shoulders have started to ache.” Gadget padded up to him,
“Are you sure, Dale? Perhaps the angle in which you swung that punch was not correctly aligned with your centre of gravity-”
“Maybe, but-but-why is my *elbow* hurtin' now?” And as he wondered this, the others gradually began noticing something else. Pain was slowly emerging in *their* joints as well.
“That's odd,” said Chip, rubbing his left wrist. “*I* didn't hit anyone and *I'm* hurting, too! Say, Zipper, did any of the drug leak out just now?” The small mammal police, several mice and rats, were inspecting the bag. In it were small white packages, all *tightly* sealed in plastic.
“I doubt that,” replied Zipper. “But maybe the bag itself got some on it as the drug was being packaged?”
“Well, whate'er it is, I doubt it's 'ealthy for us,” said Monterey, rubbing his neck and laying his ears back. “Maybe we could use an asp'rin or two?” Chip was about to agree, but then he looked at his best friend, or what was left of him, again. He seemed to be in more pain than the others, for his ears were low and he was rubbing his elbows, shoulders, and wrists, wincing all the time. This wasn't normal, not even for *traces* of drug which supposedly made you feel *good*.
“Guys, when was the last time we've had our checkups?” asked the Detective, also lowering his ears.
“Five months, two weeks, and four days ago,” replied the Mechanic, mechanically, but with low ears as well. Chip looked at her, almost amused. Yes, he loved that about her, but he knew that it would never be his now. “Except for Dale, who had it one month and six days ago, right before his wed-”
“Thank you, Gadget, we know that,” interrupted Chip. “Dale, perhaps you should see a doctor again.”
“Perhaps I should,” he agreed, mechanically again, still trying to rub his right wrist.
“Perhaps we *all* should,” buzzed Zipper, alighting on Monterey's shoulder, as his wing joints began feeling a trifle sore as well. So, when the animal police took away the drug dealers and gangsters, the Rescue Rangers padded back to the Ranger Wing, and all of them were getting worried about Dale, since he appeared to have trouble padding now, and his fists were now opening and closing with pain as well.
Dale was the last one to get the tests done. Chip wondered why Doctor Qandlier
had ordered more tests for him, after all, they *all* had the same symptoms:
sore joints now and then. Finally, the examination room door opened, and two
rodents exited. The other Rangers stood in the waiting room and looked at the
middle-aged chipmunk, waiting for his verdict. The doctor looked at the Rangers
and said,
“It appears that all of you have developed a mild form of arthritis. It's quite rare, seeing how young you all are. I was expecting it to appear on your large murid friend here, but not until some ten years from now. Still, it's nothing serious. A few mild medications should correct the problem.”
“Was it caused by any type of chemical poisonin'?” asked Dale.
“No. It actually appears to be a chemical imbalance. I suggest you all check your diets and see if they're balanced. Dale, could you please take these prescriptions to the pharmacy? They'll give you all the medication you and your friends will need.” Dale mechanically took the paper from the doctor's paw and padded away to another area of the medical centre. As he rounded a corner, Doctor Qandlier turned to the other Rangers and stated coldly,
“Your friend is dying.” The suddenness of it caused the others to simply look at him. Slowly, their brains caught grasp of what the doctor said. Dale, their friend, teammate, detective, Rescue Ranger, was-was--dying?
“Wait, how can this be?” buzzed Zipper, incredulous. “He seemed to be quite healthy, he does exercise, he has a great performance record on all our recent cases-” Chip interrupted,
“Wait a minute, what about the medical tests he took before the wedding? Doctor, did you find out he had some terminal disease, and did he swear you to secrecy?” A sudden stream of logical reasoning burst forth from the Detective, “Of course! With him being so reckless, it's what he *must* have done!! Deciding to go through with the wedding *anyway*, and then telling Foxglove and the rest of us later on!! And it was during the kidnapping when he finally realised the insanity of it all! *That's* why he called it off!! *That's*--”
“I'm afraid your winged friend is correct, Chip. Dale *is* quite healthy.” Chip did a double take on the physician, with his deductive reasoning suddenly truncated. Confusion crept in again, as they all tried to sort out the two conflicting diagnosises.
“But, if he's quite healthy, then how can he be dying?” asked Gadget. The doctor sighed,
“I'm afraid that Dale's problem is more psychological than physical.”
“Huh?” asked the Rangers.
“Have you heard the story of how a wild rabbit, if captured and kept in captivity, can will itself to *die* if it's not released?” Monterey quietly gasped at this question. He turned sombre as he painfully remembered a certain incident, and there would be no stretching of the truth this time. His ears and tail now sagged,
“Y-yes. I 'ave. In fact, I've seen it 'appen. Once I tried to free a bunny that was caged in a farm. 'E was goin' mighty quick, and I tried to free 'im, but I couldn't get the blasted cage open. I told the bloke to 'ang on, and I left to look for somethin' to open the cage with. When I came back, I was too late.”
“I believe Dale's problem is similar: For some reason, he is *willing* himself to die, subconsciously, at least. The initial tests brought different results than the rest of you, and that's why I ordered the additional tests. All of them point to the same thing: his body is slowly deteriorating. Arthritis is just the first symptom. If this continues, his hearing and eyesight will follow, then his voice and sense of smell.” Finally, they were hit fully with understanding. Some ears and tails sagged, and some others stiffened,
“NO!!!” chattered Chip.
“Not me pally!!”
“Dale!!”
“This is illogical!!” Doctor Qandlier just sighed. In his profession, detaching oneself emotionally from the patients was vital for his own survival. This was not the first time he had diagnosed such an outcome, nor would it be the last. He ignored their outbursts and calmly asked,
“Has Dale been through any traumatic psychological experiences lately?” The Rangers suddenly calmed down, as they knew all too well the answer to that question. And Chip had to answer it. His ears and tail sagged,
“Y-yes. Last month, he called off his wedding, after his fiancée was kidnapped. She left shortly after that-”
“I was wondering why Foxglove wasn't with you. The papers didn't say much of what happened, so I thought that all of you had overcome that incident. I'm afraid, then, that the problem is beyond my reach. Unfortunately, I only deal with cuts and bruises and headaches and broken bones and such. I urge you to take him to a psycholo-”
“What we need is a second opinion, 'doctor'!!!” growled the Aussie, with stiff ears and tail. “Dale doesn't need a shrink right now!!” This was also not the first time his diagnosis was questioned, so the doctor remained calm.
“Whatever it is you wish to do, do it quickly. He is deteriorating even as we speak.”
“Wait, shouldn't we tell him about this?” asked Gadget.
“He'll most likely deny the problem. Whatever is hurting him, he *must* get someone to help him deal with it, *immediately*:”
EIKOSI - MORE DRYING AS WELL
“I don't understand how this is going to help my arthritis, Doctor,”
said Foxglove. She was at a psychologist's office, but instead of lying down
on the couch, she was hanging from a bar on the wall, conveniently placed for
chiropterid patients. The doctor, a middle-aged grey squirrel lady named Johanna,
sat on a chair in front of her.
“It will be of help, don't worry,” she assured, as she prepared her notepad and pencil. “Now, just relax and answer truthfully. How do you feel right now?”
“Now? Well-fine-I guess--”
“You're working as an interpreter at the UN. Is that where you've always wanted to work?” Foxglove sighed,
“Well---no, I guess not:”
“Really? Why not?”
“Well, I suppose it's better for me to be there that just do nothing but catch insects at night.” The sciurus wrote something down and asked again,
“Foxglove, weren't you a Rescue Ranger? Why did you leave them?” The pipistrell hesitated, and nearly choked on her reply,
“I--I *had* to leave:”
“Really? Why? Weren't you going to marry Dale? It was in all the papers.”
“The papers didn't say *everything*, Doctor,” she growled, ears and tail stiffening. Johanna raised an eyebrow and continued,
“I read that you were kidnapped that night, but you were also rescued. What else happened?” Foxglove began hurting again.
“That night---Dale finally saw the light--he-suddenly realised he wasn't the best for me. So, he let me go. I had to leave the Rescue Rangers because of that. There's no way that I would have been able to live with him and know we'd never---be anything:” Johanna paused. She was dealing with a broken heart.
“Foxglove, I'm sorry for what happened. Now, have you ever wished your life were different from what it is now?” The batmaid shivered and replied through her teeth,
“*All* *the* *time*.” She silenced, so the squirrel lady coaxed her a trifle,
“And what would you like to have different about it?” She sighed again,
“I would have liked to have remained a Rescue Ranger. I would have liked to have married Dale-”
“I mean besides that. Do you wish that you could meet someone besides Dale?” The chiropterid's heart stopped, and she replied with a knotted throat,
“I keep wishing I had never met him. I keep wishing I could forget him. As for finding someone else-well, I decided to stay single now. I'll just continue to be as I am.” The rodent wrote something down again, and continued,
“What did you do after you broke up with Dale?”
“I looked for my parents, found out they were dead, got adopted by a brother and sister, and I took a job at the UN. I'm helping a lot of animals, so I guess I *should* be happy now, but I'm not. I guess I'll never be happy again.” The sciurid thought for a moment, thinking she was pinpointing the problem now,
“Foxglove, what did you feel when Dale let you go?” The verspetilionid turned and echosounded at her with anger,
“Doctor, I *died* that night. You hear? I DIED!! And what's worse, I keep dreaming of Dale and me being together, if you know what I mean. Maybe all of this pain would just go away if you'd just hypnotise me and erase Dale from my head--”
“I'm afraid hypnosis is much more complex than that, Foxglove. One just can't go into someone else's head and reprogram it as if it were a computer. One thought may be linked to a thousand others, so if one is erased, there will be plenty of backups to replace it. Also, the effects of hypnosis are never permanent. Now, you said you've thought about death. Have you ever thought of suicide?” The batmaid winced again,
“Several times. But you don't have to worry of me going through with it. Dale wouldn't have wanted that.”
“Foxglove, have you ever thought of the future, of what you will be doing later on?” Foxglove thought for a while, and replied,
“Well, no, not really. I guess I'll just continue working at the UN, learn some more languages-”
“What is your concept of death? Not suicide, but death.” The batmaid winced slightly at this.
“Death? Well, I know it's something that will happen to all of us, but I guess that we're supposed to live this life as best we can before we go, maybe:and death-is the final resting place, where you're free from pain, free from evil: free from sin:free from:::from::yaaaawwwwwwn::from::”
The batmaid was sound asleep.
*They just _had_ to bring her in the morning:* mumbled the doctor to herself. Still, that was all she needed, so she let Foxglove sleep and left her office. Outside, Foxglove's adopted family was waiting, also a trifle sleepily. She looked at them for a moment, took a deep breath, and said,
“I'm sorry to say that your friend *is* dying.” The bats gasped as one when they heard that, and all manner of somnolence left them. Ears and tails stiffened again.
“But-but--you're a psychologist,” said Otis. “Can't you help her?”
“I can only help if she's willing to accept my help, which may prove difficult. From what I was able to diagnose, I can see that her spirit has been broken. Without any specific long-range plans, she has lost all will to live; she's like a zombie, almost. The only reason why she hasn't committed suicide is because she knows that it will hurt her ex-fiancée. I'm sorry that I have to confirm what the physician diagnosed: she is slowly deteriorating.
“Cain't shey bey heyellped?” asked Feyyanna, anxiously.
“Like I said, that will happen *only* if she accepts our help. She suggested I hypnotise her to have her forget her ex-fiancée, but that will only make her forget the *cause* of the problem.” She sighed, as she looked back at her office where Foxglove was sleeping. “The only way we can save her is if we give her a specific reason to live. The present situation she placed herself in is simply to-pardon the term-*kill* time. It has no real purpose in her life save that of not wanting to remain idle. And if she *was* idle, then chances are that she would already be dead. She would have died of a broken heart, literally.”
“So what do we do?” asked Richard.
“Well, she's suppressed many emotions since the time of the break-up. They're eating at her. We all must try to bring them forth again, and, if possible, have someone who will help her let go of Dale.”
“Let go? As in finding her another boyfriend?” asked Rosie.
“If possible, yes.” Otis felt a trifle nervous, as his ears sagged a trifle,
“But-but, she refused to seek another mate! She told us that! If she needed a family, then haven't we done enough?”
“You know a brother is not the same as a boyfriend. And all of you *have* done a great job in taking care of her, but it's the emotions that she 'killed' which are causing this problem. Again, her present family hasn't exactly filled in the void, you all have more like--'stalled' her, if you wish to call it that. The break-up was so devastating for her that it triggered the deterioration. If we're to stop it, then we must somehow either reconcile her with her ex-fiancée, or have them 're-do' the break-up and have them part on friendlier terms.”
“Bring her back to Dale?” asked Richard. “But she refuses to hear-er-see him again!”
“Mebeh eff we toll hur sheye's dayen'-”
“Well, she's going through tons of denial, so I doubt that would help. This is a very complex syndrome, but as with some other cases I've had, it's best if it's dealt with at the source. She *must* speak with Dale again.” Otis remained quiet. At first, he *knew* Foxglove was taken, and he considered Dale to be the luckiest male alive. When he heard of the break-up, he *knew* Foxglove was fair game, but he *didn't* want to take advantage of her when she was emotionally vulnerable. He tried to help her, and he took her in as his sister. Yes, he wanted more, but now he wasn't sure. They could bring her back to Dale and risk both of them getting back together, or maybe they would part on friendlier terms, and then they would be able to re-arrange their relationship. And yet, that would be almost like *taking* her from Dale. His mind raced with the possibilities: give her up to Dale, have Dale convince her to have *him*, or watch her *die*, if she refused to do either. What could he do? What *should* he do? Echosounding back at the office, he tightened his wings in front of him in silent frustration, as well as his ears and tail. He had to make a choice, a very difficult one, and he was running out of time:
EIKOSIHEIS - MOST DEFINITELY DEAD
It had been several days since the comediless night at The Nutshell. Dale put
his rapier (actually, a customised sewing needle) back in its case, and removed
his white fencing suit. As he put on his grey shirt again, he once more felt
that pain in his shoulders. He tried to ignore it as he put everything back
in the closet, but it seemed that the more he ignored it, the more it intensified.
He looked at the clock again, lowered his ears, and sighed.
Time to take his medicine again.
He sorely padded to his cabinet, took the medicine bottle (originally a contact lens vial), and removed a pill. Then, he left his room and went to the kitchen to get some water. *When they say eight hours, they _mean_ eight hours,* he thought, as he filled his glass. *Good thin' this is extra strength.* He popped the pill and drank up. When he finished, he decided to go outside. As he did, he wondered why he had to take more medication than the others did. Maybe it was due to all the incidents that had happened to him: besides being in jungles and foreign countries as well as space travel, his record included getting zapped by witches and aliens, coming in contact with meteorites that *could* have been radioactive, being immersed in sewer water, eating chocolate that had been left out in the jungle for days-
Yes, he was paying for his goof-ups now. But it was a good thing that Foxglove was not here to pay *with* him, after all, she would have *never* done what he always did. That was another reason why he let her go.
Padding along the runway, he jumped on an adjacent branch, and laid down.
He would have to say that there *were* times in which he felt immortal. Pretending he was some red-clad superhero, or even *being* an elastic superhero, but now, the truth of his own mortality had finally become clear to him. He had goofed up one time too many, and now his body was taking it, and taking it hard, beginning with the time he fainted on Foxglove. Fortunately, he did *not* have a terminal disease, as Doctor Qandlier told him. He was simply resenting all the abuse he put on himself. In time, he would recover, and he would be a better chipmunk. Now, he would just have to sit there and take his medicine like a good cub.
He felt odd for a moment, as he realised that he was actually glad that Foxglove was not here to see him like this. She deserved much better:
:much better than how he saw himself yesterday. All morning long he had constant
pain in his joints, only slightly minimised by his medication. He was more or
less able to put the pain out of his mind as he and the other Rangers searched
for yet another lost puppy. The little boy had left the picture of his beloved
pet at the police station, and the Rangers had once again taken it for reference.
Starting from the boy's home, near the Hudson River, he quickly identified the
pup's scent, and guided Gadget with the Ranger Skate. Monterey was also with
them, and Chip was above them with the Ranger Wing. They drove/flew along the
shore upstream, obviously the pup had been overcome with curiosity and had wanted
to explore the world. Finding the pup was no problem; he was stuck inside a
small broken pipe, having tried to follow a moth into it. Chip landed and together
they all pulled him out, with a large amount of effort, as the puppy was a Labrador
on the chubby side. As they tumbled along the riverbank, Dale felt that sharp
pain in his joints once again, causing his ears to droop again. When they all
stood and shook the sand off themselves, Dale painfully padded aside and stuck
his paw in his mouth. He dug into his right cheek pouch, and pulled out a small
plastic bag, which had his pills in it. He was about to take his medication,
and the rest were preparing to take the pup home, when the wind shifted, bringing
a *very* acrid scent to everyone's nostrils.
Smoke.
“Looks like someone's burning trash,” said Gadget. “Or at least burning some plastic.” Dale was about to comment that he also smelled burning pinewood, paper, rubber, and some old milk cartons, with some traces of hair or fur, but a honk from a bugle interrupted him. No, it wasn't a bugle, it was a horn which sounded when one pressed the rubber bulb on its end. And it was a mini-horn, one custom-made for rodents. The only rodent they knew who carried such an instrument was-
The male middle-aged mouse had brown fur and white headfur. He wore a tattered grey trenchcoat over a long brown shirt, a green scarf around his neck, an old black top hat on his ruffled headfur, and old grey fingerless gloves on his paws. His ears were low and his tail was stiff. He ran over the bank, honking his mini-horn furiously.
“MOUSEO!!” exclaimed the Rescue Rangers, as he ran up to them-
Dale noticed that Gadget's old friend smelled like smoke himself.
That, and he saw wisps of smoke coming from Mouseo's ruffled headfur.
The deaf-mute mouse then stuck his digits into his mouth and whistled furiously while laying his ears all the way back, after which he pointed frantically in the direction he had just run from. The Rangers looked up, and saw a pillar of black, white, and grey smoke billowing behind the riverbank.
FIRE!
The Rangers and the Labrador pup ran over the bank and saw that the smoke was coming from within an alley. If they didn't know better, human garbage had been set on fire. Unfortunately, human garbage is where most homeless rodents and other small mammals gathered to try to make a living. As the Rangers, Mouseo, and the pup ran toward the alley, they saw several rodents stagger out of it, coughing profusely. Some had smoke emanating from themselves, and still others had badly singed fur and clothing. Mouseo continued whistling furiously and pointing at the source of the smoke: several burning wooden crates stacked against the side of a building.
From the way he was whistling, the Rangers knew that there were more animals inside.
Without thinking, Dale popped his pills and swallowed, while he, Chip, and Monterey ran to the crates. Gadget and Zipper stayed behind. Zipper, because the heat would instantly melt his wings; and Gadget, because she was suddenly studying some pipes along the opposite wall.
Inside the crates, the smoke made everyone's eyes water, as well as causing instant headaches, with the pain stinging right behind their eyes, and causing all ears to lay low. The odd thing was that the medication didn't seem to have any effect on the pain Dale had in his joints.
In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.
He had no time to think about that now. They had to search for any animals in here. Using his shirt to cover his snout, while Chip used his fedora and Monterey used his helmet, they squinted through the smoke, searching for any more victims, and running through what seemed to be a maze of extremely improvised halls and doorways.
Dale turned into a makeshift room, and nearly ran out again due to the unbearable heat that the flames generated on one side.
The reason he didn't was because he saw someone inside.
Huddled in the far corner, right in front of the flames, was a chipmunk cub. Above the crackle of the flames Dale could just hear it sobbing and coughing. Ignoring his own pain, he dashed into the room, reached the cub, and bent down to pick it up, shielding it with his own body.
“[COUGH!!!]-it's ok!!-[COUGH!!!]-we're here for you-[COUGH!!!]-!!!!!”
“Daddy?” asked the young one. Dale had no time to reply. He picked up the cub, held him tightly against him, and stood.
Well, that was what he tried to do.
As he straightened up, a horrible explosion of pain shot through every joint in his body, including his entire vertebral column.
Dale crumpled to the floor, numbed by the arthritis pain and the acrid smoke.
He tried to blink himself back to consciousness. He simply could not just lie there and wait for the pain to subside. He looked up, and saw that now the ceiling was on fire.
“DALE!!!!!” he heard Chip chatter. Dale had no other choice. He began rolling painfully on the floor, with the cub, hoping to make it to the door.
A burning plank fell.
And it fell right beside his right thigh.
Dale nearly chattered from the pain, but he shifted himself and managed to painfully roll away faster.
“DALE!!!!!!”
He was in the hallway now. He tried to stand, but his knees refused to obey his command and protested with horrible pain, sending him to the floor again. The wall next to him then burst into flames.
No. He couldn't die like this. He had to do something to save this cub-
This cub, that *may* have been his, that *may* have been the same one who would have stayed up at night wondering if his father was going to come home tonight-
This cub who had called him “Daddy”.
The wall fell on them.
Dale rolled over, shielding the cub with his body, hoping it would survive, and that the curse from hell would die with him once and for all-
The wood hit his back, but much to his surprise, it was dripping with water now. It still felt a little warm, but the temperature was bearable. Slowly, he came to realise that water was being sprayed all over the area, and all over himself and the cub. Moments later, the wood was lifted off himself and the cub-
“Crikeys! Dale, pally, what 'appened to ye??!!” Dale looked up and saw a somewhat singed and very worried Monterey Jack above him. He was about to reply, but all he could come up with was a horrifying cough-
Then darkness fell on him.
The rest later told him that he had fainted from the smoke, and had taken him and some other animals to the hospital, and after that the pup was returned to his home. Parts of his fur were very badly singed, but his hide only received first-degree burns. The cub wasn't badly injured, either. In fact, it was because of him that the cub didn't die. And it was because of *Gadget* and her quick thinking and Zipper and his leverage tactics that *he* didn't die. They managed to disconnect the water pipe and aim it at the crates just in time, with the help of the Labrador pup, too. Plenty of minor injuries, including on Monterey and Chip, with all the animals *they* pulled out, but they had managed to rescue *all* of Mouseo's friends, who, of course, were tremendously grateful to them, but especially to *him*, because he had managed to rescue the chipmunk cub.
###### it, *he* didn't rescue the cub, Gadget and Zipper did! *They* sprayed the water just in time!! And why didn't Mouseo bother to take any of the credit? After all, *he* saw the Ranger Wing and had managed to run to it to get help before the crates completely burned down. Gadget seemed to think that Mouseo *did* deserve some credit, which is why she had asked him to come to Headquarters so she could teach him formal sign language. That way, Mouseo would not have to resort to crude pantomime in case he needed to communicate complex messages. Mouseo, in fact, had left an hour earlier, and before he did, he managed to tell him,
“I-am-very-grateful-to you-and the-Rangers-for-being-there-right-on time-but more-to you-Dale-for-saving-that-cub-in the-nick-of-time”
Why couldn't the others realise that he had nearly killed himself *and* the cub? Why couldn't the others realise that even with the Comedian being so far gone now, *he* had crumpled to the floor like an autumn leaf-!!
AGAIN.
Once more, he had failed as a Rescue Ranger.
Technically, he didn't goof up, but his goof-ups *were* indirectly involved.
His previous life was taking a *very* heavy toll on him. Now he needed to take even *stronger* medicine *and* take it easy for the next few days.
It was a good thing Segoleh had been killed earlier, otherwise Segoleh would have killed *him* yesterday.
And it was *also* a good thing that Foxglove had not seen him yesterday, either. Even with the Comedian gone, he *still* was paying *very* severely for his previous mistakes. She deserved *so much better than that*:
Idly, he began scraping some singed fur off himself. He would have continued meditating on yesterday's events when heard Zipper's buzz approaching, along with Monterey's heavy pawsteps. They both joined him on the branch.
“'Ad a good workout today, mate?”
“Yes. I had to take it slow, like the doctor said. If Chip and Gadget don't come back with another case, I'll just rest here a bit more. I don't know why, but I've been feelin' very tired lately. Must be all that medication:not just what happened yesterday, though if you want me to help you with lunch, I could-”
“Nah, that's all right, pally. Say, would you like to go inside and watch some tube? After all, if we're goin' to relax, we might as well enjoy ourselves. I 'ear there's a new sitcom premierin' tonight-”
“No thanks, Monty, I think I'll pass that.” Dale's monotone speech was just about to set off the Aussie's temper, from the looks of his ears and tail. Zipper quickly intervened,
“And there is also a new cartoon premiering after it. Wanna watch it?”
“Oh, come on guys, it's a nice day, why can't we relax out here? After all, it's not healthy to watch too much TV--I--I learned that the *hard* way--” Dale drifted off for a moment, but Zipper asked again,
“Then why don't we study some workouts of our own?” Dale looked at him,
“We did that two days ago, Zip. But later on I might help Gadget with-”
“I'll *tell* you what's not 'ealthy, ya 'munk!” Dale was caught off guard by Monterey's outburst. “*Killin'* oneself ain't exactly good for you either!!” Dale lowered his ears again and sighed,
“Monty, we've already talked about this-”
“No, we 'aven't, lad! I *told* you that you'd be killin' a part of yerself *and* Foxy if you killed the Comedian, but you killed 'im anyways, and now yore *dyin'*!!!” Dale sat up and countered,
“No, Monty, I'm not *dyin'*, I'm already *dead*!! And the Clown is dead all for the better!!” Chip and Gadget had returned a few moments ago and had heard the discussion, so they padded outside to see what was happening.
“No, Dale!! You're dying NOW!!” buzzed Zipper. Dale painfully sighed as he remembered what Foxglove told him once and replied,
“Aren't we all?”
“Mate, what we're tryin' to tell you is that by killin' the Comedian, yer bringin' yerself to an early grave!!” Dale sat back at this. The doctors never told him this, and the psychologist he went to see (at his recommendation) had also not mentioned it, either.
“Monty, what are you talkin' about?”
“Dale, you killed the Comedian. That's tantamount to killin' yerself!! That pain you 'ave now? That's part of it, and it nearly killed you yesterday! Now, if you don't come around, yer goin' to die for good, and maybe Foxy as well!!” Now *that* was an accusation that the sciurid would not stand for. True, Foxglove had also died that night, but dying physically certainly was *not* what he intended on doing that night.
“I don't believe that!!” he chattered, with angry ears and tail. “All I have is some arthritis that came from all the goof-ups I caused, from the goof-ups *The Comedian* caused!! With the right medicine and exercise, we'll pull through-”
“Dale-mate-pally--” Monterey caught his breath for a moment, and relaxed his ears and tail, in an effort to calm himself down. “Yer goin' to *die* if you don't bring yerself *back*!” Dale remained quiet for a moment. Then, he painfully stood up, and looked at the huge mouse,
“Monty, when was the last time I deliberately messed up?” Monterey thought for a moment, and replied,
“Um, that would have been on the case before your weddin'.” Dale then looked at Gadget,
“Gadget, when was the last time I screwed up an invention of yours?” The mousemaid scanned her memory for 1.98 seconds, and replied,
“Golly, Dale, I guess I also have to say that it was just before your wedding.” He then looked at the fly,
“Zipper, when was the last time I fouled up in a situation that needed stealth?” The fly didn't want to but he had to reply,
“It was also on the case before your wedding, but you *didn't* mess up when you were in Fat Cat's-” Looking at his best friend's eyes, Dale continued,
“Chip, when was the last time *I* lost my temper?” His answer was different, but he still didn't like it,
“I-I guess I have to say that it was right after you came back, with the discussion we had-”
“And when was the last time you bonked me?” Chip stopped breathing for a moment. He resumed, with low ears,
“It was also when you came back.” Dale kept quiet again for a moment, and then explained,
“Don't you get it, guys? *All* our major foul-ups ended when I killed the Comedian! The Clown was harmin' the team, he was placin' us, placin' *Foxy* in more danger than was called for; he was *killin'* us!! Now he's gone, and as much as *I* miss him, he *can't* and he *won't* be back--EVER!!!”
“But pally, shouldn't you and Foxy *at least* try and get back together, maybe jus' as frien-?”
“NO!!” he chattered, with angry ears and tail again, causing all others to lower their ears a trifle. “*SHE* left, and *SHE* must come back, otherwise it's clear that she *never* wanted me in the first place and that she's found someone else!!! And I will *NOT* court *her* or *anyone* *anymore*!!!! Mister Maplewood, Miss Hackwrench, Mister Colby, Mister Lightringer, this conversation is **OVER** and I will **NOT** speak of it, with you *OR* with no shrink, *EVER* *AGAIN*!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND??!! ***EVER***!!!!!!” With that, the riled tamias painfully stormed back into the tree, leaving outside a very shocked, afraid, and pained chipmunk, two mice, and a fly.