A note to readers from the U.K.: An exhaustive amount of research was done to make Burke as authentic as possible, but I'm sure there are probably nuances of British speech and mannerisms only natives would be aware of. I am probably also clouded by certain attitudes I unintentionally have that you would consider stereotypes. Please don't take offence, and correct me anywhere I may be wrong.

GW

The warehouse was large, even by human standards. Four stories high and better than a hundred yards long. To the average mouse, it was positively cavernous. It provided an almost unending number of hiding places. The hunt had gone on for more than an hour, but Burke was an excellent tracker. It had been a very long time since a target had been able to elude him. He had no intention of breaking that streak tonight.

To his left: a soft scrape, practically inaudible. Followed by a series of ticking sounds even less audible. But to Burke's ears, the sound of his mousy quarry's footsteps on the cold concrete was loud and clear.

He eased around the corner of a large crate. His dark-adapted eyes expertly scanned the gloom. No one was there. But there had been only a moment ago. He held his breath so that even that soft sound would not mask any others. He heard nothing.

He dropped to all fours so he could get his nose to the ground. His sense of smell might not be as good as a dog's, but he felt that for a mouse, it was exceptional. And more than up to this task. Whiskers twitching, he slowly followed the spoor across the aisle to another crate, and a small hole in the side of it. He smiled and stood.

With an alarmed yelp his quarry shot from the hiding place and charged down the aisle. Burke gave chase. He was an experienced runner, but his smaller opponent was outpacing him. Not by much, but it was enough to stymie Burke's pursuit.

He chased the smaller mouse up a stack of boxes, across a catwalk, and up a metal stair leading to another catwalk that ran around the perimeter of the warehouse just below the ceiling. His quarry was slowing. Faster than Burke, but apparently not at the peak of physical performance, as he was. The smaller mouse was nearly out of gas, but Burke was barely winded. Not that it mattered too much. They were approaching a dead end, then the chase would be over. Sure enough, after another right turn, the catwalk ran another twenty feet and came to an end. Burke slowed to a walk. His quarry would never get past him, and the only other way off the catwalk was forty feet straight down.

He approached slowly.

"Game's over," he said. "You might as well give up."

"Never!" the smaller mouse said, chest heaving to catch his breath.

"Face it, you're caught, and now I'm going to bring you in. Don't make it hard on yourself."

"If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you've got another think coming."

Burke held his hands out in a supplicating gesture.

"Relax, I just want to ask you a few questions."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you want to ask me. And I ain't talking. Not to you, or anyone with you."

"Now, look, we both know the only way you're getting out of here is with me. Just make it easy and I'll see to it you're treated fairly."

The smaller mouse made a derisive sound and a rude suggestion. Burke felt his temper rising to the limits of his control. He approached to just outside of arm's reach.

"All right, old chap, I'm going to give you one more chance to make this easy, then we do it the hard way."

The smaller mouse rose to his full height, taking a deep breath and raising his chin proudly.

"You'll never get what you want," he said.

"We'll just see abou-."

The mouse turned and leapt from the catwalk. Burke dove to the edge, but his prey had already disappeared into the darkness. He never cried out. The only noises he made were the dull thud of his body impacting the concrete far below and the accompanying sound of shattering bone.

Burke stared into the gloom in shock and disbelief. He was at a loss now. The man had been his only lead. He stood and took a deep breath. Somehow, he would get back on the trail.

As Chip and Gadget came in the front door, Dale was jumping up and down on the couch, imitating the karate moves from his umpteenth viewing of a Dirk Suave movie.

"Don't you ever get tired of that stupid spy movie?" Chip asked.

He stopped bouncing long enough to stick his tongue out.

"It's not stupid. Besides," he gestured to the couch beside him; "Foxy hasn't seen it yet."

The lavender bat must have been reclining on the couch for she had not been visible, but at the mention of her name, popped up and looked dreamily at Dale.

"Dirk is so brave," she said, "Just like Dale."

Dale giggled. "Ya hear that, Chip. I'm brave." He bounced a final time and landed on his butt facing the TV.

Chip had a long list of standard snarky retorts to choose from, but held his tongue. It seemed as though a relationship just might be in the offing between the two, and he wasn't sure if Foxglove had yet realized the sibling-like dynamic of their friendship that made the put-down jokes acceptable. She might think he was belittling him out of spite. That, and it would just be downright rude.

But more importantly, Dale getting involved with Foxglove left an obstacle free approach to Gadget for him. And quite obviously, he wasn't about to do anything that could mess that up. Not that he thought Dale ever had any real chance at her. He just wasn't up to Gadget mentally, and in the long term, that would be enough. Being honest with himself meant he had to admit that he might not be either, but then who would? At least Gadget could have an intelligent conversation with him. Dale, not so much.

At any rate, it seemed whenever a good opportunity to move things along with Gadget came around, Dale was always there poking his nose in and ruining it. To have that distraction eliminated would be fabulous. As though she had read his mind, Gadget stepped up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"It's awfully nice of you not to make cracks at him when he's with Foxglove," she said quietly.

"That just wouldn't be right," he replied. "Dale and I may do some mean-spirited things to each other, but it's almost always in good fun, and it's never intentionally spiteful. Besides, she would think I was being mean, and that would make us both look bad."

He turned his nose up as he caught an all too familiar scent emanating from the kitchen.

"Oh, no," he said, "Tell me that's not-."

"Yep," Gadget replied, also getting a whiff. "Monty's making walnut wallaroos."

Chip looked at her. "Um…didn't we forget that…that, um…"

"Golly, you're right, we did. We'd better go back and get it."

They began to back towards the door just as Monty burst in from the kitchen with a platter piled with wallaroos.

"All right, me mates!" he exclaimed. "Fresh from the oven! Everybody eat up, there's plenty more where these came from."

"Uh, Monty," Chip stammered, "We'll have some when we get back. We just have to…to-."

"Go get the thing," Gadget finished. "That we left…at…at that place."

"No worries, Gadget, luv. You won't miss out on a bit!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Chip said under his breath.

They turned, but before they could open the door, it was knocked on forcefully. Despite the fact that unexpected visitors were fairly common, given their line of work, all heads turned towards the door anyway.

"I wonder who that could be?" Dale asked.

Chip answered the door. The mouse that stood there was, to say the least, imposing. He was a good centimeter taller than Monterey Jack, dressed in a snow-white tee shirt that hugged his torso, under a charcoal grey blazer that identically matched his short fur. Square jaw, wide shoulders, narrow waist, muscular, but not in the manner of a bodybuilder. His profile was lean; he could almost be described as trim. He stood confidently erect, and gazing out from under thick crew cut black hair, his luminescent blue eyes radiated authority. His manner was practically noble.

"Gol-ly."

The single word, drawn out not quite into two, was so soft spoken that Chip only heard it because he was standing right next to her. Looking to his left, he saw Gadget staring up at the stranger with a mixture of bewilderment and awe, mouth agape. In that moment, Chip was suddenly insanely jealous. The fact that it was completely against his will didn't make much difference. He was munk enough to realize that the mouse had done nothing to deserve the sudden prejudice he felt, and that he would have to deal with him carefully to have any chance at treating him fairly.

"Judging by the rather unique emblem above the door," he said in a clipped British accent, "I assume I have indeed found my way to the domicile of the Rescue Rangers, yes?"

His appearance seemed to have created some sort of vacuum in the room that absorbed speech. The entire team seemed mesmerized, and no one answered at first.

"Too right you 'ave," Monty finally said, striding purposely towards the door. This seemed to break whatever spell had come over them.

"Rescue Rangers, at your service," Chip said, offering his paw. The mouse gripped it so firmly Chip had to grit his teeth to keep from making a noise, and he nearly had his arm shook from its socket.

"Burke's the name, Walter Burke. But usually it's just Burke."

Chip introduced the gang. To his relief, Burke paid no more attention to Gadget than he did to any one of the rest of them.

"Come on in, mate, tell us 'ow we can 'elp ya."

"Well, it's quite simple, really. I'm on the…say, are those walnut wallaroos?"

"You bet your cheddar they are," Monty told him. "Help yourself, mate. There's plenty more where those came from."

"Don't mind if I do." He sat at the table where the snacks were piled. He somehow managed to carry on a continuous conversation while eating without ever speaking with his mouth full. "Your accent, Monterey: is that a touch of Adelaide I hear?"

Monty's mouth fell open. "Why it certainly is. 'Ow'd you know?"

"My dear old mum was from down around Adelaide. Met my old man while he was on safari in Coorong, fell in love, and followed him back to England. Never lost that Aussie accent, though. These wallaroos are fantastic. Just like mum used to make."

"How can we help you, Mr. Burke?" Chip asked.

"Well, you see, I'm on a mission that's absolutely vital to the security of the Crown. I'm afraid I can't really go into detail on account of national security, but it's not particularly necessary for you to know. It's not in that manner that I require your assistance."

"Gee whiz," Dale said excitedly, "Are you some kind of spy?"

Burke chuckled. "Well, if I were human, I guess the agency I work for might be called MI6. But we encompass a little more than that."

"Wowie, a real life spy! What do you do? Espionage? Demolitions expert? Assassin?"

Chip looked over at Dale, who was standing backwards on the couch facing them. He was holding onto the back of the couch, bouncing his legs up and down on the couch cushions. Chip rolled his eyes at him and re-focused on Burke.

"Well, if it were anything, you could say my speciality is deception. My primary assignments are deep cover missions. Infiltrate, reconnoiter, exfiltrate. I try leaving the messy stuff to those with, shall we say…less noble tendencies than myself.

"At any rate, the group I'm up against in this endeavour are radicals. The individual I was working found me out, and when I tried to bring him in, the crazy bloke leapt from a catwalk and fell to his death."

"Crikey!" Monty exclaimed.

"Indeed. Daft buggars, these radical types."

"You said you didn't need our help on your mission, Mr. Burke," Chip said. "So what do you need us for?"

"Please, just Burke. And I must admit to being out of sorts here in New York. I need guides to show me around. The man I was working was my only link to these radicals. I need to pick up the trail. But I don't know where to start looking, where the local nefarious pubs and hangouts are. I need to get back in the networks."

"Why do you need to do that?" Foxglove asked.

"Well, to find a criminal, you generally need other criminals. And given my deep cover experience, it should be relatively easy to infiltrate one of these organisations and get back on track."

Chip couldn't help but notice that the usually talkative Gadget had said not a word since Burke walked in the door. She seemed both unable to look at him, and unable to look away from him. The result was a head down, side of the eye stare that followed every move.

"Oh, well that's easy," Dale said. "You need to hook up with Fat Cat."

"No," Chip said. He had reached a point where he didn't care whether they helped Burke out or not. He just wanted him gone, mission accomplished, and back across the pond as quickly as possible. But his sense of duty and honor wouldn't allow him to either mislead him, or be openly hostile to him when he'd done nothing to deserve it.

"Fat Cat's top of the food chain, too far up to get in the way you're talking about. Besides, he'd never trust a mouse anyway. Your best bet is Rat Capone."

"Chip's right, mate," Monty agreed. "He's got a place over near 11th and Bleeker. But you won't be able to just mosey up to Rat Capone either. You'll need to talk to Benny."

"And who's this Benny chap?"

"Benny Buns," Chip said. "Mid-level, but he's a made guy, so he can get you in. The place is called Tiny's. Benny manages it when Capone's not around."

"And how often is Benny there?"

"Only when it's open," Monty said.

"And Capone?"

"He cycles between always there and never there," Chip said. "So it's hit and miss. But Benny will know."

"Well sounds like I'd better get down there."

"Glad we could help," Chip said, preparing to usher him out the door. But Gadget finally spoke.

"Golly, Chip, that's awfully far. Shouldn't we give him a ride?"

He cringed inwardly.

"Well 'a course we're givin' 'im a ride!" Monty exclaimed. "Plus, I've gotta way t' spread a little icin' on the cake."

Burke walked into the small tavern. It was fairly crowded despite still being relatively early. He looked around slowly as he approached the bar, checking the sight lines and looking for the exits. He took a seat roughly in the middle of the room and looked over the bar at a man crouched down and digging in a low cabinet. Burke dug in a bowl of chopped nuts of several varieties and came up with a chunk of walnut. He tossed it casually over the bar and it hit the man in the shoulder.

"Say, old chap," he called over the din. "How about a pint?"

The man stood slowly until he was towering over Burke. He was the most enormous rat Burke had ever seen, at least half again as tall as he was. But when he spoke, his voice was a squeaky falsetto.

"The name's Tiny, chum. And unless you want your fingers broke, you'd best watch who you were throwin' stuff at."

"Well, Mr. Tiny I assure you I only wished to gather your attention. Had I actually meant you any offence you can be confident we'd not be having such a pleasant exchange." He let a chill seep into his voice. "I can also assure you that were you to attempt to carry out your threat, I wouldn't be the one that ended up with broken bones."

He spread his palms on the bar and stood on the rungs of the barstool. It only elevated him to the level of Tiny's chest, but he locked an icy gaze on the man's eyes. "But you're more than welcome to try."

He let that arctic gaze bore into the larger man until he finally looked away. Satisfied, Burke sat down.

"Now, about that pint...What are you serving today?"

Tiny picked up a glass and indicated the long row of tap handles.

"Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light, PBR, Icehouse-."

"Blimey, mate, I meant I wanted a beer. Haven't you got Fullers?"

Tiny shook his head.

"Marston's? Sam Smith? Lee's Harvest? Newcastle?"

Tiny finally gave a small nod and placed the glass under a tap.

"Bloody hell, I thought this was a pub," he muttered under his breath.

Tiny set the glass on a small square of napkin and Burke picked it up. He raised it in a miniature toast towards the massive bartender, as if to say "no hard feelings", then spun around in his chair to look over the floor. Despite having only a vague description, it wasn't hard to spot Benny. He was strutting around the bar from table to table, but only the ones full of pretty women. After several minutes, he glanced towards the bar. Burke could tell by the way Benny's eyes shifted back and forth that Tiny had in some way indicated that he should come along and check out the newcomer.

He took his time, still moving between the tables to seem nonchalant. Finally, he approached the bar, sauntering up for a refill and stopping next to Burke purely by "chance". After leaning over the bar enough to exchange a few inaudible words with Tiny, he turned and stood there a moment, mimicking Burke's posture, looking out over the crowded room.

"You're new in town, ain't ya?" he said finally.

"Can't put one past you."

"Benny's the name." He offered his hand. Burke ignored it. "I run this joint."

"Good for you."

After a moment of standing there with his hand out, he slowly lowered it and glowered at Burke. "You don't mind if I ask who you are, do ya?"

"Don't mind at all."

There was a moment of silence as Benny waited.

"Well?"

"Well what, mate?"

"Your name, mate. What's your name?"

"Burke. You can call me Burke."

"And what do you do, Mr. Burke?"

"No mister. Just Burke. And are you this inquisitive towards all your patrons?"

"Just the ones who threaten my staff."

"Is that what he told you?"

Benny just looked at him.

"I'm afraid Mr. Tiny misinterpreted me."

"Oh he did, did he?"

"Yes. You see," he turned that arctic stare on Benny. "I never threaten anyone."

Benny tried to return the stare, but he only managed a few moments. After he broke away, Burke looked back out over the room just as the door opened and Chip and Dale strolled in.

"Excuse me for a moment, will you old chap?" He slid off the stool and headed for the restrooms.

Closely behind them, but after Burke had his back to the door, followed the rest of the team. Chip and Gadget peeled off to the left, Dale and Foxglove to the right, and Monty and Zipper came up the middle. They swept the room carefully and it was clearly obvious to anyone paying attention that they were looking for someone. After a leisurely stroll through the room the whole team ended up in a loose cluster in front of Benny. Chip stepped up to him.

"Benny Buns," he said.

"I thought I told youse guys we don't want you patronizin' our business," he said.

"Don't worry, we're not patronizing. Just trying to find a friend."

"You've got friends?" He laughed roughly, half-turned towards the bar and tapped Tiny's forearm with the back of his hand. "Hey Tiny, chipmunk here says he has friends. And they might be around here! Ain't that rich?" They laughed and Benny turned back towards Chip and looked down at him disdainfully. Chip ignored the look.

"Tall mouse," he said. "Black hair, gray fur, British accent. Seen him around?"

"Nope. But even if I had, I wouldn't tell the likes 'a you. Now why don't you and your little ranger buddies find the door before I have Tiny here show you where it is."

Monty stepped up, pushing his sleeves towards his elbows. "Bring it on, ya overgrown pile 'a-."

Chip put a hand on his chest. "Easy, Monty. It's not worth it. Not tonight, anyway." He locked eyes with Benny, who just sneered at him. "Come on, gang." Slowly, they filed out. A few moments later, Burke reappeared.

"You know, Benny, not to intrude on your managerial policies, but as a matter of course you should probably have the restrooms inspected from time to time. Why, you should see the atrocity someone's scrolled on the wall."

"You normally carry your drink to the can?"

"Ah, you know. New face, new place. If I left my drink to fend for itself, something worse than what's in the loo might end up in it. Wouldn't want that, now would we?"

"I couldn't help but notice the timing of your little potty break. You got something against chipmunks?"

Burke shuddered. "They give me the collywobbles, the nasty little buggars. Glad we don't really have them back home."

"Look, let's quit dancing and just cut to the chase here. They was looking for ya. You know it, I know it. I coulda given you up to them, but I didn't. So why don't we discuss a little business? Perhaps we could be of some assistance to each other."

"And how would I know you're the type of person I can discuss the business I have with?"

"Because you're going to check up on me. Just like I'm going to check up on you. Then we meet back here in two days and discuss what we've learned."

Burke looked at him for a long moment, then tipped up his glass and drained it. He set it on the bar.

"Sounds like an equitable arrangement."

"Why, that was just shy of brilliant, Monterey," Burke said back at RHQ. He had just finished telling the team how the evening had gone for him. "Why, I'd have been there all night, and probably two or three more weaseling my way into Benny's confidence. But no sooner did I reappear after you left and he all but threw himself at me! You Rangers must have quite the reputation."

"Aw, it was nothin'! Why me an' a few of me mates once pulled the same scheme on this ten legged tarantula down in Tortuga. Fastest way to get in with the bad guys is to be on the bad side of the good guys, I always say."

"So what now, Burke?" Dale asked.

"Now I go out and do my homework. If Benny finds out I wasn't checking on him, the game will be up before it's started."

"Well if there's any thing else we can do for ya," Monty said, "You be sure and let us know."

"Actually, I've been giving the matter some thought and I do believe there's plenty of opportunity for us to work together on this case."

Chip held back an exasperated sigh. He knew his jealousy was starting to get the better of him, but he couldn't help it. Unfortunately it was quickly turning into an intense dislike of a man who had done absolutely nothing wrong. The rest of them were waiting with bated breath to hear what he had in mind.

"The mouse I was pursuing last week was named Dean Cooper. He had a brother, Brian, who might have had something to do with the whole matter. Had I not been referred to you chaps, that was going to be the next avenue I tried. There's a good chance it won't bear fruit, but it would be an excellent parallel investigation if you were willing to take it on.

"And it may come down to an issue of strength of numbers rather than just my wits against these radicals. I may even be able to get authorisation from the brass to officially bring you in, though I can't make any assurances to that effect."

"We'd be happy to help in any way we can, Mr. Burke," Foxglove said. Monty and Dale nodded enthusiastically, Gadget continued to hover demurely at the corner of his vision and said nothing.

"Thank you kindly, Foxglove. Thanks to you all, really, it's greatly appreciated. You have both my and Her Majesty's thanks." He slapped his knees and stood. "That having been said, it's quite late and I should be off."

He started towards the door.

"Burke," Gadget said, "You'd be welcome to use our guest room. It would certainly make coordinating things easier."

"Bonzah idea, Gadget luv!"

Burke looked at her as if for the first time. Not knowing her, he might easily have assumed she was always so shy. Perhaps now he was reevaluating his opinion. Chip didn't like the way he was looking at her at all. He balled his fists, which shook angrily at his sides, and hoped no one noticed. His mind worked to find a way to reject this idea without slighting Gadget. But Burke saved him.

"That's quite a generous offer, but I must decline. Can't have a character as nefarious as I'm supposed to be having a sleepover with the Rescue Rangers. Benny might doubt my sincerity. And his goons were surprisingly good at tailing me. Took me almost three whole minutes to lose them. In fact, I was about to suggest our next meeting be held at an alternate location."

"He's right," Chip said, perhaps a little too quickly. He looked at Burke. "The last thing we need is to blow your cover. We can meet in DeWitt Park. It's at 53rd and 11th beside the river. There's a fountain near the basketball courts."

"Splendid. I'm meeting Benny again in two nights. We can meet the following morning. Say…9 o'clock?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dale said.

"Excellent. I'll see you all then. Cheerio."

And with that, he breezed out the door and was gone.

"Wowie!" Dale exclaimed, "We get to work with a real spy!"

"Work with?" Chip said. "More like work for."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he's using us you big dummy. To do his dirty work."

"But Chip," Gadget said, "He hasn't asked us to do anything. We asked him. How can you say he's using us?"

"It just sounds fishy to me. First he can't tell us anything except that all his leads are dead. Then he needs us to check out this Cooper person, and then he's talking about making us part of his team and telling us everything. It doesn't scan."

"Well golly, Chip, maybe he's just trying to be polite. And maybe you should try it too."

"Me? I've been a perfect gentleman."

"You've hardly said a word to him," she replied, perhaps more crossly than the situation dictated. "And you sure seemed like you couldn't get him out of here fast enough. You all but held the door for him."

"I just don't trust him, that's all."

"And what reason has he given you not to trust him?"

"I don't know him."

She marched up to him and stared him down.

"Well if I remember correctly, when I first met a certain pair of chipmunks, I had no reason to trust them. But I did."

"That wasn't the same thing at all." He took half a step back for a little space and she stepped right back into him again. Suddenly he found himself backpedaling with Gadget advancing on him like a fencer pressing an attack.

"Well if you ask me it was, and I gave you the benefit of the doubt when everything I knew about strangers said I shouldn't. We're supposed to help people, Chip. It's the whole reason the Rescue Rangers exist."

His back finally hit the wall and Gadget was in major violation of his personal space, so close their noses were touching. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so angry, certainly not at one of them. He felt like her gaze was going to singe his fur.

"And if we're suddenly changing that policy," she continued, almost shouting, "Then maybe I need to think about whether or not I want to be a Rescue Ranger anymore!"

She whirled and her flying hair slapped across his face, knocking his fedora to the floor. Fuming, she stormed off to her room. Chip was completely bewildered. He looked around the room. The others were all staring at him.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Dale walked up to him and bopped him on the head. "You hurt her feelings, you big dummy."

"But…but…how? What did I say?"

Monty stepped in between the two.

"All right, now. Everybody just take a step back. I think things are a wee bit overheated right now. Let's not anybody say anything for a little while, eh?"

They all looked at him and nodded, except Chip, who was still too bewildered to react at all. Slowly they all filed out of the room. Chip didn't know what to think. He walked outside and sat down, looked up at the midnight moon.

The sounds of the park were just barely louder than the muted sounds of the city. Crickets, frogs, the burbling of the fountain below. In the background was a low hum of all the sounds of the city combined, punctuated by a car horn here, a siren there, or some other sharp sound rising alone. He ran the scene in the living room over and over again in his head, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

After a few minutes he heard the door open behind him. He didn't look back, half hoping it wasn't Gadget, and half hoping it was. After a moment, Monty sat down on his left.

"What did I do, Monterey? I wasn't trying to make anyone mad, or hurt anyone's feelings. I certainly wasn't trying to make Gadget feel like I didn't want her here."

It was no secret Monty had taken on the role of surrogate father to Gadget, but occasionally he would step outside the boundaries of his friendship with Chip or Dale and take on a fatherly role when he felt it was badly needed.

"Well Chippah," he said, "Just between you and me, I think she may have overreacted a wee bit."

"So it wasn't me?"

"A little, perhaps. But I think it's more that Gadget's quite taken with the intriguing Mr. Burke. I think she was a bit defensive on his behalf."

"Yes, I noticed. I haven't spoke to him? Other than offering him a ride and then a room, she hasn't said a single thing to him. Just…just…fawned over him like some lovesick teenager."

"Well, you're right about that." He paused for a long moment. "Chip…don't you think it's about time you tell her how you feel?"

Chip considered himself to be rather private when it came to his emotions. Monty's statement was a little too insightful. He wasn't sure how much he reacted. He tried to play it off.

"What do you mean?"

"Now, Chippah, don't think you can pull the wool over 'ol Monterey's eyes. I been around enough to tell when a lad fancies a lass the way you do."

"Oh, that's all just harmless flirting. Dale and I both do it. She doesn't even notice most of the time."

Monty put his right hand on Chip's shoulder and spoke softly, gravely.

"Chip, I see the way you look at her. Hear the tenderness in your voice when you speak to her. Watch as your body language changes whenever you get near her. You're in love with her. And I can't think of a better man for her. I know you'd take care of her, know you'd never hurt her."

He looked down at the reflection of the moon in the fountain, then made a fist with his left hand and tapped his chest over his heart.

"And I know if she was with you, you'd keep her close t' here, wouldn't take her away." He drew a long breath, let it out slowly.

"Now this Limey sweeps into her life. And I don't think he's noticed yet, but all he's got to do is want to and he'll sweep her off her feet. And maybe go carryin' her back t' England.

"And you're right. We don't know 'im. I've got no problem trustin' 'im to work with 'im. But he's got a long way to go before I'd trust 'im with my wee Gadget's 'art."

He looked back at Chip. He looked…deflated.

"So what am I supposed to do, Monterey? For starters, she's furious with me right now. But even if she weren't, I can't just go up to her and say 'don't fall in love with him, fall in love with me'."

"Why not? Remember Chippah, she already knows you, she already trusts you, an' she already loves you. Maybe not the same way you love her, but you can't know that 'til ya ask. All she has a' this Burke fella is a handsome face and a paper-thin personality. Seems to me you've got all the cards in your 'and."

He stood and patted Chip's shoulder a final time.

"P'raps it's time you laid 'em on the table."

He turned and walked back inside, leaving Chip to his thoughts.

A little later, as Chip headed to bed, he stopped outside her door and knocked softly.

"Gadget?"

Her muffled voice filtered through the door. "Go away, Chip. I don't want to talk to you right now."

"I know you don't. And I'm not going to ask you to. I just…wanted to say I'm sorry. Really. I…"

He fumbled a moment, wanting to say more, but knowing he'd pushed as far as he could right now.

"I'm sorry. Goodnight, Gadget."

He walked quietly down the hall. But if he had been able to see into her room, he would have seen her face buried in her pillow, the case wet with her tears.

He woke the next morning, not feeling terribly rested, and padded into the kitchen without bothering to change out of his nightshirt. He sidled past the pile of walleroos on the counter, retrieved a mug from the cabinet, and poured a cup of coffee. After inhaling deeply over the top of it he sipped it carefully. It was strong and bitter. Obviously not fresh. Checking the clock, he realized he had slept in more than an hour longer than he usually did. He dumped out the coffee and started a fresh pot, wandering into the living room while he waited.

It was deserted. He knew Foxglove would be asleep in the high redoubt they had made for her near the top of the tree. She was attempting to alter her nocturnal nature. So far she'd gotten about halfway there, going to sleep mid-morning and waking just before dinner. There was no sign of the others. He gave a mental shrug, as there were no official plans today, and wandered back into the kitchen. He selected a slice of biscotti baked with raisins and nutmeg, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and carried both to the living room where he turned on the news. The familiar face of Stan Blather was staring back at him from behind the news desk. Over his shoulder was an inset still of a building surrounded by fire trucks.

"…no leads on who was behind a fire that destroyed a portion of a local research office for the National Institute of Mental Health last month. An internal investigation has also produced no leads, but local officials have reported difficulties obtaining effective cooperation from scientists at the office. NIMH officials have refused to comment on the situation, other than to report that damage to the building was minor, and that no significant research was lost. When we come back, weather and traffic from our eye in the sky."

Chip nibbled at the biscotti and sipped the coffee, waiting for an interesting story, something that might merit investigation, but it was all standard drivel. After a few minutes, he heard the shuffling of feet and turned to see Gadget emerging from the hallway. She was dressed in her standard blue coveralls, and was tinkering with something in her hands. She started when she saw him.

"Oh! Good morning, Chip," she said softly.

"Good morning, Gadget."

He turned back to the television, figuring that the best thing he could do would be to say nothing until he had some idea of her state of mind. It wasn't until after he had done it that he realized that his mood and tone of voice had probably seemed dismissive to her. He cringed, realizing there was no way he could take it back. He could almost feel her gaze drilling into him between his shoulders. After a few long moments, she sat down at the far end of the couch. She put whatever she was holding beside her and sat staring at the floor wringing her hands.

"Chip," she said after a few moments, "I want to apologize for the way I treated you last night."

"It's not your fault, Gadget. I shouldn't have-."

"No, Chip, you didn't do anything wrong. And I appreciate your apologizing despite that. The truth…the truth is, I overreacted. And I didn't mean the awful things I said to you."

"I know you didn't. You were just defending Burke."

"I thought you had something against him, when you didn't even know him. I don't know why."

"I do have something against him."

"You do? What could that possibly be?"

Chip looked down. "I'm jealous of him."

"Jealous? Whatever for?"

"Because…because of the way you look at him."

She looked completely confused.

"I don't understand."

"You're crushing on him, Gadget. I'm afraid it's very obvious."

Her cheeks flushed bright red.

"Omigosh. I had no idea."

"Only to us, because we know you. Burke probably doesn't realize it."

"But I still don't understand."

"I'm jealous of him because…because I want you to look at me like that."

He looked up at her. Her expression was inscrutable.

"I know this is a really bad time to say this, but I'm in love with you Gadget. I have been…for quite a while now. I've just…the time was never right, or it was and I couldn't bring myself to say it, or I tried to say it and something would stop me." He chuckled. "Something was usually Dale.

"I just…watching the way you were acting around Burke…I just wanted him gone. I'm sure he's a great guy, a credit to the people he works for. And I don't really think he's using us. That was my jealousy talking."

"Golly, Chip I…I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, Gadget. I'm just trying to explain myself to you. You like Burke. I understand. He's got a lot going for him. And if you want to be with him, I'm not going to try to stop you, even though it's the last thing in the world I want. But remember, when this mission is over, he's going back to England. And I…we'd all be heartbroken if you went with him.

"Who you give your heart to is entirely up to you. But even if I didn't want you for myself, if I had the right, Burke would still have a whole heck of a lot to prove before I'd give him my approval."

There was a long moment of silence.

"It really means a lot to me to hear you say that, Chip. And truthfully, I don't even know if Burke would be interested in me. He might not even be available. But I want to find out if there's anything there. There's something about him…something I can't put my finger on. No one's ever made me feel like that before.

"Don't take that as a rejection. You're a wonderful man. If circumstances were different, I could see us being together. But…circumstances are different."

Chip nodded. Gadget could see she'd hurt him. His head hung, his shoulders slumped. But worst of all there was a sudden emptiness in his eyes, and a sudden enormous uncomfortable pressure in the room. She slid off the couch and knelt in front of him, took his hand.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She wanted to say more, but she knew he needed some time alone. And she couldn't stand that awful empty look in his eyes. She stood and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

And fled.

Chip sat on the couch for several minutes after she left. His mind was numb. To use Monterey's analogy, he had lain his flush on the table only to find Burke had a full house. And Gadget, who was honest to a fault as usual, didn't realize that honesty here wasn't the best policy. Simply saying he wasn't in the race would have been enough, she didn't have to point out that he was in it and came in second to the rookie.

He allowed himself a few minutes to sit there, wallowing in self-pity. Yes, he was crushed, heartbroken, despairing. But that was his problem. He wouldn't bring the others down with him. It simply wouldn't be fair to them. This was a burden he would have to bear alone.

He stood, took several deep breaths, let them out slowly. What he needed now was work. He had limited information, but enough to start investigating.

Dean Cooper. Mouse. He would have been found dead in the warehouse by the human workers and disposed of without a second thought. An unfortunately common occurrence thanks to the humans' perception of themselves as a superior species. In short: a dead end.

He had a brother, Brian, whereabouts unknown. But Chip would find out. And perhaps he could help Burke get this case solved and get him back to England before any kind of relationship could develop between him and Gadget.

He headed for his bedroom and tore off his nightshirt. He stopped when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stared at his reflection for a moment. He didn't consider himself to be vain, but he did take pride in his appearance. He kept himself fit. He wasn't as large as Burke was, but comparatively he was every bit as buff. Burke's short fur had the advantage of leaving nothing about his figure to the imagination. His own toned midsection and well-defined chest were not as immediately evident thanks to his longer fur, but he still felt he could honestly tell himself that he was a hunk of a munk.

He considered briefly that perhaps the simple fact that Burke was a mouse and he was not was enough to sway Gadget's affections. He discarded that theory, though; both because he didn't really think that it were true and because if it were, he might as well accept defeat now.

Like hell, I will.

He shrugged into his bomber jacket and zipped it up, stuffing his fedora underneath, and headed for the small hidden garage at the base of the tree. It was there they kept their newest…well, toy. It was 1/10 scale RC version of a Yamaha V Star that Gadget modified just enough to respond to the hand controls and accept a long-life battery pack. It was good for two hours ridden hard, better than three ridden conservatively. It fit his type A personality perfectly, and quickly became his favorite of all of Gadget's inventions. He would never go so far as to claim it as being "his", but the others clearly knew he favored it and generally let him get away with monopolizing it.

Today would be a long day. It was the exact opposite of the exciting parts of being a Rescue Ranger. Working the streets, asking around, hunting for the one person in the city that could lead you to your suspect. In a word: tedium. But it would keep him occupied, and right now he sorely needed occupied.

He mounted the bike, strapped on the helmet, and took off.