What's Past is Past

A/N; I do not own Rescue Rangers, Disney does. I'm not making any money from this, it's been in my head, in different forms, since I first saw the show in 1989, so, for a long time. I read "Rhyme and Reason", that wonderful fic and was inspired, then I was inspired again by Matt Plotcher's picture, you'd have to see it to know which one I was talking about, "Friendship Never Dies." What a beautiful pic, lots of play with shadow, black and white. Bravo, Matt, you inspired me. Read and reply if you like, but just remember, like a twelve-step program, I'm just following through on something I've needed to do for some time.

Dusk, the magic hour. Pale sunlight filtered through mahogany-colored fabric, blocking out any harsh light and filling the room with an amber glow.

It was silent elsewhere in the tree house, all the curtains drawn.

Chip Maplewood stood on the domino doorway and looked inside what had been his home for years. He stepped inside a memory and everything fell into place once again.

He'd stayed here for a short time after the events of what he was about to relive. But not for long, it was too painful and extra memories wouldn't fill the hollow place inside of him.

He wondered now, looking down at his aged body, why he tortured himself yearly, reliving this.

For although the evening twilight was peaceful and outside sounds muted, it was the worst night of his life.

Shadows lengthened across the floor as Chip crossed it. Strange how the hall always seemed to lengthen when he returned here, so much longer in his mind than in reality.

Then, out of the corner of his mind's eye he saw a flash of gold, Gadget's hair.

The mouse stepped out of a room at the far end of the hall, Chip's destination. He caught his breath, stunned as always at how lovely she was, even now, with dried tear streaks on her cheeks, hair bedraggled and paws shaking as she carried a tray out.

As she walked past him, Chip caught that ghost of a scent; her own unique aroma behind the medicinal smells clouding his memory. His gut tightened, just when he thought he couldn't be tenser.

He'd loved her, but afterwards, he'd lost something integral inside. They'd drifted apart.

He still loved her probably but now it was a sad regret. He saw her sometimes; now, she was still beautiful, still wonderfully intelligent. But the chasm between them was too far to bridge, all because…

Chip shook his head, refocusing.

A smell of cheese and a low buzzing met his senses, here in the recesses of his mind. Monterey Jack sat hunched in the corner by the door, wiping away shameful tears with a grubby cloth.

Zipper, his own best friend, was on his shoulder. They stayed close, not saying anything, sad but perhaps grateful neither was still in that room.

Chip felt the memory of his rage hit him then, but it no longer had any power. It was over, that particular fight, Chip's unfairness and Monty's temper. Like Gadget, he still saw Monty and Zipper but less frequently. Their friendship had cooled, though still, technically, intact. Again, it wasn't the same.

He was here, now, at the door. A strong smell of medicine, herbs…and sickness hit him, or was it just forever embedded in his mind? He would hate those smells until the end of his days but at least they longer caused the flashbacks they had in those hellish months after.

He pushed the door open, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, even though he'd relived this moment, this scene so many times before. It, like other things, would be with him forever.

When he thought he was ready, though he never really was, he opened his eyes to look in on the scene that shattered his life.

Chip winced as he heard that deep rasp, the cough, a low, gurgling sound that resembled someone slowly drowning, an accurate sound.

Chip looked at his younger self, feeling an odd sense of pity. This Chip, younger but aged with the events of a few terrible days, still had hope, still somehow believed that everything would turn out all right.

He thought his best friend would live to see another morning. The older Chip felt the pain hit him full force, wondering if it would ever loosen its hold on him.

He observed his younger self more closely. Younger Chip's face was tight with worry, his paws were shaking. He kept fidgeting, unsure of what to do with himself. One minute he was twisting his fedora, the next clenching the side of the bed he was sitting next to.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering sigh, he grasped his best friend's paw in his own, gripping it. Chip knew that his younger self wouldn't relinquish it, not even far into the next morning when it was a worthless gesture.

Not that it isn't now, Chip though bitterly. His younger self had an expression of confusion, hurt and fear on his face.

Things had escalated so quickly. Chip knew, as he'd been there, his younger self was wondering how things had come to this.

A rattled gasp from the bed caused both Chips to wince and Chip watched his memory self grasp a glass of water frantically, waiting to help his friend any way he could.

Dale Oakmont, Chip's best friend for longer than both could remember, lay on the bottom bed of the bunk set they'd shared for years.

He looked truly awful, so pale it made his fur appear gray, his normally red nose severely swollen to an ugly, purple color.

His hair was slick with sweat and with every breath he took he arched his back, desperate for air. He'd been delirious all day, his illness very dangerous.

The doctor the Rangers had summoned warned them of infection but they had ignored him, terrified for Dale. The doctor, a large field rat with sad, bulbous eyes had not minced words, though he hated seeing reactions to what he so often had to say. They'd wanted to move Dale to a hospital of some kind, but he'd told them it would do no good, better to let him stay here, in familiar, comforting surroundings, then in a frightening, ascetic place like that.

Dale was too weak, he'd been exposed, breathing in frigid air for too long. Chip remembered why and now the fury hit him as if it had been yesterday. He'd gotten his vengeance a long time ago, but, as Gadget had warned him, it changed nothing, not his anger or Dale's future, nothing.

Six days earlier Dale went out for an errand, so mundane no one remembered what it was. He hadn't come back.