Rescue Me

by max_goof

Summary:

After rescuing an injured mouse, Max Goof discovers she's no ordinary rodent—she's Gadget, a brilliant inventor with a sharp mind and a mysterious past. As Max helps her recover, the two form an unexpected bond, navigating their differences and trying to find her companions. What starts as an act of kindness blossoms into something deeper, as Max and Gadget find themselves drawn to each other in a world that challenges the very nature of their connection.

Goof Troop/Rescue Rangers (and now The Secret of NIMH) romance crossover.

Chapter 1: Sleeping Sickness

Rescue Me

ONE: Sleeping Sickness

The afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across Spoonerville as Max Goof walked home from his final day of high school. Graduation was weeks ago, but today marked the end of an era—the last bell, the last crowded hallway, the last awkward goodbyes. He adjusted his backpack on one shoulder, his sneakers crunching against the pavement.

For the first time in a while, he had no immediate plans. Summer stretched out in front of him, uncharted and full of possibility. As he rounded a corner, the usual suburban quiet was interrupted by a sharp yowl.

Max paused, squinting toward a patch of grass by the sidewalk. A scrappy orange tabby cat darted in and out of view, its movements erratic, tail lashing behind it. Something small flailed beneath its paws.

“Hey, knock it off!” Max shouted, jogging toward the scene.

The cat hissed, baring its teeth at him before reluctantly backing off. It lingered a moment, clearly debating whether to fight for its prize, but a sharp clap of Max’s hands sent it scampering into the bushes.

“Good riddance,” Max muttered, crouching down to inspect what the cat had been tormenting.

At first, it looked like any other mouse—tiny, battered, and still. But as Max leaned closer, he noticed something strange. It was wearing clothes.

Purple coveralls, torn and smeared with dirt, clung to the mouse’s fragile frame. A faint, labored rise and fall of its chest told him it was still alive. Max blinked, unsure if he was seeing things.

“What the...?” he whispered.

He hesitated, glancing around as though someone might step out of the shadows and explain what was happening. The street was empty. It was just him and... whatever this was.

Max reached out cautiously, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the mouse. She was so small, her fur matted with blood and dust. His hand looked enormous next to her.

“You’re not… normal, are you?” he murmured. The words sounded ridiculous as they left his mouth, but there was no denying it—this wasn’t just some rodent.

A pang of guilt hit him as he noticed the jagged scratches and bite marks across her body. She needed help, and fast. His first thought was the vet down the street, but then reality set in. He didn’t have any money, and it wasn’t like they’d believe him anyway.

Biting his lip, Max made up his mind. He cupped the mouse gently in his hands, cradling her as if she might break. She was so light it felt like he was holding nothing at all.

“Okay, little one,” he muttered. “Guess you’re coming home with me.”

He glanced down at her one last time, still half expecting her to disappear or wake up and start talking. But she remained silent, her breathing shallow as Max hurried back toward his house.

Max practically sprinted the rest of the way home, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The mouse in his hands was so still that he kept checking to make sure she was breathing. Each faint rise and fall of her chest spurred him on.

When he reached the house, Max fumbled with his keys, finally shoving the door open. “Dad?” he called out, stepping into the empty living room. The silence answered him, and he remembered—his dad had mentioned picking up an extra shift today.

“Okay, just me,” Max muttered, shutting the door behind him. He hurried up the stairs, careful to keep his hands steady, and ducked into his room.

Setting the mouse down on his desk, he straightened and raked a hand through his hair. Now that he was home, the adrenaline began to ebb, replaced by the weight of uncertainty. What was he supposed to do?

His eyes darted to the tiny creature sprawled across the wood grain of his desk. The blood matted her fur, soaking into the frayed fabric of her purple overalls. Max swallowed hard. She needed help now.

“I’ll figure this out,” he murmured to himself, turning toward the door. He headed to the bathroom, grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, and rushed back to his room.

Sitting down at his desk, Max opened the kit and hesitated. The mouse’s clothes—her overalls—were torn and sticking to some of the wounds. He frowned, his fingers hovering over her before he steeled himself.

“Sorry about this,” he muttered. “I gotta see how bad it is.”

Working carefully, he began peeling the fabric away, trying to avoid hurting her further. As he did, something else caught his attention.

What he’d initially thought was shredded cloth or maybe bits of string tangled around her head wasn’t fabric at all. It was hair—orange hair, streaked with dirt and blood.

Max’s brow furrowed as he pushed it gently away from her face. The hair was short but wild, hanging across one side of her face like bangs. This wasn’t just a mouse with odd features—this was someone.

His face flushed as he finished removing the overalls, exposing the rest of her form. Underneath, her body was strikingly humanoid, only scaled down. Smooth fur covered her limbs, but her shape was unmistakable. She even had…

“Oh, geez,” Max whispered, his ears burning. He turned his head slightly as though giving her some privacy, but he couldn’t unsee the reality. This wasn’t a normal mouse. This wasn’t even a cartoonishly dressed animal.

Who was she?

Shaking his head, Max refocused. “Okay, okay, focus, dude. She’s hurt. Deal with that first.”

He pulled out some antiseptic wipes and gently dabbed at the scratches and bites, flinching every time she twitched. Her breathing hitched once, a tiny whimper escaping her, but she didn’t wake.

“It’s okay,” Max said softly, more to himself than to her. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He glanced down at her now-cleaned body. Her injuries didn’t look life-threatening anymore, but he couldn’t deny how bizarre this all was. What kind of mouse—if she was even a mouse—had orange hair and looked like this?

Max leaned back, rubbing his temples. “What did I just get myself into?”

Max worked carefully, cutting small strips of gauze to make tiny bandages. It was slow, painstaking work, but he eventually managed to wrap her wounds. The antiseptic seemed to be doing its job—her breathing was steadier now, and her fur was no longer slicked with blood.

Leaning back in his chair, Max studied her, his mind racing.

She wasn’t just a mouse. That much was clear. Her humanoid figure, her orange hair, her delicate features—it was all so bizarre. The thought that she might have been some kind of lab experiment crossed his mind. Maybe she’d escaped from a research facility. Or was she an alien? A hundred wild theories tumbled through his brain, each more impossible than the last.

None of it made sense.

Max sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “What am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered under his breath.

She wasn’t safe just lying on his desk, and he needed to give her a proper place to rest. The hamster cage. The memory hit him like a light bulb switching on.

Jumping up, Max crossed the room and crouched down to rummage through his closet. After a few minutes of shoving aside old sneakers and school projects, he found it: the old hamster cage for his pet Hammy when he was a kid. It was dusty and a little banged up, but it would do.

He carried it over to his desk and started cleaning it out. Grabbing one of his t-shirts, he stuffed it in the corner of the cage for bedding, arranging it in the corner of the cage. He set up the water bottle that came with the cage and placed a small bowl of water inside just in case.

When the makeshift pen was ready, Max turned back to the tiny woman on his desk. She looked so fragile, her body swaddled in the bandages he’d made. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to move her without hurting her.

Finally, he cupped her carefully in his hands again, her tiny weight barely noticeable. She twitched slightly at the contact but didn’t wake.

“Get some rest,” he murmured as he gently placed her into the cage. He took the sleeve of his shirt within the cage and draped it over her, covering her nudity.

Leaning back, Max stared at her through the bars of the cage. “Okay,” he said softly, “that’ll have to do for now.”

He sank into his chair, letting out a long breath. The surreal nature of the situation wasn’t lost on him. A humanoid mouse. A womanly humanoid mouse. It sounded like something out of a comic book, not real life.

But here she was, resting in a hamster cage in his room, and it was up to him to figure out what happened next.

**********************

Pain radiated through Gadget's body as she stirred awake, the ache enough to pull her from the deep, heavy fog of unconsciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, she couldn’t recall where she was or what had happened. Every breath felt labored, each movement tentative, as though her body had been pushed to its very limits.

Her surroundings gradually came into focus as her bleary vision cleared. Bars. Thin, metal bars formed a grid around her, enclosing her in a small space. Panic gripped her for a moment, her instincts screaming danger, but it ebbed as her senses caught up with her. She wasn’t trapped in a cruel cage—this was something else.

The surface beneath her was soft, makeshift bedding made a short maybe? Draped across her tiny frame was ther sleeve that smelled faintly of detergent and something else—a clean scent mixed with a hint of cologne. It was warm and comforting, almost protective, despite its oddness.

Gadget shifted slightly and winced. Bandages crisscrossed her arms and torso, snug but not restrictive. Someone had taken the time to clean her wounds. Her fur bristled slightly at the thought—who?

She tilted her head to survey the dimly lit space. The room was enormous, a towering structure of walls, furniture, and objects she didn’t recognize. A desk lamp cast a pool of light above her, illuminating a desk cluttered with odds and ends.

Then her eyes caught it.

Across the room, lying in a bed, was a figure. It took her a moment to process his sheer scale. A teenager. He was enormous, like a living skyscraper to her, and she was the speck at its base.

Her heart raced as she pieced things together. This… guy must have found her. Must have been the one to clean her wounds and drape this shirt over her. Gadget’s mind spun with questions. How had she ended up here? What had happened after the—

The cat.

The memory slammed into her like a bolt of lightning. That mangy feline had cornered her while she was looking for random objects for one of her inventions, its claws ripping into her before she’d had a chance to react. She’d fought back, of course—she always fought back—but it hadn’t been enough.

Her breathing quickened as the memory replayed in vivid flashes. She clutched the edge of the fabric around her, grounding herself in its softness.

Gadget’s gaze drifted back to the teenager across the room. He was flat on his back, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, clearly asleep. His face was soft, relaxed in slumber, his floppy ears tilted slightly. He didn’t seem threatening—at least, not right now.

She considered her options. Running was out of the question; her body was too battered for that. Confrontation? Not likely, given the size difference. She clenched her tiny fists, frustration bubbling up beneath her exhaustion.

For now, she would wait. She didn’t know if this person had saved her out of kindness or curiosity, but until she could piece things together, she had little choice but to trust the instincts that told her she was safe—for now.

Gadget shifted slightly, her body protesting the movement, and pulled the fabric tighter around her shoulders. She glanced once more at the slumbering giant, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and unease.

Who was he? And, more importantly, why had he saved her?

And also, where was her clothing?

Gadget shifted beneath the oversized shirt, the soft fabric brushing against her fur. A twinge of embarrassment flared as she realized her state—naked and vulnerable—but the warmth of the shirt dulled it. Pulling the garment closer to her body, she instinctively curled into it, her nose catching the faint scent lingering in the fibers.

It was oddly soothing, a mix that felt safe, even protective. She inhaled deeply, letting the scent settle her nerves; as if the shirt itself was an unspoken reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

She looked at him again. His messy hair and relaxed expression made him look even younger, maybe seventeen or eighteen. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing filled the quiet room. He had taken care of her, she realized—cleaned her wounds, bandaged her, and given her his shirt to cover herself.

Turning her eyes to the room, she tried to piece together more about her rescuer. The skateboard propped against the wall had seen better days, its edges worn from use. Posters covered the walls, a chaotic blend of action movies, rock bands, and video game characters. A desk stood cluttered with books, papers, and an empty soda can. Beneath a textbook, a stack of comic books peeked out, their edges dog-eared from frequent reading.

On the bedside table, a photo caught her eye. In the dim light, she could make out the teenager standing between two adults. The woman in the photo had kind eyes and a bright smile, while the man’s hand rested on the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of quiet pride.

A family photo.

Her chest tightened, and her eyes flicked back to the boy. What kind of person was he? Why had he gone out of his way to help her, a stranger?

She pulled the shirt tighter, burying her nose in the fabric again. The scent grounded her, offering a comfort she hadn’t expected.

Whoever this boy was, he had shown her nothing but kindness. The thought filled her with a warmth that made the vulnerability of the moment a little more bearable.

For now, she would sit, rest, and wait. When he woke up, she’d find the words to thank him.

**********************

Max stirred just before dawn, the faint gray light of early morning creeping through the curtains. He yawned, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stretched, the quiet creak of the bed springs breaking the stillness of the room. His gaze immediately shifted to the small cage on his desk.

The mouse was still there, curled up snugly in the folds of his old t-shirt. She looked peaceful, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Max allowed himself a small smile. After everything she’d been through, she deserved some rest.

He leaned in closer, careful not to disturb her. The shirt enveloped her completely, and for a moment, he was struck by how small and fragile she seemed. His stomach gave a quiet growl, and he realized that if he was hungry, she probably would be too.

“You’ve gotta be starving,” he muttered under his breath.

Slipping out of bed, Max padded silently to the door, glancing back once to make sure he hadn’t woken her. He opened it carefully, the hinges groaning slightly, and stepped into the hall.

Downstairs, the muffled drone of a TV filled the otherwise silent house. As Max descended, he spotted his dad, Goofy, dozing in the armchair. One of those late-night black-and-white movies flickered on the screen, casting shifting shadows across the living room. Goofy’s head was tipped back, his mouth slightly open, and the occasional soft snore punctuated the quiet.

Max shook his head with a smirk. “Guess you didn’t make it to bed, huh, Dad?” he whispered to himself.

He tiptoed past, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door creaked as he opened it, and he flinched, glancing over his shoulder. When his dad didn’t stir, he let out a breath and scanned the contents.

“What do mice even eat?” he muttered, sifting through the shelves.

He pulled out a few things—a small chunk of cheddar cheese, a couple of strawberries, and a piece of leftover bread. On the counter, he spotted a bag of unshelled peanuts and grabbed a handful for good measure. It wasn’t much, but he figured it was a decent variety.

Before heading back upstairs, his stomach gave another loud growl, and he glanced toward the fridge again. He remembered a box of leftover pizza on the top shelf, and his face lit up. Balancing the mouse’s breakfast in one hand, he grabbed a slice and slid it onto a plate, tossing it into the microwave.

The soft hum of the microwave filled the kitchen as Max leaned against the counter, keeping an ear out for any signs of his dad waking. The microwave dinged, and he quickly retrieved the plate, the smell of pepperoni and melted cheese making his mouth water.

Balancing his plate and the mouse’s assortment of food, Max carefully made his way back upstairs, ready to see if his small guest would approve of his breakfast selection.

Max pushed the door to his room open with his elbow, balancing the plate of food and the mouse's makeshift breakfast carefully. The faint aroma of his reheated pizza mingled with the sweetness of the strawberries he carried. He crossed the room quietly, setting his plate on the desk before turning his attention to the cage.

The mouse was awake, sitting in the corner of the cage, half-wrapped in his old t-shirt. Her small, delicate paws clutched at the fabric as if it were a security blanket, and her vivid blue eyes locked onto him.

Max froze for a moment, startled by the intensity of her gaze. There was something in those eyes—something thoughtful, almost intelligent. They weren’t the blank, darting eyes of a typical animal. They held him in place, as though she were studying him just as much as he was studying her.

He felt a shiver run down his spine, not out of fear, but from the strange realization that this tiny creature might be a gateway to some discovery unknown to him. A quiet sense of wonder bubbled up in him; as if he were teetering on the edge of something monumental, life-changing.

A smile spread across his face, warm and reassuring. He crouched down to be at eye level with the cage. “Hey there,” he said softly, his voice soothing. “I brought you some breakfast. Hope it’s okay. I wasn’t really sure what you’d like.”

The mouse didn’t move, her eyes still locked on his, watching his every motion.

Max hesitated, then added with a small chuckle, “I’m gonna open this cage now, okay? Just… don’t bite me, alright? We’re cool, right?”

Slowly, carefully, he unlatched the cage door. The soft click echoed in the quiet room. The mouse didn’t bolt or squeak in protest. Instead, she pulled the shirt tighter around her tiny frame, retreating further into its folds. Her gaze never wavered, though it now carried a hint of wariness.

“It’s okay,” Max said gently, keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Promise.”

He slid the small plate of food into the cage, placing it near the mouse but not too close to overwhelm her. A chunk of cheese, some bread bread, a halved strawberry, and some peanuts made up the spread.

“There,” he said, pulling his hand back slowly. “See? All yours.”

The mouse stayed where she was, huddled in the shirt, her eyes darting between him and the food.

Max leaned back on his heels, giving her space. “Take your time,” he murmured. “No rush. It’s all for you.”

He glanced down at his own plate of pizza, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat just yet. Instead, he found himself watching the mouse, curiosity and something deeper stirring inside him as he waited to see what she would do.

The mouse hesitated, clutching the fabric close to her chest as she eyed the offering of food. Slowly, she emerged from the safety of the shirt, dragging the sleeve with her across her body as she inspected the breakfast. Her whiskers twitched, and for a moment, she looked back at Max, her blue eyes filled with something he could only describe as… intention.

Then, to his shock, her small mouth moved. It wasn’t the quick chewing or chittering he expected from a rodent—it was deliberate, almost as though she was trying to say something.

Max leaned closer, tilting his head. “Uh… sorry, mousie. I don’t speak, uh… rodent,” he said awkwardly, shrugging.

The mouse froze, her nose twitching. Then, with a sudden intensity, she gave him a sharp, almost exasperated glare that screamed Really?

Max blinked. “Okay, my bad. That was rude.”

With a faint huff—at least, it felt like a huff—the mouse turned her attention back to the plate. She sniffed each offering carefully before selecting one of the peanuts. Picking it up, she carried it to the center of the cage. Then she grabbed another. And another.

Max finally grabbed his pizza and mid-bite watched in bemusement as she began moving the peanuts around the cage, placing them deliberately in what looked like a specific pattern.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. He leaned in closer, pizza forgotten in his hand as she continued her strange task.

The mouse didn’t respond—not verbally, at least. Instead, after what felt like an eternity, she stepped back from her work, her tiny chest rising and falling with what looked like pride. She gestured at the pattern she had made with the peanuts, then looked at Max expectantly.

Max squinted at the arrangement, his brain scrambling to make sense of it. Then it hit him. His jaw dropped.

The peanuts spelled out a single word:

HELLO

His slice of pizza slipped from his fingers and landed unceremoniously in his lap. “Son of a bitch…” he muttered, staring at the cage in disbelief.

The mouse crossed her arms—or rather, crossed her tiny forepaws—and gave him a look that practically said, About time you figured it out.

Chapter 2: Gel

TWO: Gel

Max's heart thudded as he stared at the tiny creature before him, now certain he hadn’t imagined her intelligence. This wasn’t just some clever animal trick—this mouse was communicating with him. His mind spun with questions, half-formed theories, and a nagging sense that his world had just tilted off its axis.

He began pacing the small space of his room, muttering to himself. “Okay, Max, think. This isn’t real, right? Maybe I’m just overtired... or hallucinating. Maybe this is one of those dreams where you wake up, and everything makes sense again. Goddammit, want can't I ever dream of P.J.'s mom?”

But the sharp clarity of the mouse’s blue eyes, now watching him with a mixture of curiosity and patience, told him otherwise. He finally stopped and turned back to her, running a hand through his messy hair.

“All right,” he said, walking back to the cage and crouching down to her level. “Let’s try something simple.” He pointed at her. “If you can understand me, nod.”

For a moment, the mouse just stared, her tiny hands still clutching the oversized fabric draped around her. Then, slowly, deliberately, she nodded. Max’s jaw dropped slightly, and a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding rushed out.

“Okay, okay…” He put his hands on his knees, leaning forward. “Just to make sure, let’s set some ground rules. Nodding means yes. Shaking your head means no. Got it?”

The mouse nodded again, a faint glimmer of amusement flickering in her eyes. Max hesitated, his mind spinning with possibilities. He decided to throw out a wild question just to see what would happen.

“Are you an alien?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

The mouse rolled her eyes so dramatically that it was impossible to miss, and then she shook her head firmly.

Max blinked, momentarily stunned by how human her gestures seemed. “Right,” he muttered, half-laughing at himself. “Stupid question. Sorry. Uh… okay, um…” He tapped his temple, trying to think of something smarter to ask.

Max hesitated for a moment before asking another question, trying to approach this strange situation from a different angle. “So, like, you understand English, but… is there another way we can communicate?” he asked cautiously, leaning closer to the cage.

The mouse nodded once, her movements deliberate and firm. Max’s brows furrowed as he watched her tiny hands suddenly spring into motion, gesturing with purpose. At first, he couldn’t make sense of it. Her movements were quick but precise, and yet they seemed random to his untrained eyes.

“Charades?” he said aloud, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Damn, I was never good at this. Uhh, stirring? Mixing?” He mimicked the motions she was making, circling his hand in the air awkwardly. Her ears twitched, and she rolled her eyes in visible frustration. The expression she gave him was so human-like, so exasperated, it caught him off guard.

She repeated the gesture again, her hands moving in a purposeful circular motion. This time, she accompanied it with a sharp look, as though willing him to understand. Max stared, his mind working overtime to decode the message. Then, suddenly, it clicked.

“Writing!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with realization.

The mouse’s reaction was immediate and enthusiastic. She jumped up and down in place, nodding her head vigorously, her excitement unmistakable. But the burst of energy came at a cost. A sharp wince crossed her face, and she collapsed to her knees, clutching at her side where the bandages were wrapped beneath the oversized t-shirt. Her tiny body trembled as she grimaced in pain, and her ears flattened against her head.

“Whoa, hey!” Max said, alarmed, moving closer to the cage. “Take it easy, okay? You’re still hurt.” He crouched down, his voice softer now, almost instinctively soothing. Watching her like this, so vulnerable yet determined, sent a pang through his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.

Max looked around his room, determined to find something the mouse could use to write. His eyes landed on a pencil lying on his desk. He grabbed it, but when he held it up to the cage, the absurd size difference made him frown. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” he muttered.

An idea struck, and he snapped the pencil in half with a sharp crack, then broke off the sharpened tip. He held up the smaller fragment, turning it over in his fingers. “Okay, this should be easier for you.”

Next, he needed something for her to write on. His gaze scanned the cluttered surfaces of his room until it landed on a pad of StickyNotes peeking out from under a pile of papers. Grinning, he snagged the whole pad and flipped through a few blank pages.

“Perfect,” he said to himself, walking back to the cage. Kneeling down, he carefully opened the door again. The mouse, still wrapped snugly in his shirt, tensed slightly but didn’t retreat this time. Her blue eyes locked onto him, wary but curious.

“Here,” he said softly, placing the pencil fragment and the entire pad of StickyNotes inside the cage. He set them down gently and withdrew his hand, watching her reaction.

The mouse eyed the items, her gaze flicking from the pencil to the pad. Her tiny hands reached out, testing the weight of the pencil fragment before running her fingers over the top of the StickyNotes. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and then back at the supplies.

Max exhaled slowly, thinking of what to ask. There were so many questions, but he needed to start simple. Finally, he leaned closer to the cage and asked, “So… what’s your name?”

Name? Was he losing his mind?

Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he watched the mouse, his eyes wide with curiosity and disbelief. She adjusted the pencil fragment in her tiny hands with surprising dexterity, gripping it like a miniature artist preparing to sketch. Slowly, deliberately, she began to write on the top StickyNote.

Her strokes were steady and confident, forming letters with a precision that made Max’s jaw drop. When she pulled her hand back, the note revealed a single word written in neat, elegant handwriting:

GADGET

Max blinked, leaning in to confirm he wasn’t imagining things. “Your name is… Gadget?” he asked, reading the word aloud.

The mouse—Gadget—looked up at him and nodded, her blue eyes bright and attentive.

Max scratched the back of his head, letting out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a first. Uh, nice to meet you, I guess. I’m Max. Max Goof.” He gestured to himself with a sheepish grin, unsure how formal he should be in introducing himself to a talking—well, writing—mouse.

Gadget wasted no time. She flipped to the next StickyNote and scribbled something down. Holding it up for him to read, it said:

Nice to meet you too.

Max couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of nervousness and amazement. “Okay, this is insane. Like, I’m dreaming, right? Or maybe I hit my head really hard…” He trailed off, muttering to himself.

Gadget was already writing again. This time, she held up another note:

You’re not dreaming.

“Great,” Max muttered sarcastically. “Good to know I’m fully awake for… this.” He gestured vaguely toward her and the cage, shaking his head in disbelief.

Gadget tilted her head, watching him with an expression he could only describe as amused. Then, she began writing once more. A moment later, she held up another note:

I know it’s weird.

“Weird?” Max repeated, laughing nervously. “Try mind-blowing. I mean, talking animals are one thing, but you’re writing better than half the kids in my school. No offense, though.”

Gadget gave him a look—her brow furrowed, her tiny nose twitching in what he could only interpret as mock indignation. Then she scribbled again.

None taken.

They continued like that, back and forth, Max speaking and Gadget writing. With each exchange, his initial shock started to settle into a cautious sense of wonder. The more she wrote, the more her intelligence and wit became apparent. Her responses were sharp and to the point, but there was also a warmth to her words that started to put him at ease.

“So,” Max asked after a moment, leaning back slightly, “where did you come from, Gadget? Like… how did you end up here?”

Gadget hesitated, her tiny hands hovering over the pencil fragment. Instead of answering immediately, she glanced down at herself, wrapped in his shirt, and then back up at him. Her expression darkened slightly, and her hands moved slower as she began to write again.

When she held up the note, it read:

It’s a long story.

Max nodded, sensing the weight of her words. “Okay. We don’t have to get into it now,” he said gently. “But… I’d like to help. If you’ll let me.”

For the first time, Gadget’s guarded expression softened. She gave him a small nod and wrote two more words:

Thank you.

"So anything I can get you?" Max shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as he watched Gadget finish writing another note. She held it up, and the words on the small square of paper made his face go hot in an instant:

Clothes would be nice.

His eyes darted from the note to her and back again, his cheeks burning a bright red. The memory of the night before flooded back—finding her injured, unconscious, and, well… yeah. He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying not to look like his brain was short-circuiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “About that…”

Gadget tilted her head, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild impatience.

Max glanced at the floor, then back at her. “I, uh… I had to throw them out. Your clothes, I mean. They were all ripped up and bloody, and, um, yeah, they were… they weren’t, uh… usable anymore.” He winced as he stumbled over his explanation, wishing the ground would just swallow him whole.

Gadget sighed; a long and exasperated sound that seemed way too big for her tiny frame. She didn’t even bother to write anything immediately, just giving him a look that practically screamed, Really?

When she finally moved to scribble something down, it was quick and to the point. Holding up the note, she revealed her response:

GREAT.

Max couldn’t help but chuckle nervously, scratching his head. “Yeah, I figured you might say that.” He straightened up and gave her a sheepish grin. “Okay, uh, don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. I mean, it’s not like I have doll clothes lying around, but maybe I can…”

He trailed off, his mind racing with possibilities. How did one even go about getting clothes for a mouse? Did he try sewing? No, he was terrible at stuff like that. Buy some? That’d be awkward. Still, seeing her huddled in his oversized shirt, clutching it for dear life, made him determined to figure something out.

“Just… hang tight, okay?” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’ll come up with something. Promise.”

Gadget gave him a skeptical look, her ears twitching slightly. She tapped the pencil on the pad, debating whether to write another note, but instead, she gave a small nod, clearly unconvinced but willing to let him try.

Max exhaled, relieved. “Alright. Clothes. Got it. I’ll… add that to the list of impossible things I have to deal with today.”

Max’s mind raced, and then, suddenly, a thought struck him. P.J.! His best friend had a little sister, Pistol, and she had a ton of dolls! Max’s eyes lit up as the plan started to form in his head. “Okay, okay, this could work,” he muttered to himself. He looked over at Gadget, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Alright, I got it! Clothing? Easy-peasy. I just have to ask P.J. to borrow some of Pistol’s doll clothes, and—" Max froze mid-sentence, his excitement stalling as a realization hit him. He blinked a few times, staring blankly at Gadget. "Wait a second... how the hell am I even going to explain that?"

His smile faltered as the question loomed large. 'Hey, P.J., I know this sounds weird, but could you sneak some doll clothes from your little sister’s collection for a mouse that’s not just any mouse but one that can actually talk and—oh yeah—has a name?' Yeah, that was going to be a tough one to pull off.

Max sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying to imagine how the conversation would go.

'Hey, P.J., could you give me some of Pistol's dolls clothes? No, it’s not for a weird fetish thing or anything... It’s for the talking mouse in my room!'

Max groaned just thinking about it. There was no way in hell that was going to sound normal.

He looked down at Gadget, who was watching him carefully; as if waiting for him to get his act together. She tilted her head slightly, clearly still interested in what he’d come up with but sensing his growing frustration. Max shrugged helplessly. "Guess I’m going to have to figure it out… somehow."

Gadget just stared at him for a moment, and Max, feeling a bit ridiculous, ran his hand down his face, trying to push the problem away for now. The situation was beyond bizarre, and the idea of going to P.J. and asking for help was only adding layers of ridiculousness to it. But he couldn’t leave her like this, and he sure wasn’t going to let her stay in his shirt forever.

With a sigh, Max looked at her again, half-grinning. "Alright, I'll work it out. Just stay here, okay?"

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at Gadget. “Okay, just stay here. I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere,” he said, trying to sound reassuring, but the words felt awkward coming from his mouth. He glanced over at her, half-expecting some sort of snarky response.

Gadget didn’t disappoint. She quickly grabbed a piece of the pad, scribbling something before showing it to him.

Like I have any choice?

Max blinked, his cheeks flushing a bit as he read the note. He couldn’t help but smile at her sarcastic tone, though it was laced with a kind of resigned humor. Man, this mouse has got some attitude.

“Well, yeah, I guess you don’t,” Max replied with a shrug, his smile widening despite himself. “But don’t worry, I won’t leave you here for too long.” He stood up, stretching his arms above his head and then glancing back at Gadget. “Just try to relax. I won’t be gone for too long.”

Gadget didn’t respond, but she gave a little nod, still holding the pencil in one hand and the pad of paper in the other. Max turned to leave, already mentally mapping out the conversation he was going to have with P.J. This is going to be so weird…

He paused at the doorframe for a moment, glancing back at her once more. "Oh, and uh, try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone, alright?"

Gadget’s only response was a raised eyebrow as she tapped her foot on the floor impatiently. Max smirked, closing the door behind him, but the image of the mouse sitting there, scribbling on her notepad with an air of sarcastic indifference, stuck with him as he made his way out of the room.

The situation might have been crazy, but somehow, Max couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just starting to get to know something, or rather someone, who was a lot more interesting than he’d ever expected.

**********************

Max stepped out of his house, his mind still reeling from the bizarre situation he’d found himself in with Gadget. The idea of having to ask P.J. for doll clothes—of all things—was absolutely insane. But he had no choice. He had to get something. The thought of what Gadget would do without proper clothing made his stomach churn, and he didn’t want to think about the consequences of not following through.

As he walked to P.J.’s house, he tried to push aside the gnawing discomfort in his chest. It felt like a million miles to P.J.’s place, but he finally made it, his feet dragging with every step.

He reached the front door, and just as he raised his hand to knock, it swung open to reveal Peg—P.J.'s mom.

Max froze for a second, his heart skipping a beat. Peg was in her usual tight pink sweater and white stretch pants, her curves accentuated in a way that always made Max feel a little uncomfortable in the best way possible. The same way he’d felt when he was younger and caught himself daydreaming about her, the fantasies he had tried so hard to push down over the years. There was something about her that was undeniably hot, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. He couldn’t afford to get distracted now. He was here for a reason.

"Well, look who it is!" Peg grinned, looking him up and down with a teasing smile. "Summer vacation has only just started, and you're already here, Maxie?"

Max blinked, trying to focus, trying to act normal. He gave her a half-hearted smile and cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, just... wanted to talk to P.J. about something."

"Something?" Peg raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. "What sort of trouble are you hooligans cooking up this time?"

Max’s face flushed a little. "No, no trouble Mrs. Pete," he said quickly, swallowing the awkwardness in his throat. "Just need to talk to him about something... important."

She gave him a knowing smile, then stepped aside. "Well, I’ll let you in. P.J.’s upstairs in his room, I think. Go on up."

Max nodded, relieved to be moving past the awkwardness. "Thanks, Peg," he muttered, trying not to make eye contact for too long as he walked by her.

She chuckled softly, calling after him, "Don't mention it, Maxie. You know you’re always welcome here."

Max could feel the heat in his cheeks as he stepped inside, his mind racing. He had been to P.J.'s house countless times before, but today felt different. Today, his hormones were working overtime, and as much as he hated to admit it, Peg always had a way of making him feel both at ease and completely self-conscious. He tried to shake off the thought.

Focus, he reminded himself, focus on the mission.

He made his way upstairs, trying to ignore the burning image of Peg lingering in his mind. He knocked on P.J.'s door, mentally preparing himself for what was next, but the thought of explaining why he needed doll clothes still made him feel like he was about to lose his mind.

Max knocked on P.J.'s door and waited, tapping his foot nervously as he tried to keep his cool. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing P.J., still bleary-eyed and barely awake. The sight of him, dressed only in his boxer shorts, made Max’s chuckle—P.J. looked like he had just rolled out of bed, his messy hair a dead giveaway.

"Bro, what the hell? It's not even noon yet," P.J. grumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "What are you doing here?"

Max paused, feeling a bit of the tension lift but still aware of how ridiculous the whole situation was. He scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, I know, it's early... well, for me anyway."

P.J. stared at him, still a little confused. "So why are you waking me up on the first day of summer vacation, dude? I was just getting some solid sleep."

Max took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Uh, so, it's kinda... personal. I need to ask you for a huge favor, and it's... kinda weird."

P.J. squinted at him. "Weird how? You know, weird could mean really weird, man."

Max's throat tightened. He could already feel the sweat gathering on the back of his neck, but he powered through. "It's about—well, clothes," he said quickly, trying to keep it casual, though he was painfully aware of how it sounded. "Pistol’s doll clothes. I need some. Like, uh, you know... a few outfits. I have a... a situation."

P.J. blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Wait, hold up. Did you just ask me for doll clothes?" His voice was a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Why the hell would you need doll clothes?"

Max shifted uncomfortably, cursing himself for even bringing it up. "It’s a long story, okay? I just—look, it's important, alright? You gotta trust me on this. I can explain later, just—just get me some of Pistol’s stuff. She won’t miss it."

P.J. just stared at him, his eyebrows furrowed in amusement. "Man, you really are something else. Alright, alright, fine. I’ll get them. But you owe me big time for this. You better let me in on what's going on."

Max hesitated, wanting to spill the beans but knowing he couldn’t. "I said I’ll tell you later, alright? Just... don’t ask too many questions."

P.J. gave him an exaggerated shrug. "Whatever, dude. You’re lucky I don’t have to deal with your weirdness every day." He turned away, heading toward his dresser, muttering to himself. "Doll clothes... Jesus. You're not going to jerk off on them are you?"

"What!?" Max coughed, "What the hell! No! Who the fuck even does that?"

"I dunno, man," P.J. grumbled as he pulled on his pants, "I was looking through some porn online the other day and found this thing... semen on fig—"

"Bruh," Max cut P.J. off, "And you call me weird?"

"You're the one asking for doll clothes."

"Valid," Max sighed. "Can you just get some for me, and I promise I'll let you get back to sleep."

"You owe me," P.J. said as he and Max stepped out into the hallway, "Wait here."

Max stood in the hallway as P.J. went to Pistol's room. Max shoved his hands in his pockets, and let out a long breath as he leaned against the wall. His thoughts were swirling around faster than he could make sense of them. The entire situation with Gadget felt impossible, like something straight out of a weird dream or some messed-up sitcom. A talking mouse? And now he was on a mission to get doll clothes from P.J.'s sister, for reasons he couldn't exactly explain without sounding insane. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his thoughts, but all that did was make them messier.

What the hell was he doing? This whole thing was so far beyond normal. His mind kept drifting back to Gadget—her eyes, the way she moved and responded. She had to be the strangest, most fascinating thing he’d ever encountered. And, yeah, he couldn’t lie to himself; the more he spent time with her, the more complicated things were getting. There was this connection, something deeper than just curiosity. She was intelligent, sharp, and beautiful in a way he hadn’t expected from a creature that was barely taller than his forearm. It was all messed up. But it wasn’t wrong, right?

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts back. What was he doing thinking about her like that? His fingers drummed on the wall as he caught himself. This was a disaster waiting to happen, wasn’t it? Not that he had any other choice but to play along for now. He needed the doll clothes to avoid another disaster—the one that involved Pistol figuring out what the hell was going on in his room.

Max glanced over his shoulder, almost expecting to see P.J. come back with the clothes. But before he could process much more, the sounds of raised voices cut through the tension in his head.

"Get out of my room, you pervert!"

Max jumped, eyes wide as the shout echoed from Pistol’s bedroom. He couldn’t help but wince. That was Pistol’s voice, definitely. There was no mistaking the fire in it. He quickly straightened up, not wanting to be caught standing here like a total doofus when the storm hit.

"Come on, Pistol!" P.J. yelled back, his voice muffled by the walls. "I’m just getting some old doll clothes, relax!"

Max could hear Pistol storming around, likely pacing back and forth, judging by the stomping sounds. "I don’t care if it’s old doll clothes! You’re not going through my stuff, you pervert!"

Max bit back a laugh. Of course, Pistol was freaking out. This was so not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. His best friend, P.J., was still inside the room, likely dealing with the consequences of trying to grab clothes for him under the most awkward circumstances. And now Pistol was probably plotting his revenge, which he’d likely hear about for weeks.

Max sighed again, glancing at the ceiling. "Why does everything always have to be so complicated?" he muttered under his breath.

P.J. came charging out of Pistol's room, practically flinging the door open with enough force to rattle the walls. He was holding a handful of doll clothes, but from the looks of it, they weren’t exactly neatly gathered. No, P.J. was holding them in a jumbled mess, and several small objects flew out of the room in his wake, narrowly missing him as they crashed into the wall or bounced off the floor.

"Here, Christ!" P.J. grumbled, practically tossing the clothes into Max’s arms. "Go do whatever weird thing you're gonna do with these and let me get back to bed!"

Max glanced down at the random assortment of tiny clothing. There was a frilly pink dress, a pair of sparkly shoes, and what looked like a cape, all crumpled into a mess. He couldn’t help but feel his face flush with embarrassment, but he had what he needed. Pistol’s voice continued to shout from behind the door, her annoyance evident.

"You better not be doing gross stuff with those or I am telling mom!" she yelled.

Max barely acknowledged the shout, his attention fixed on the pile of clothes. He could feel the awkwardness pressing in on him, but there was no turning back now.

"Thanks, Peej," he muttered to himself as his best friend disappeared back into his room, clearly done with the entire situation.

With the doll clothes in hand, Max made his way to the front door, trying his best not to trip over anything or look too guilty. He gave one last glance around the hallway, noting how quiet the house had become again. It was as if everything had returned to normal, though Max knew that wouldn’t last.

With a deep breath, he stepped outside, shutting the door softly behind him. The cool air hit him as he made his way back toward his house, the weight of the mission still heavy in his hands. Max glanced at the doll clothes again, wondering how he was going to explain this to P.J.—or anyone, for that matter.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He was already halfway down the sidewalk, trying to push the weirdness of it all to the back of his mind. He had to get back to Gadget and figure out what to do next. The more he thought about it, the crazier it all seemed.

Chapter 3: Last Man on the Moon

THREE: Last Man on the Moon

Gadget sat in the cage, her small hands delicately sifting through the pile of Barbie-sized clothing that Max had brought back for her. Each piece she pulled out was more garish than the last—frilly dresses, sparkly shoes, tiny skirts, and even doll lingerie. It all seemed... absurd. She grimaced at a particularly tacky pink outfit with lace trim before setting it aside with a sigh. Nothing seemed to fit the practical needs of someone who had just woken up in a strange place.

As she rifled through the assortment, Gadget felt the uncomfortable sting of humiliation. This was not what she had imagined, and it was certainly not the kind of clothing she would have chosen for herself. But it was all Max had to offer. She could only hope this was just a temporary solution.

She paused, looking at the small assortment in front of her. Feeling both frustrated and resigned, she scribbled a note on the StickyNote pad. She pressed the small piece of paper to the bars of the cage, writing out her message with the smallest, neatest letters she could muster.

This is the best you can do?

Max sighed heavily when he read the note, running a hand through his messy hair. He glanced down at the pile of doll clothes he had gotten, then back at Gadget in the cage. There was no getting around it. He really had no idea what else to do, but he couldn't just leave her without anything to wear.

“Listen, Your Majesty,” Max muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and frustration, “It’s the best I got for now. You're not the one who has a best friend thinking you're going to fucking masturbate with doll clothing."

Gadget froze at his words. The audacity of the statement almost made her choke on her own breath. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as the implication of what he had just said hung in the air.

Max, noticing her stunned expression, quickly flushed red. His face turned crimson, realizing exactly how awkward that sounded. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “It’s just... well, you know what I mean.”

Gadget just blinked at him, struggling to find words. Her brain was still trying to process what she’d just heard.

Max cleared his throat, trying to shift the topic away from the awkwardness. “Anyway, I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, I didn’t exactly know what you’d need, and I definitely wasn’t gonna tell P.J. or Pistol what I was doing.” He winced at the idea. “So yeah, this is what I came up with.”

She couldn't help it. The mental image of Max trying to explain this situation to his best friend was far too much. A small chuckle escaped her lips despite herself, and she quickly covered her mouth, not wanting to seem rude.

Max, still looking uncomfortable, glanced at the clothes again. "Look, I'm sorry it's not ideal," he said with a shrug. "But it’s what I got for now, and I swear, if I can figure out a better solution, I will."

Gadget nodded slightly, still processing his words. For now, though, she would make do.

She sifted through the doll clothes again, her expression flickering with mild disgust at the overly frilly, girly outfits. After a moment, she found something more suitable. It was a neon pink, tight pair of leggings and a matching 80s-style crop top made from shiny, yellow neon material.

She hesitated, feeling the sting of her wounds as she adjusted the clothes in her lap. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something she could wear.

With a quick glance at Max, who was waiting by the cage, she hastily scribbled down a note:

Can you give me some privacy for a moment?

Max’s face flushed red as he immediately turned away, muttering an apology. Gadget gave a small sigh, her heart racing, and began to change. Carefully, she pulled the crop top over her head, wincing as the fabric tugged at the cuts on her shoulders. The material was rough, and she struggled to avoid putting too much strain on her body as she adjusted it. It was uncomfortable, but she powered through the pain.

Next, she slipped into the leggings, tugging them up her legs slowly. The fabric was snug, even tighter than she had expected, but she managed to get them on. They clung to her form uncomfortably, pinching at her sides and hips, but she could bear it. She paused for a moment, feeling the way the tight pants restricted her movements and the way the crop top exposed more of her body than she was used to.

Finally, Gadget stood, giving herself one last check over. She didn’t feel good in the outfit, but there was little else to do. She’d made it work, even though it wasn’t the most comfortable choice.

She wrote another note, her hand shaking slightly from the effort:

I’m done.

Max, still turned away, heard the paper shuffle and slowly turned around. His eyes widened when he saw her, a moment of stunned silence before he blinked and cleared his throat. "Wow," he muttered, eyes lingering on her. "You... you look really pretty."

Gadget felt her face flush, her stomach twisting with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something she couldn’t quite place. Max’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, then quickly shifted away as he scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, uh, for... you know, doll clothes... you look good."

Gadget quickly scribbled a note:

It’ll do.

Max smiled awkwardly, still flustered. "Yeah, it, uh... it works. You look... yeah, pretty good." He stammered a little, then took a step back. "I guess, uh, I’ll leave you to it. I am going to check on my dad."

She nodded silently, watching him leave. Once the door closed behind him, Gadget sat down on Max's t-shirt, letting out a deep breath. Her wounds still hurt, the outfit was uncomfortable, but it was at least something.

Now there was just the communication issue.

She couldn't rely on notes, she needed to actually talk to Max.

**********************

Max padded down the stairs, still lost in his thoughts, his mind replaying the bizarre events of the morning. He was trying to shake off the surreal feeling of having a tiny, injured mouse that could somehow communicate in his room. But as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he was hit with the familiar scent of pancakes and coffee, a grounding reminder that life, at least for his dad, was still normal.

Goofy was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of him, his usual cheerful expression on full display. He was munching on a stack of pancakes, a couple of strips of crispy bacon on the side. Max tried to ignore the slight knot in his stomach as he went to the cupboard, grabbed a box of sugary cereal, and poured himself a bowl. The whole time, Goofy didn’t say a word, just continued on with his breakfast like everything was perfectly fine.

Max sat down across from his dad, the crunch of the cereal the only sound between them for a few moments. He could feel his dad’s eyes on him, but he refused to look up, focusing instead on the bowl in front of him. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Goofy finally broke it.

"So, what's your plans for the summer, Max?" Goofy asked, casually buttering his pancakes and giving Max a warm smile.

Max, not sure how to answer, shrugged, his eyes darting to his cereal as he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth. “Uh, not much. Just... you know, hanging out. Maybe getting a part-time job or something.”

Goofy nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Well, that’s good. Keeping busy is important. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. College will come sooner than you think.”

Max didn’t look up, focusing on his cereal instead. He wasn’t sure what to say about the whole situation upstairs, or what he was even doing with his life at the moment. The normality of his dad's question made him feel even more out of place.

Then his dad dropped another bomb.

"I think there’s something we need to talk about, that I found in your room," Goofy said, his face unusually serious. Max felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Max froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth, as Goofy’s voice cut through the air with an unexpected seriousness. His body went rigid, a cold sweat creeping up his neck as his mind raced. Does he know about Gadget? Did I leave something out? How could he possibly know? Every nerve in his body screamed, and his heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the situation. Max's throat went dry. What the hell? he thought, his stomach dropping. His mind spun a thousand scenarios in an instant, each one worse than the last. He was sure his dad was about to confront him about the bizarre situation with Gadget.

Instead, Goofy reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded magazine. His eyes locked onto Max’s with a knowing, but still fatherly, look. “I was in your room the other day getting dishes, and I found this on your bed,” he said, opening the magazine casually.

Max's jaw dropped. A flood of relief washed over him—his dad wasn’t talking about the tiny talking mouse. That was something he could deal with later. But the magazine in Goofy’s hand? That was a completely different story. Max’s face flushed bright red as he stared at it.

It was a porn magazine, one of the ones P.J. stole from his dad's vast collection hidden in the garage.

Goofy, still holding the magazine, raised an eyebrow. “Max, you’re getting older, and I just want to make sure you understand some things about… well, about this,” he gestured to the magazine awkwardly, “and what’s appropriate, y’know?”

Max’s stomach twisted into knots as he fumbled for something to say. “Dad, I—uh—" He glanced up, his voice trailing off. He wanted to scream, to defend himself, but all that came out was a shaky exhale.

Goofy’s expression softened. “Son, it’s natural. I understand. But I just want to make sure you don’t get yourself into anything you’re not ready for, or cause trouble. You know I’m here for you, right?”

Max nodded dumbly, still trying to recover from the shock. The last thing he had expected to be talking about was this. The issue with Gadget? That was a whole other can of worms waiting to be dealt with—but for now, he was just grateful his dad didn’t know about her. This? This was an embarrassing moment, sure, but he could at least navigate this one.

Max, desperate to escape the increasingly awkward situation, took another bite of cereal, hoping the cold crunch would rid his mouth of the dry, nervous feeling creeping in. But before he could swallow, Goofy’s voice interrupted him again.

"I think it's time I taught you about the birds and the bees."

Max's brain froze. His spoon clattered into the bowl, and he nearly choked on the cereal, eyes wide in panic. His face turned red as he sputtered, trying to clear his throat. “No, no, Dad, you don’t need to do that. I, uh, I already learned about it in school. It’s all good.”

Goofy, however, was undeterred. “Well, I’ve got a whole slide show ready and everything! You know, pictures and diagrams—”

Max’s eyes widened even further. His face was hot with embarrassment. “Nope! Nope, that’s okay, dad, really! I’m, uh, I’m gonna go play some video games now. Yeah, see you later!” Without another word, Max pushed himself away from the table, scrambling to escape the kitchen.

But Goofy’s voice followed him as he made his hasty exit. “Okay, son! Just know I’ve got plenty of pamphlets you can read when you’re ready!”

Max trudged upstairs, glad to have escaped the mortifying prospect of the talk with his dad. He shut his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. Shaking off the lingering embarrassment, he turned toward his desk, where Gadget was seated in the makeshift home he’d set up for her.

Her tiny frame was hunched over the pad of StickyNotes, the improvised pencil in her hands moving in small, deliberate strokes. Even though she was clearly still recovering, she was focused on whatever she was writing, her ears twitching slightly with concentration.

Max walked over and leaned on the desk, peering into the cage. “You really should rest, you know,” he said softly. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Gadget looked up at him briefly, her large, expressive eyes meeting his. Without a word, she shook her head and returned to her work, scribbling something that seemed important. Max sighed but didn’t press the matter. Instead, he just watched her.

Her movements were graceful, precise despite the confines of the cage. The way the sunlight filtered through the window caught on her soft fur, making it gleam faintly. Max couldn’t help but notice how her determined expression gave her an air of confidence. Even in her injured state, she was strong, poised. And, he had to admit, kind of... beautiful.

His gaze lingered a moment too long, and the thought hit him like a splash of cold water. She’s a mouse, he reminded himself sharply, standing up straight. An actual mouse. What the hell is wrong with me?

Still, no matter how much he tried to shake it, the thought wouldn’t completely leave him. There was something captivating about her. Something that made it hard to look away. But he quickly shoved the feeling down, telling himself to focus on helping her recover instead of letting his imagination run wild. That was what mattered right now.

Max snapped out of his spiraling thoughts when a sharp tap-tap-tap came from the cage. Gadget was standing near the bars, her little hand gripping a stack of sticky notes. Her expression was one of quiet insistence as she thrust them toward him.

“Oh, uh, right,” Max mumbled, his cheeks still warm as he reached for the notes. He flipped through them quickly, his eyes scanning the neat, tiny handwriting.

With each word he read, his brow furrowed deeper, his jaw slackening in disbelief. The air seemed to thicken as he re-read the notes, as though he’d misunderstood the first time. He looked back at Gadget, who stood there with her arms crossed, watching him expectantly.

“What... what kind of mouse are you?” Max finally asked, his voice laced with shock and just a hint of awe.

**********************

Max sighed as he leaned over the desk, squinting at the tangled mess of wires, earbuds, and jury-rigged components spread out in front of him. "You sure about this?" he muttered, though he already knew the answer. From inside her cage, Gadget held up another note.

Of course, I'm sure. You're just doing it wrong. Again.

He groaned, crumpling the note into a ball and tossing it toward the trash can, where it joined an impressive collection of previously scribbled reprimands. "Gee, thanks for the confidence boost," he said dryly. "Not like this is a completely insane idea or anything."

Gadget just crossed her arms and tapped her tiny foot impatiently, pointing toward the wires with a look of exasperation. Max got the message.

The build itself was a Frankensteinian nightmare of scavenged parts. He’d started by prying apart an old pair of gaming headphones for the microphone, its tiny diaphragm now soldered to wires that ran into a gutted portable speaker he’d found in the garage. The speaker’s shell was held together with duct tape and prayers, and its internal wiring was patched up with bits of copper thread he'd stripped from an old phone charger.

To amplify Gadget's voice, he’d rigged a toy karaoke amplifier he’d unearthed in a box of childhood junk. It buzzed faintly whenever he connected the wires, and he wasn’t sure if it was supposed to do that. The whole thing was powered by a hastily constructed battery pack made of AA batteries taped together and wired into the speaker with electrical tape.

"Okay," Max muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he carefully connected the last wire. "That should do it."

Gadget, however, had other ideas. She furiously scribbled on a StickyNote and slapped it against the cage bars.

The wires are crossed. Fix it.

Max stared at her, then at the wires, then back at her. "Are you serious? You’re like… four inches tall. How can you even tell?"

Gadget rolled her eyes and gestured emphatically toward the offending wires. Max threw his hands in the air. "Fine, fine. Miss Perfectionist over here."

It took another twenty minutes of trial, and error, and muttered curses before Gadget finally nodded her approval. By that point, Max was sprawled in his chair, his shirt smudged with grease from the tools he'd been using. "I feel like I just built a rocket ship," he said.

Gadget held up a new note. You’re welcome.

Max gave her a flat look. "Oh, yeah. Thanks so much for sitting there and bossing me around while I did all the work."

Gadget tapped her tiny chin thoughtfully, then scribbled another note. Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t burn the house down.

Max barked a laugh despite himself. "Fair point," he admitted, sitting up and cracking his knuckles. He glanced at the contraption, an abomination of wires and salvaged parts that looked one wrong move away from catching fire.

"Speaking of which," he said, flipping the improvised power switch with a dramatic flourish, "here’s hoping this actually works."

The speaker emitted a faint hum as it powered on, and Max held his breath, waiting to see if the contraption would actually work—or explode.

Max leaned back in his chair, holding his breath. Gadget stepped up to the makeshift microphone, her tiny hands gripping its edges as she leaned in close. For a moment, she hesitated, glancing back at him with a flicker of uncertainty.

Then, she tapped the mic. The sound of a soft thud-thud-thud emanated from the speaker, making Max’s eyes widen.

"Hello?"

Her voice came through, clear as day—tiny and high-pitched but undeniably real. It was like hearing a doll speak, only it carried an unmistakable warmth and life that struck Max square in the chest.

Max’s jaw dropped as relief and joy flooded him. He slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Holy shit," he muttered, staring at the cobbled-together mess of wires and duct tape on his desk. "It actually works. I did it."

For a brief moment, he let himself feel a swell of pride. He’d built this. He’d helped her. Maybe, for once, he’d done something right.

But when he turned back to Gadget, the triumphant smile on his face faltered. She was no longer standing confidently at the mic. Instead, she had dropped to her knees, her tiny shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Max shot forward in his seat, his heart pounding. "Hey, hey, what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "Did I mess something up? Did it hurt you?"

Gadget lifted her head, and the sight of her tear-streaked face made Max’s chest tighten. But she was smiling—a radiant, tearful smile that took him completely off guard.

"I’m just happy we can finally talk," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

Max froze, his throat tightening as a wave of unexpected emotion hit him. He hadn’t realized how much this meant to her until now.

He swallowed hard, then smiled gently. "Yeah," he said, leaning closer. "Me too, Gadget. Me too."

Max hesitated for a moment before reaching toward the cage. Slowly, he opened the small doorway, careful not to make any sudden movements that might startle her. He extended his hand inside, palm up, offering it as if he were approaching a skittish animal.

Gadget blinked up at him, her tear-streaked face softening further. Without a word, she stepped forward and placed her tiny hands on his fingers. Then, to his surprise, she leaned in, nuzzling against his palm.

Her fur was impossibly soft, and the warmth of her touch sent an unexpected surge of tenderness through him. Max's breath hitched. He’d never felt anything like this before—a connection that transcended the bizarre circumstances.

"You’re so gentle," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper through the speaker.

Max chuckled softly, his thumb moving in the smallest of motions to gently stroke her back. "I don’t want to hurt you," he murmured. "You’re… really amazing, you know that?"

Gadget pulled back just enough to look up at him, her blue eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Thanks, Max. You’re pretty okay yourself," she teased, her voice carrying a faint playfulness.

He grinned, the moment easing into something light and warm. "Anything you need?" he asked, his voice soft but sincere.

Gadget tilted her head, tapping a finger to her chin thoughtfully. Then, her expression lit up. "Do you have any of that pizza you were eating left?"

Chapter 4: Brain Stew

FOUR: Brain Stew

Max lay sprawled across his bed, one arm behind his head, the other cradling Gadget in his palm as she reclined comfortably against his fingers. The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting warm, golden stripes across the room. Empty wrappers and crumbs from their shared snacks—chips, cookies, and the remnants of the pizza—were scattered across the bedspread.

“…and then P.J. dared me to jump off the roof into the pool. I mean, it wasn’t a terrible idea… until I belly-flopped and knocked the wind out of myself. Dad thought I needed CPR!” Max finished, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Gadget clutched her sides, her tiny frame shaking with laughter. "Oh, that’s priceless! Did you at least win the dare?"

Max shook his head, grinning. "Barely. P.J. said it didn’t count because I didn’t ‘stick the landing.’"

Gadget rolled her eyes, still chuckling. "Boys and their dares. No wonder you’re always getting into trouble."

They shared a warm silence for a moment before Max’s expression grew softer, his laughter fading. "You know, it’s nice… being able to just talk to someone like this. I don’t usually—well, I don’t usually open up to people."

Gadget tilted her head, studying his face. "Why not?"

Max sighed, his thumb brushing lightly against the hem of her little neon crop top in absentminded thought. "I guess… after my mom died, I got used to keeping things to myself. Dad does his best, but it’s not like we talk about the deep stuff, you know? And P.J., Bobby, everyone else… they don’t really get it."

Gadget’s ears drooped slightly as she sat up straighter in his palm. "I’m sorry, Max. Losing your mom that young… it must’ve been so hard."

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Yeah, it was. But you deal, right? You find distractions, stuff to keep you busy. Even if it’s just jumping off roofs and making dumb bets."

Gadget placed a gentle hand on his thumb, her voice soft. "I get it. I lost my dad when I was young too. He was everything to me—my teacher, my hero. When he was gone, I… I buried myself in inventions. It was the only way I knew how to cope. But it gets lonely, doesn’t it?"

Max glanced down at her, their eyes meeting. "Yeah. It really does."

The room filled with a quiet understanding as they shared the weight of their losses. Then Gadget’s tone lightened, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But you know, I’ve had some amazing friends who made it bearable. The Rescue Rangers—they’re like my family. We’ve been through so much together, and I know they’re out there looking for me right now. Probably turning the city upside down."

Max’s brows rose. "Rescue Rangers? Sounds like you’ve had some adventures."

Gadget grinned, her tiny teeth catching the light. "You have no idea. We’ve faced mob bosses, evil scientists, even a cat who thought he was a king. You name it, we’ve probably dealt with it."

Max couldn’t help but smile. "And here I thought my biggest adventure was passing algebra."

She laughed, leaning back against his fingers. "Trust me, Max, you’re braver than you think. You just don’t know it yet."

He felt a strange warmth in her words; as if they carried more weight than simple encouragement. His thumb brushed gently over her legs, more to reassure himself that she was real than anything else.

"You’re something else, Gadget," Max said quietly, his voice almost reverent.

She smiled up at him, her blue eyes shining with sincerity. "So are you."

They spent hours like that, swapping stories, teasing each other, and finding solace in their shared experiences. For the first time in a long while, Max felt like someone truly understood him. And for Gadget, being with Max felt safe—comforting, even.

It wasn’t just an unlikely friendship forming between them; it was something deeper, a bond that transcended their differences. Two lost souls, finding a connection in the unlikeliest of places.

Then Gadget winced, her tiny face contorting in discomfort as she placed a hand on her side. Max noticed immediately and sat up straight, concern flooding his features.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle but edged with worry.

Gadget shifted slightly in his palm, her movements slow and careful. "It’s my side… where I got hurt. It’s been bothering me all day, and now it really stings."

Max stood quickly, cradling her carefully as he crossed the room to his desk, bringing the microphone with him. He flicked on the lamp, bathing the surface in warm light, and set her down gently. "Let me see it," he said, his tone firm but kind.

Gadget hesitated, her ears folding back slightly. "Are you sure? It’s not pretty…"

"Come on, Gadget," Max said, leaning closer and resting his hands on the desk for balance. "I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on."

With a small nod, Gadget lifted her shirt just enough to expose the wound and began peeling off the makeshift bandages he'd wrapped around her side yesterday. The injury was jagged and red, with faint swelling around the edges. She frowned deeply as she examined it.

"I’m worried it might be infected," she admitted; her voice quieter now, tinged with unease.

Max’s stomach clenched at the sight of it. It wasn’t just a cut; it looked raw, angry, and in desperate need of care. "Yeah… that doesn’t look great," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He straightened up, pointing a finger at her. "Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll grab something to clean it up."

Gadget gave him a little salute, her smile tight. "Not like I’m going anywhere fast."

Max hurried out of the room and down the hall, heading straight for the bathroom. He rummaged through the cabinet, pulling out antiseptic, cotton swabs, and a small roll of fresh bandages. His mind raced as he thought about how to help her. This wasn’t just some pet he could take to the vet—this was Gadget, a living, talking, thinking mouse who trusted him.

Meanwhile, back on the desk, Gadget sat cross-legged under the lamp, absently tracing a finger along the edge of a sticky note. Her eyes drifted toward the doorway Max had disappeared through. She couldn’t deny that he was a good guy—kind, gentle, and surprisingly resourceful for someone who seemed so unsure of himself.

Her hand moved to her side, brushing against the aching wound. She winced but found her thoughts drifting to the boy who was so determined to help her. Why did he care so much? She had faced countless situations on her own, had always prided herself on being independent and self-reliant. But with Max… it felt different.

Her gaze softened, and her ears tilted back as she pondered the strange feelings bubbling inside her. She appreciated his kindness, sure, but there was something more. Something about the way he looked at her, the care in his voice when he spoke, the determination in his actions.

She shook her head; as if to clear away the thoughts. "He’s just a kid," she muttered under her breath, though the words felt unconvincing even to her.

Still, a small smile tugged at her lips as she heard his hurried footsteps returning down the hall. Maybe there was more to Max Goof than she’d initially thought.

Max stepped back into his room, his hands loaded with antiseptic, cotton swabs, and fresh bandages. He set it down on the desk with a soft clatter and glanced at Gadget, who was still sitting under the lamp, watching him intently.

"Alright," he began, rocking on his heels. "So, uh… you’re going to have to… you know… take off the rest of your clothes. Just so I can get to the wound and clean it properly."

Gadget’s ears shot straight up, her cheeks burning pink beneath her fur. "Excuse me?" she squeaked, crossing her arms over her chest instinctively.

Max winced, holding his hands up in defense. "Not like that! I mean, it’s just—look, I need to actually get at your wounds. It’s not weird or anything!" He paused, realizing how unconvincing he sounded, and quickly added, "I promise."

Gadget hesitated, glancing between him and the supplies on the desk. She bit her lip, then sighed. "Fine. But if you say anything funny, I’m out of here, wound or not."

Max nodded quickly, his face bright red. "Got it. No funny business."

With a deep breath, Gadget stood up and began to remove her tiny clothes, starting with her shirt and then her pants. Her hands moved slowly, self-consciousness clear in her every motion. Despite her fur, Max could tell she was blushing furiously.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, but as Gadget lay down on the desk, her small frame vulnerable under the lamp, he couldn’t help but notice how… graceful she looked. Beautiful, even.

"Alright," he said, his voice softer now as he soaked a cotton swab in antiseptic. "This might sting a little."

Gadget nodded, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. As he began cleaning the wound, her body tensed, and she winced slightly, but she didn’t make a sound.

"Can you… not stare?" she muttered after a moment, her voice small and laced with embarrassment.

Max blinked, startled by her comment, and immediately looked away. "Sorry," he said quickly, his own cheeks burning. "I kind of have to look at what I’m doing. You know, to make sure I don’t mess it up."

Gadget let out a long sigh, her ears flattening against her head. "Just… focus, okay?"

"Right. Focus," Max echoed, trying his best to concentrate.

But the silence between them only made things more intense. As his fingers worked carefully to clean and bandage her wound, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering. She really was pretty. The way her fur caught the light, the softness in her expression despite her embarrassment, her feminine curves, from her hips to her breasts—it was hard not to notice.

And then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. "You’re so pretty."

Gadget’s eyes shot wide open, and her whole body stiffened. She turned her head sharply to look at him, her face a fiery red. "Shut up and focus!" she squeaked, her voice cracking slightly.

Max’s eyes widened in panic, and he stammered, "Sorry! I didn’t mean to—well, I meant it, but I didn’t mean to say it—uh—" He clamped his mouth shut, clearly flustered, and went back to work in silence.

Gadget tried to stay still, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She wanted to scold him again, to brush it off with a snarky remark, but a part of her—a part she wasn’t ready to admit to—was secretly pleased.

As Max finished wrapping the bandage around her side, he sat back with a sheepish smile. "All done," he said softly.

Gadget sat up slowly, her eyes avoiding his. "Thanks," she mumbled, tugging her tiny shirt back over her head. She glanced at him briefly, her expression softer now. "You’re not so bad at this, you know."

Max grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I’ve had a lot of practice patching up myself. Guess it comes in handy."

They shared a quiet laugh, the tension between them easing, but the unspoken connection lingered in the air. Both of them felt it, even if neither was quite ready to acknowledge it.

**********************

The afternoon awkwardness brought forth the evening and with it? Dinner.

Max carried the dinner tray up to his room, carefully balancing it as he nudged the door open with his foot. "Dinner's served," he announced, setting the tray down on his desk with a flourish. Gadget, who had been tinkering with some scrap electronics from their earlier project, perked up at the sight of the meal.

"What do we have here?" she asked, scurrying over.

"Home-cooked chicken, green beans, and, uh…" Max paused, glancing at the small bowl on the tray, "potato salad. Just… be warned about that one."

Gadget eyed the potato salad suspiciously as Max scooped a tiny portion onto a small saucer he brought up for her. Her whiskers twitched as she examined it. "What… is that?"

"Potato salad," Max replied.

"No, I mean that." She pointed at a small, dark lump nestled among the creamy mixture.

Max sighed. "Raisins."

Gadget blinked up at him, utterly baffled. "Raisins? In potato salad? Why?"

Max shrugged, dropping into his chair. "Secret Goof family recipe. Don’t ask. I’ve been asking my whole life and never got a straight answer. Just roll with it."

Gadget looked back at the potato salad with a mix of skepticism and mild horror. She tentatively took a tiny bite and immediately made a face. "Okay, no offense to your dad, but raisins in potato salad might be a crime."

Max chuckled. "Oh, believe me, I agree. Just stick to the chicken and green beans. You’ll live longer."

The two shared the rest of the meal in companionable silence, with Gadget stealing glances at Max now and then. After they’d finished, Max leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Alright, you ready for the main event?"

"What main event?" Gadget asked, tilting her head.

Max grinned and grabbed a DVD case from his desk. "Movie night. I figured we could chill and watch something fun."

Gadget scurried over to read the title. "‘Fangtastrophe?’ What’s that?"

"It’s this old horror flick starring Donald Duck. He plays this vampire hunter who gets turned into a vampire halfway through. It’s super cheesy but actually kinda scary."

Gadget’s ears perked up with interest. "Sounds fun!"

Max set up the movie, dimmed the lights, and settled into his bed with Gadget perched on his chest. The opening credits rolled, accompanied by an ominous orchestral score, and Gadget’s eyes were glued to the screen.

"Wow, Donald’s really giving it his all," she murmured, impressed.

"Yeah, he’s got some range," Max agreed, though his tone lacked enthusiasm.

Gadget didn’t notice; she was too engrossed in the movie, laughing at Donald’s exaggerated reactions and gasping at the jump scares. Meanwhile, Max’s thoughts drifted.

She was going to leave. She had friends out there—Rescue Rangers, she’d called them. They were probably looking for her right now, worrying about her. Once she was healed up, she’d want to go back to them. Back to her world, her life.

He didn’t want to keep her here—he wasn’t some weirdo who’d trap her in a cage. That wasn’t it. But the idea of her leaving… It made his chest ache in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He glanced down at her. She was lying on his chest, her tail curled up, her tiny paws resting against his shirt. Her ears twitched as she laughed at something on screen, her laughter soft and melodic.

Max sighed quietly. He didn’t know how or why, but somehow, this little mouse had become the best thing in his life. And the thought of her not being there anymore? It scared him more than anything that could be on the screen.

The movie continued playing, but Max’s attention was far from the screen. His mind kept swirling with thoughts of Gadget—of her inevitable departure.

"Max?" Gadget’s soft, amplified voice broke through his haze.

He blinked and looked down at her. She had twisted around on his chest, her tiny face tilted up toward his, concern etched across her delicate features.

"You okay?" she asked, her tone gentle but probing.

Max hesitated, his lips twitching into a weak smile. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess."

Gadget didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, she nodded. "Alright. But, you know, you can tell me stuff, right? I’m a great listener."

"I know," Max said quietly, ruffling her tiny head with a fingertip, earning an annoyed squeak from her. "Thanks, Gadget."

She sighed but let it drop. They turned back to the movie, though the energy had shifted. Gadget tried to focus, but Max’s earlier distraction lingered in the back of her mind.

Eventually, their yawns started to outnumber the jump scares, and Max glanced at the clock. It was late—well past a reasonable bedtime. He looked down at Gadget, who was stifling a yawn herself, her ears drooping slightly.

"We should probably call it a night," he said softly.

Gadget nodded, stretching her little arms. "Yeah, good idea. Don’t want to fall asleep and get nightmares about raisins in potato salad."

Max chuckled, carefully picking her up in one hand and grabbing her microphone setup with the other. He carried her to the desk, setting her down gently in front of the cage.

"I know it’s not the best home," he said, gesturing to the simple enclosure. "But I promise I’ll find some stuff to make it better—more comfortable."

Gadget looked up at him and smiled warmly. "It’s fine, Max. I like it."

She climbed into the cage, making her way to the small bundle of Max’s old t-shirt that she had claimed as a makeshift bed. She curled up into it, her small form nearly disappearing into the folds of fabric.

Max watched her for a moment, his chest tightening again. "Goodnight, Gadget," he said softly.

"Goodnight, Max," she replied, her voice already drowsy but carrying a faint smile.

He switched off the light, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. As he lay down in bed, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of peace.

For now, she was here. And that was enough.

**********************

Max stirred awake in the darkness of his room, his heart beating a little faster than usual. He blinked a few times, the remnants of a vivid dream still clinging to his mind like cobwebs. His cheeks flushed as the details came flooding back—a dream about P.J.’s mom, Peg, of all people. Her voice, playful and teasing, echoed in his ears as her soft hands brushed against him, touching him. Then she got on her knees...

The images were so clear it almost felt real, and Max groaned softly, burying his face in his pillow for a moment to shake the lingering heat.

"Jeez, what is wrong with me?" he mumbled, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. His throat was dry, and he figured some water might help cool him down in more ways than one.

Padding quietly to the bathroom, Max splashed his face with cold water before gulping down a few handfuls. It helped—at least a little. By the time he returned to his room, he was starting to feel more like himself. As he eased the door shut behind him, his eyes instinctively flicked to the desk where Gadget was resting.

The sight of her made him pause. She was curled up in his old t-shirt, the oversized fabric practically swallowing her tiny frame. Her chest raised and lowered with each breath, her whiskers twitching slightly as she slept. A peaceful warmth spread through Max’s chest, and for a moment, his thoughts were pure.

"At least someone’s having a good night," he whispered, leaning against the desk for a moment just to watch her. She looked so small and vulnerable, yet somehow, her presence in his life already felt enormous. He shook his head with a faint smile. "Man, you’ve really turned my world upside down, you know that?"

But the calm didn’t last long. The dream’s lingering heat returned, along with a very real, very awkward teenage problem. Max’s face burned as he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Gadget and his bed. He wasn’t proud of where his mind was heading, but he was an eighteen-year-old guy with hormones in overdrive, and that dream about Peg… well, it had been vivid.

He groaned softly, muttering, "I can’t do this with her right there. That’s just—no. Or maybe...?"

With a sigh, Max grabbed a jacket draped over his chair and moved to the cage. He carefully laid the fabric over the top, making sure it hung down enough to block Gadget from view without disturbing her. "Sorry, Gadget," he whispered, guilt creeping into his voice. "I just need some privacy, okay?"

He lingered for a moment, waiting for a moment to see if Gadget would wake. She did not. Then, shaking his head at himself, he turned and climbed back into bed.

Sliding a hand under his mattress, Max fished out one of the magazines he kept hidden there. The glossy pages crinkled softly as he flipped to a familiar spread, his cheeks flushing deeper as he settled back against the pillows. The guilt still lingered at the edges of his thoughts—after all, Gadget was just a few feet away—but he told himself it wasn’t like she’d ever know.

"Relax, Max," he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. "Just enjoy yourself."

The pages of the magazine whispered as he flipped through them, his eyes devouring the images of the naked women. He felt his arousal grow with every page turn, his hand moving down to his crotch to adjust the growing bulge in his pants. Max’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts—his lewd dream about P.J.'s mom, the guilt of his desires, and the overwhelming need to relieve the tension building within him.

With a huff, he decided to give in to his urges. After all, this was the whole point of this late-night activity. He set the magazine down spread open on his stomach, the glossy pages reflecting the soft glow of his bedside lamp. He took a moment to appreciate the beauty before him, allowing the images to fuel his arousal even more. Then, with trembling hands, Max grabbed the drawstring to his pants and pushed them down with his boxer shorts, freeing his hard cock.

He stroked himself gently at first, his eyes fixed on the images of the women before him. But as the pleasure grew, he found his thoughts drifting to P.J.'s mom again, her full lips and big breasts, the way she had looked at him in the dream. He bit back a moan, not wanting to disturb Gadget. But the more he thought about her, the more his hand moved, his breath quickening.

Gadget, however, was not as asleep as Max thought. A sudden noise had woken her, and she lay there for a moment, blinking in the dark, wondering what was happening. Then she heard it again—the soft rustling of fabric. Curiosity piqued, she poked her head out of her makeshift blanket, noticing Max had draped a piece of clothing over the cage.

Her eyes adjusting to the light, she peeked through the gap in the fabric. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out Max’s silhouette, he was sitting up in bed, his hand moving rhythmically as he was...

"Golly," Gadget’s eyes widened as she realized what he was doing. She had seen animals in heat before, she was a woman of science, but this was something different. It was a person. It was Max.

Nearby, Max’s thoughts drifted from the fantasy of Peg to a couple of his classmates. He imagined them all in various states of undress, his hand moving faster and faster. But then, as if pulled by an invisible string, his mind snapped to Gadget. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if she were his size. Would they laugh together, hold hands, maybe even kiss? The thought was strange and a bit jarring, but it was also surprisingly... appealing.

Gadget, on the other hand, watched Max with a mix of shock and curiosity. She had never seen such a thing before—a teenager, in such a... state of arousal. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Max’s face was contorted in pleasure, his breaths coming in short gasps. It was a side of him she hadn’t anticipated, and it was a bit unsettling. Yet, she couldn’t pull her gaze away.

He was so... large. His member stood proud and erect, the tip glistening in precum as he stroked, his face a picture of pure concentration and desire. Gadget couldn’t tear her eyes away, her own body responding to the sight of Max’s arousal. The heat in her loins grew, unfamiliar but undeniable.

"Max," She whispered to herself as her small hand found her sex, the soft fur hiding the wetness that had begun to build. She watched his hand move faster, his body tensing with every stroke. It was mesmerizing, and she found her own hand mimicking his movements, her fingers sliding through her folds, exploring the warm, wet sensation.

"Gadget," Max breathed her name as he pumped himself, the magazine tossed aside for his own thoughts. He pictured her in the outfits she had so adamantly rejected earlier—the frilly dresses, the sparkly shoes. In his mind, she wore them with a knowing smile, a teasing glint in her eyes. The image was absurd, but it was the only thing that could distract him from the guilt of what he was doing in front of her, even if she couldn’t see him.

But the reality was that Gadget could see everything. She watched, her hand between her legs as she leaned up against the bars of the cage, wishing she could touch him, taste him. The way his hand moved over his cock was so... fascinating. And as she watched him, her own hand grew bolder, her fingers slipping inside herself, feeling the heat and wetness that was building within her own tiny body.

Max’s breath grew shallower, his strokes quicker as the image of Gadget in his mind grew clearer. He could almost feel her soft fur against his skin, her paws exploring his body, her pink tongue... He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the reality of his room and focus solely on the fantasy unfolding in his mind.

In the cage, Gadget’s own touch grew more urgent, her breaths coming in tiny gasps as she watched Max’s hand work its magic. She had never felt anything like this before—this all-consuming need, this intense, burning desire. Her tiny body was alight with sensation, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Max knew what he was doing to her.

And then, it happened. Max’s hand stilled for a moment, his body tensing as he let out a muffled groan. A warm wetness spurted out over his stomach, painting his skin in the dim light. Gadget’s eyes went wide, and she felt a strange twitching deep within her belly. It was almost as if she could feel the same release, her body responding to the visual cue of Max’s pleasure.

Gadget bit her lip and collapsed to her knees as her body shuddered into orgasm, the pleasure she felt mirrored by Max's own release. Her eyes remained glued to the scene before her, his hand still wrapped around his pulsing member, the sticky evidence of his climax coating his stomach. She had never felt anything like this before, and she had no idea how to process it.

Max, lost in the aftermath of his own pleasure, was equally oblivious to Gadget’s muffled revelation. He leaned back into his pillow, letting his hand fall to his side as he caught his breath. His cheeks were flushed, and his heart raced from the intensity of his release. With trembling fingers, he grabbed a few tissues from his bedside and took care of the sticky mess on his stomach and chest. The act was almost mechanical, the guilt and awkwardness of the moment weighing on him like a lead blanket. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of embarrassment that Gadget had been so close, though he was sure he got away with his act of self-pleasure.

Gadget, meanwhile, had sunk back into her makeshift bed, her tiny body trembling as she tried to compose herself. She had never felt anything quite so intense—so erotic. Her own hand remained between her legs, the aftershocks of her climax still pulsing through her. She felt a strange mix of emotions—confusion, excitement, and a hint of something she couldn’t quite name.

Her ribs ached, and she felt feverish. Maybe doing this wasn't in the best interest of her healing but she couldn't help herself. She had never felt such a rush before—such a primal, uncontrollable urge. Her mind replayed the sight of Max’s body, the way his muscles had tensed and his face had twisted in ecstasy. It was strange and thrilling and... wrong. But it didn’t feel wrong. Not really.

Gadget buried her face into Max's t-shirt, inhaling the scent of him as she curled up, feeling a mix of emotions. She was shocked by what she had just experienced, and even more so by her body's response to it. It was as if a door had been opened that she didn’t know existed. But she was also overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all—how raw and exposed Max had been in his moment of solitude.

Max, still feeling the weight of his own guilt and confusion, lay back down in bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to will his racing heart to calm down. He couldn’t shake the image of Gadget from his mind. Despite her size, she had a presence that filled the room—a presence that was now tainted by the realization of his own desires.

Blissfully unaware of the shared moment, mere feet apart, Max and Gadget both slipped back into slumber, sure they would see one another in dreams. Max’s mind wandered back to the comfort of his pillow, his thoughts a jumbled mess of Gadget’s sweet smile and the lingering images of the evening. Meanwhile, Gadget’s mind was filled with sensations she had never experienced, a strange new world of pleasure that had been unlocked by accidental voyeurism.

To sleep. To dream.

Chapter 5: Lose You Tonight

FIVE: Lose You Tonight

Max woke to the soft glow of morning sunlight streaming through his blinds. He stretched luxuriously, his body feeling refreshed for the first time in days. A content sigh escaped him as he ruffled his hair and glanced around the room. Everything felt calm, ordinary. His eyes landed on the cage on his desk, still draped with his jacket.

He chuckled softly to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Forgot to take that off last night," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood and shuffled over.

"Good morning, sleepy head," he said casually, his voice still rough with sleep. He reached out to lift the jacket, expecting to see her sleepy, smiling face poking out from his t-shirt like usual.

But what he saw stopped him cold.

The air in his lungs froze as the jacket slipped from his fingers. Gadget lay in the middle of the cage, her body crumpled, her usually vibrant fur damp and matted. Beside her was a small puddle of vomit, staining the fabric she had been using as a bed. She wasn’t moving—not even a twitch.

Then his eyes caught something else, something even more gut-wrenching. A scrap of paper, torn from StickyNotes, lay near her tiny hand. Written in shaky, uneven letters was a single word:

HELP.

Max’s heart plummeted. "Gadget!" he gasped, nearly ripping the cage door off its hinges as he scrambled to open it. His hands trembled as he reached for her, gently cradling her small, limp body in his palm. She was breathing, but barely—each shallow gasp a labored effort. Her eyes were crusted over with a thick, yellowish film, and her whiskers twitched faintly, as though even unconscious she was fighting.

"Oh God," Max whispered, his voice shaking. His mind raced, panic clawing at the edges of his thoughts. "What do I do? What do I—" He stopped himself, sucking in a sharp breath. He couldn’t lose it now. She needed him.

Tears blurred his vision as he gently brushed her fur back, her fragile frame unnervingly warm to the touch. "Gadget, hey, it’s me," he murmured, his voice cracking. "You’re gonna be okay. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine. Just… just hang on, okay?"

Her ears twitched faintly at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t stir.

Max swallowed hard, forcing himself to think. Infection? Poison? Something she ate? He replayed the past day in his mind, every snack they’d shared, every moment she’d looked fine. This wasn’t just a bad night’s sleep—this was serious.

"I need to call someone," he muttered, pacing the room with her still cradled in his hands. But who? Who could he call about a tiny, brilliant mouse who wasn’t supposed to exist? His dad? No—he would only make things worse. A vet? They’d ask too many questions.

His mind spun with fear and frustration, tears streaming down his face despite his efforts to keep them at bay. "Come on, Max, think!" he shouted at himself, his voice echoing in the empty room.

Gadget stirred slightly in his hand, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. It was enough to make Max’s resolve harden.

"You’re not dying on me," he whispered fiercely, his grip tightening ever so slightly around her. "I’m not gonna let you die."

He set her down gently on his desk, grabbing the antiseptic, bandages, anything he thought might help. But as he looked at her, pale and barely hanging on, he knew this was beyond anything he could fix with a first aid kit.

Max glanced at the note again, his stomach churning. That single word—HELP—cut deeper than anything. Gadget had fought to write it, fought to let him know she needed him.

"I’m gonna get you help," he whispered fiercely, his grip tightening ever so slightly around her.

Without hesitation, Max turned and bolted out of the room, Gadget still cradled carefully in his hands. His bare feet slapped against the floor as he ran down the hallway and pounded on his dad’s bedroom door.

"Dad!" Max’s voice cracked with desperation as he banged again, harder this time. "Dad, wake up! I need you!"

The door creaked open, and Goofy’s disheveled face peeked out, his eyes still groggy. "Gawrsh, Maxie, what’s all the ruckus—?"

"I need your help," Max interrupted, his voice trembling as he held out Gadget’s limp form. "She’s sick, Dad. Really sick. Please… I don’t know what to do. Please help me."

Confused, Goofy blinked at the fragile figure in Max’s trembling hands. "Maxie, what are you doin’ with a mouse?" he asked, his voice heavy with confusion. "Ain’t that somethin’ you shoulda left outside?"

Max’s face twisted with frustration and panic, his voice breaking as he practically shouted, "She’s not a mouse, Dad! She’s Gadget! She’s different—she’s special. She’s... she’s like us!"

Goofy frowned, his confusion deepening. "Like us? What’re ya tryin’ to—"

"She talks, Dad! She’s smart, she invents things—she’s a genius!" Max’s chest heaved as his voice cracked again, his emotions spiraling. "She’s not some animal; she’s my friend. And she’s dying!"

Goofy’s eyes widened, the weight of Max’s words sinking in. His gaze shifted to the tiny figure in Max’s hands, her shallow breaths and goopy eyes. "Oh, Maxie... I didn’t know what we can do. I’m sorry."

Max’s tears threatened to spill as he cradled Gadget closer. "She’s so sick, Dad. I don’t know what to do. Please—help me."

Goofy stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Max’s shoulder. "Okay, okay, we’ll figure this out. We gotta get her some help—maybe, uh... a vet? Or even a hospital?"

"No!" Max yelled, holding Gadget protectively. His hands trembled, his voice filled with fear. "They’ll treat her like some kind of... of lab experiment! They won’t care about her! They’ll just... hurt her." His voice broke, and tears finally spilled over. "I can’t let that happen, Dad."

Goofy looked at his son, the sheer desperation in Max’s eyes cutting through him. He nodded solemnly. "All right, no hospitals." He scratched his chin, thinking hard, before snapping his fingers. "Wait! I got it—Sylvia!"

Max’s head snapped up. "Sylvia? Sylvia Marpole?"

Goofy nodded, his expression brightening despite the tense moment. "Yup! Smartest gal I ever met. She’s got degrees an’ everything! If anybody can help, it’s her!"

Max’s hope flared, though it was still edged with fear. "You think she’d know what to do?"

"If she don’t, nobody will," Goofy said firmly. "C’mon, Maxie, let’s get movin’!"

Max didn’t need to be told twice. He clutched Gadget to his chest and followed Goofy as they scrambled to get dressed. Every second felt like an eternity as Max yanked on his hoodie and shoes, his hands trembling so badly it took him three tries to tie his laces.

Goofy grabbed his car keys, and father and son bolted out the door into the crisp morning air. Max climbed into the passenger seat, still holding Gadget close as if sheer willpower could keep her safe.

As Goofy started the engine, Max glanced down at her, his voice breaking into a whisper. "You’re gonna be okay, Gadget. I promise. We’re gonna get you help. You just have to hang on, okay? Please... hang on. Don't leave me."

He felt her shallow breaths against his palm, each one weaker than the last. The sight of her limp body, the vomit matted in her fur—it was too much. His tears fell freely now, splashing onto her tiny form. "I can’t lose you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Goofy reached over and squeezed Max’s shoulder briefly before pulling onto the road. "We’ll get her there, Maxie," he said, his voice uncharacteristically steady. "Sylvia’ll know what to do."

The car sped down the street, the early morning sun painting streaks of gold across the horizon. Max barely noticed; his entire focus on Gadget. He held her close, whispering soft reassurances as they raced toward the only hope they had.

**********************

Max and Goofy stood in the quiet kitchen of Sylvia’s small home, their gazes fixed on the tiny figure of Gadget, who lay limp on a towel stretched across the kitchen table. The soft light from the overhead light cast shadows across her small, frail body, making her appear even more fragile than usual. Sylvia stood over her, adjusting her glasses with a thoughtful hum as she gently touched the side of Gadget’s face, her fingers soft and careful as if afraid to hurt her further. Max’s chest tightened, his heart aching as he watched his friend in this pitiful state, seeing her like this, so weak, so helpless… it felt like a punch to the gut.

Sylvia finally broke the silence, her voice calm yet carrying a weight of concern. “So you say she was attacked by a cat when you found her?” She glanced at Max, her eyes soft with empathy, but there was a practiced professionalism in her tone.

Max nodded, swallowing hard. His throat felt dry, and his words came out in a shaky whisper. “Yeah… I found her all beat up, bruised… I-I didn’t know what to do, but I tried to help… bandaged her up as best I could.” His hands trembled as he spoke, the memory of finding Gadget in such a state flashing through his mind again. It was still so vivid—the sight of her crumpled on the ground, her body broken and bloodied; but this was even worse.

Sylvia gave him a soft, reassuring smile, though it did little to ease the tightness in his chest. “You did good, Max. You did the right thing,” she said, her voice warm but laced with an undercurrent of sadness. It was clear she was trying to comfort him, but the weight of the situation was too much to ignore.

Max nodded mutely, his eyes never leaving Gadget. She looked so small now, so fragile. The vibrant energy that usually radiated from her was gone, replaced by a sickly pallor. Her fur looked dull, her eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He wanted to scream, to shout that this wasn’t the Gadget he knew—that this wasn’t fair. But all he could do was stand there, his heart shattering into pieces.

Sylvia, ever the professional, took a deep breath and walked to the small row of bookshelves in her living room. She ran her fingers over the spines of the well-worn books, her eyes scanning the titles until she pulled down a few veterinary journals. She returned and laid them out on the table, flipping through the pages with a deliberate slowness that felt agonizing to Max. Each turn of the page was like a slow, torturous countdown as he waited for her to find something, anything, that would explain what was happening to Gadget.

Max stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides, fighting back the overwhelming wave of helplessness that threatened to drown him. He could barely breathe, could barely think as his eyes never left Gadget’s frail form. Come on, Gadget. You’ve got to make it through this. You’ve got to. The words repeated in his mind like a mantra, but they brought him no comfort.

Sylvia continued flipping through the journals, her brow furrowed in concentration. The quiet of the room stretched out, punctuated only by the soft rustle of paper. Goofy stood beside Max, his usually bright and cheerful demeanor nowhere to be seen. His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes were full of the same pain Max felt deep inside. The older dog reached out and placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, squeezing gently. The touch was warm, grounding.

Max looked up at him, his eyes desperate, filled with unspoken fear and a hopelessness he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. “Dad, I can’t lose her. Not like this,” Max whispered, his voice barely audible, the pain clear in every syllable.

Goofy didn’t respond right away, but his grip on Max’s shoulder tightened in a way that said everything. Without words, he showed Max that he wasn’t alone. They were in this together.

Sylvia didn’t look up from the journals, but her voice was soft when she finally spoke. “I’m doing everything I can, Max. We’ll figure this out.” Her words, though kind, were laden with the uncertainty of the situation. She couldn’t promise that everything would be okay—but Max could see in her eyes that she was doing everything in her power to help. And that, for now, was all he could ask for.

Sylvia’s fingers paused on one of the pages, and she frowned, her expression darkening. She scanned the text quickly, her eyes narrowing as she read. A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft rustling of the journal. Max held his breath, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath him. Whatever she was reading didn’t look good.

Her lips parted slightly, almost as if she was going to say something, but then she looked up at Max, her face etched with concern. “It’s... distemper,” she muttered, her voice tinged with the gravity of the words. She closed the journal slowly, her hand resting on the page with a trace of hesitation. “It has to be that.”

Max felt his stomach drop. The word distemper echoed in his mind, but he had no idea what it really meant. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped closer, urgency in his voice. “What’s that? Is it... is it bad? Can she be fixed?” His eyes were wide with desperation as he searched Sylvia’s face for any sign of hope, any shred of good news.

Sylvia sighed, running a hand over her brow. Her voice softened; as if she were carefully choosing her words. “Distemper is a viral disease, Max. It attacks the respiratory, gastrointestinal, and nervous systems. It’s highly contagious in animals, and without proper treatment, it can be fatal.” She paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing. “It’s especially dangerous in animals that are already weakened. It can lead to seizures, loss of coordination, and, in some cases, permanent brain damage.”

Max’s breath hitched in his throat. The words felt like a punch, each one harder than the last. The image of Gadget, weak and trembling, flashed in his mind again. Seizures? Brain damage? The fear surged in him, raw and suffocating. He could barely comprehend it, his mind struggling to wrap itself around the reality that Gadget—his smart, brave friend—could be in such serious danger.

But Sylvia wasn’t done. She looked him dead in the eye, her expression soft but firm. “Max… it’s serious, but there’s still hope.” She paused, making sure he understood that this wasn’t the end. “With the right treatment—antibiotics, supportive care—we can manage the symptoms. If we catch it early enough, and if she’s strong enough to fight it, there’s a chance. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick. But we have a chance.”

Max’s heart fluttered at those words, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. “She can… she can survive this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sylvia nodded, her expression still grave but reassuring. “Yes. But we need to act fast. The sooner we start treatment, the better her chances. This is no time to wait. But she’s strong. You’ve done the hard part—getting her here. Now it’s up to us to help her.”

Max exhaled shakily, the weight in his chest lightening just a little. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was something. It was hope. And after everything he’d felt, after the fear and helplessness, that small spark of hope was everything.

Goofy, who had been standing quietly at Max’s side, finally spoke up, his voice steady and full of quiet resolve. “We’re gonna get through this, Max. Together. We just gotta keep fightin’.”

Sylvia nodded, her gaze lingering on Gadget for a moment before turning back to Max. “I’m going to do everything I can for her,” she said firmly. “I have a friend who’s a vet. I’ll give her a call—get some advice, and maybe pick up a few things we’re going to need.”

Max’s eyes widened, and before he could protest, Sylvia raised a hand to calm him. “I’m not taking Gadget to the vet,” she assured him. “I’m not going to put her through that right now. But I need to get a few supplies. Things that’ll help her recover more effectively. I’ll be back soon.”

Max swallowed hard, his mind still racing, but he trusted Sylvia. “Alright,” he said quietly, nodding. “I just... I don’t want her to go through anything else, Sylvia.”

She gave him a reassuring look, the corners of her lips curving up slightly. “She’s a tough one. And you’re doing a good job, Max. We’re all going to help her through this.”

Goofy gave Max another gentle squeeze on the shoulder, his voice warm yet filled with an underlying sense of hope. “You’re not alone in this, Maxie. We’ve got your back.”

"I know," Max muttered as he looked down at Gadget, "And she won't be either."

**********************

As the evening settled in, the dim glow of the table lamp cast long shadows across the room. Sylvia had returned earlier just as she promised, her arms full of supplies: an IV bag, syringes, various medications, and a detailed list of instructions from her vet friend. Her friend had grumbled about it—she wasn’t exactly thrilled about the veil of secrecy, but she had still helped, and that was something Max couldn’t ignore. It was all he could hold onto for the moment: hope, however small.

The entire day had been a blur of worry and frantic care. Gadget had been moved to Sylvia’s guest bedroom, tucked into fresh towels to absorb the mess she might make. Max had kept a constant watch over her, never leaving her side. He’d spoken to her softly, as though she could hear him, even though she lay still—her breathing shallow, weak, far too ragged for comfort. He kept telling her over and over, "You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna pull through." But with every passing minute, his confidence slipped a little more. His hands trembled when he adjusted the IV, and his heart ached each time he checked her vitals.

Goofy had left, telling Max to get some rest, but Max couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He couldn’t leave her alone. Not like this.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, his eyes never straying from Gadget’s fragile form. She had been the one to make him laugh again, the one to chase away the dullness of his life. And now, he watched her, hoping against hope that she would wake up and be her vibrant, energetic self. He wanted to believe she would fight, but the reality of her condition… it crushed him.

Max’s heart was a mess of confusion and guilt. What if I did something wrong? What if I didn't do enough? The thought haunted him. Was it the way he bandaged her up? Was it the delay in getting her help? Had he missed a sign? He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, he had failed her.

He swallowed, wiping his eyes before glancing down at her once more. I can’t lose her. Not now. His throat tightened, and for the first time in his life, he found himself doing something he never thought he would: praying.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, uh… I don’t really do this, so if I mess this up, don’t hold it against me." He paused, feeling ridiculous but desperate enough not to care. "God, uh… if you’re real, or listening, or… whatever you’re doing right now—I need a favor. A big one." He glanced back at Gadget, his chest tightening. "Please help her. She’s… she’s such a good fucking person, you know? Or, mouse, I guess. Probably better than me, honestly. She doesn’t deserve this shit."

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as though he’d see someone judging him. "Look, I don’t really believe in you, and I’ve never done this prayer thing before, but I’m outta fucking options here. So, uh… if there’s any kind of, like… miracle system in place, now’s the time to use it. I’m just saying."

He sucked in a breath, the words tumbling out now. "I’ll owe you one, okay? I’ll… I don’t know—volunteer somewhere, or donate money to charity, or stop swearing so much. Whatever the fuck you want. Just… please. Make her better."

Max blinked, realizing he’d run out of things to say, and he frowned awkwardly. "Uh… The End? I don’t know how to end this. Is it ‘The End’? Or, like… ‘Over and out’? Yeah, I’m gonna go with ‘The End.’" He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "The end. Yeah."

He rubbed his face, feeling utterly drained, but there was a sliver of relief in having said something—even if it was messy and half-baked. He leaned back on the bed, watching Gadget as the faint rise and fall of her breathing continued.

"Please," he whispered again, softer this time. "Don’t let her go."

Sylvia stood quietly in the doorway, one hand holding a tray, as she watched Max, her expression soft and understanding. She'd heard enough of his prayer to know what was in his heart, and seeing him there—vulnerable, earnest, and desperate—tugged at something deep inside her.

After a moment, she cleared her throat gently. Max startled, snapping his head up to look at her, his face flushing red like he’d been caught doing something embarrassing. Sylvia offered him a small, warm smile.

“She’s special to you, huh?” she said softly.

Max looked away, swallowing hard. He just nodded, his blush deepening as he fumbled for words he couldn’t quite find. “Yeah… she is.”

Sylvia’s smile lingered as she stepped into the room, balancing a tray with tomato soup and two perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwiches. “Well, I figured you haven’t eaten all day, and that’s not helping anyone. Here—" She set the tray on the small nightstand beside him. “I made you something. Tomato soup and grilled cheese. Simple, but it hits the spot.”

Max blinked at the tray, his stomach giving a small, traitorous growl that made him wince. “Thanks, but… I’m fine. I’m not hungry.”

Sylvia crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, a look so firm and maternal that Max shrank a little in his chair. “Max, you need to eat. Sitting here on an empty stomach, running yourself ragged, isn’t going to do Gadget any good. She needs you strong—not passed out on the floor because you forgot to take care of yourself.”

Max hesitated, glancing at Gadget. Her breathing was steady, the IV still dripping quietly into her arm. It felt wrong to do something as simple as eat when she was so fragile; like he didn’t deserve to be comfortable.

Sylvia seemed to sense his hesitation. She softened her voice as she stepped closer. “You can’t pour from an empty cup, Max. Trust me. I’ve been there. You’re doing everything you can, but you need to take care of yourself too.”

He sighed, reluctantly reaching for the grilled cheese. It was warm and buttery in his hands, the crust perfectly crisp as he took a small, hesitant bite. To his surprise, it was good. Really good. The kind of food that hugged your soul and made you feel like a kid again.

Sylvia smiled as she watched him take another bite, this one a little less reluctant. “See? That’s better.” She turned to head out of the room but paused in the doorway. “I’ll be out in the living room if you need me. Eat up, Max. You’re doing great, kid.”

Max swallowed hard, looking down at the soup and sandwich as a faint warmth settled in his chest. “Thanks, Sylvia,” he murmured, his voice quiet.

As she disappeared down the hall, Max glanced back at Gadget. She hadn’t stirred, but somehow, he felt a tiny bit stronger—like he could keep going; like there was still hope. He took another bite of the sandwich, whispering softly under his breath.

“We’re gonna get through this, Gadget. I promise.”

Notes:

I know the events of an Extremely Goofy Movie and the Goof Troop TV show are out of place here but so is having Gadget, so suck it, purists.

Chapter 6: Sing

SIX: Sing

Sleep did not bring relief to Max Goof, instead, nightmares found their way into his troubled mind.

He was standing in a sterile, brightly lit hospital corridor. The smell of antiseptic was overwhelming, and the fluorescent lights buzzed incessantly, a low hum that ground against his nerves. He felt a cold, heavy weight in his chest as he clutched Gadget’s tiny form in his hands, her small body limp and fragile.

Suddenly, he was in a cold, metallic examination room, stark and unforgiving. A single, operating table stretched across the room, bathed in harsh, clinical light. A low, mechanical beep echoed from the far side of the room, the sound of a heart monitor, steady but distant.

Max felt a chill down his spine as he looked at the table, and then back at Gadget, her eyes closed in an unnatural stillness. The tears welled up in his eyes, but before he could speak, a door on the far side of the room opened with a creak.

A team of doctors in sterile blue uniforms entered, their faces masked and cold, their eyes hidden behind dark glasses. One of them—tall, unblinking—came forward, reaching for Gadget. Max instinctively pulled her back, holding her tighter to his chest.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “she’s not just a mouse. She’s special. Please, you have to help her.”

The doctors ignored him, muttering to one another in low, indistinguishable tones. One of them reached out, and without warning, pried Gadget from his hands. Max reached for her, but they were too quick. She was placed on the cold metal table, and the team of doctors began their work.

Max was paralyzed. His heart raced as he watched, helpless, as they strapped her down to the table with thin, cruel restraints. The sound of her tiny whimpers pierced the air, but no one seemed to care. They began to administer cold, harsh injections into her fragile body, and the sharp stench of chemicals filled the air.

“Please!” Max screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. “Stop! She’s not just a pet, she’s my friend. You don’t understand!”

But the doctors didn’t stop. One of them glanced up at him, their eyes cold and emotionless, and simply shook their head. They moved forward with mechanical precision, using harsh tools to prod at Gadget’s frail form. Max could only watch as they cut into her, their movements robotic, and her cries of pain echoed in his ears.

“No!” Max screamed again, his voice raw. “Stop! Please stop! She’s not an experiment! She’s not a lab rat!”

But the more he shouted, the more they ignored him. The pain of seeing Gadget—who had been so lively, so full of spirit—now broken and helpless, was more than he could bear. The beeping from the machines around him grew louder, faster, and the light in the room seemed to flicker, like everything was starting to fade.

Max’s heart shattered as he watched her, unable to do anything. His hands shook violently as he reached for her again, but she was too far gone, slipping through his fingers like sand.

“No, no, no!” Max cried, his voice hoarse, his face streaked with tears. But the doctors didn’t stop. They kept working, their hands steady, while Max collapsed to his knees in the corner, the scene too horrifying to comprehend.

And then, as the nightmare reached its peak, the final blow came. The heart monitor, which had been steadily beeping, began to flatline with a piercing, high-pitched tone. The doctors did nothing. They merely stood in silence, their faces expressionless, as Max’s heart broke into a million pieces.

The sound of Gadget’s final, breathless squeak echoed in his ears.

Max woke with a start, his heart racing, drenched in sweat. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was. The room around him was unfamiliar—soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a calming glow on the walls. The faint smell of lavender and the quiet ticking of a distant clock filled the air.

His breath was shallow as he tried to shake the remnants of the nightmare off. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heart, and then slowly sat up in bed. The nightmare still clung to him, its horrors lingering in the back of his mind.

It took him a few seconds to remember—he wasn’t at home. He was in Sylvia’s guest room. Gadget... Gadget was with him.

He glanced over at the small corner of the room where she lay, nestled in a soft pile of towels. Max’s breath caught in his throat when he saw her, IV and all, her small body still and fragile, but she was alive.

The tubes were hooked into her tiny frame, and her breathing was shallow but steady. The sight of her there, vulnerable but still hanging on, made Max’s heart ache. He could feel the remnants of the terror from his dream, but seeing Gadget alive, despite everything, grounded him.

He stood slowly, the feeling of exhaustion weighing on him. Every step toward her was filled with hope, mixed with fear. His mind was a swirl of emotions as he gently knelt beside her.

"Hey, Gadget," he whispered, his voice soft and hoarse. He reached out a hand and lightly brushed her fur, his fingers trembling. "You’re gonna be okay. I’m here. You’re gonna pull through this."

Max sat on the floor next to her, and the quiet hum of the house around him was the only sound that filled the room. The darkness of the early morning had started to fade, casting a faint grayish light over the guest room. His eyes never left Gadget, lying so small and vulnerable on the pile of towels he’d carefully arranged for her. The IV in her tiny arm, a thin line of life running through it, was the only thing that gave him any hope. But even that felt fragile—like she was barely holding on.

He wiped a tear from his cheek, trying to keep it together, but it felt impossible. Every breath she took was so shallow, so fragile. Every time he thought about the possibility of losing her, it twisted something deep inside him.

He leaned back against the wall behind him, pressing his head against it as he stared down at her. His fingers brushed against the towel, almost as if he could will her wake up and be okay. But the stillness in her face only crushed him more.

"I had a girlfriend a few months ago, before meeting you. Roxanne... she was my first," Max said, his voice low, quiet. It felt like the words were coming out without him even thinking about them. "She wanted me to be... different. She wanted me to grow up, stop being a kid, stop being irresponsible. She was right, I guess. I needed to grow up. I just didn’t know how." Max’s voice cracked, and he swallowed, trying to hold the tears at bay.

He looked down at Gadget, his hands trembling. "But when she broke up with me, it hurt. It hurt more than I could ever say. I thought I was doing everything right... but I guess I wasn’t. I wasn’t good enough for her. And it felt like I was just... stuck in this endless loop of messing things up, of being the same old screw-up."

Max sniffled, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, "But then I met you, Gadget. You were just this little thing... and I thought you were, like... a mess. But you weren’t. You were so much more than that. You were this... this incredible person that made me feel alive again. Made me feel like I could be someone. Like I could be better."

He looked at her, his chest aching with a kind of hollow, unbearable pain. "And now..." His voice broke, the words nearly strangling him. "Now I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make everything feel like it matters. You make me feel like I matter. And I just... I just need you to be okay. I need you to be strong. I love you, Gadget. I love you so much. And I don't care what you are, or what I am... I don't care how different we are. I don't care about any of that. I just... I don’t want to lose you."

Max’s tears flowed freely now, his body shaking as he leaned down, resting his face in his hands, the sobs coming harder than he could control. The weight of everything, of his feelings for her, of the fear of losing her, it all poured out.

"I can’t lose you," he whispered, his voice broken and raw, barely audible. "I just... I can’t."

He sat there in the stillness, his heart aching with every breath he took; as if the air itself was too heavy to breathe without her. Every tear felt like a plea to something—anything—that would help her pull through. He didn’t know if it would work. He didn’t know if she would be okay. But at that moment, with nothing left to hold onto except his own desperate hope, he couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.

"I love you," he whispered one last time, his voice barely more than a breath.

Max's body trembled as he sat there, his tears still fresh on his cheeks, the ache in his chest a constant, unbearable pressure. But then, amidst the sorrow, something incredible happened.

He felt it—something small, something gentle, brushing against the back of his hand, which rested on the towel. His breath caught in his throat, the familiar weight of her touch sending a shock of electricity through his entire body. His eyes shot open, wide with disbelief, and he froze.

There, in front of him, Gadget’s tiny, fragile paw was gripping his finger, her eyes blinking slowly, weak but unmistakably awake.

For a moment, Max couldn’t speak. He just stared, stunned, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. It was as if the world had stopped for a second, holding its breath with him.

Then, the elation hit him all at once, crashing over him like a wave. His heart soared, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, a trembling finger brushing against her soft, fur-covered face.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His heart was pounding in his chest, every beat echoing his relief and joy. “Oh, Gadget, you’re awake!”

He could hardly believe it. She was here. She was with him.

Max's heart was racing with excitement, his whole body practically vibrating with joy. He couldn't believe it—Gadget was awake. His mind was spinning with relief, and the weight that had crushed him for days was lifting.

Without thinking, he jumped to his feet, practically shouting, “She’s awake! Sylvia!” He barely managed to get the words out before he bolted out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry. He dashed through the hallway, his mind focused only on one thing—getting to Sylvia, to share the good news.

He reached her bedroom door, throwing it open with such force it nearly banged off the wall.

“SHE’S AWAKE!” he yelled, the words spilling out in a rush of emotion. But then, his excitement hit a sudden, screeching halt as he froze in the doorway. His eyes went wide, his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.

There, in bed, fast asleep and tangled in the blankets, was Goofy—Max’s dad. And next to him, just as peacefully asleep, was Sylvia.

Max blinked. Once. Twice. His mind was too scrambled to process it at first. He stared at them, his heart pounding, his thoughts a blur. Sylvia and... his dad?

“Wait, dad?!” Max finally managed, his voice cracking with confusion and a hint of shock. "What the fuck?!"

**********************

The room was tense, heavy with unspoken words and awkward glances, but all of it faded into the background for Max. His focus was solely on Gadget. She sat on the floor in front of him, her tiny form propped up with towels to cushion her. Her makeshift hospital gown, fashioned from a cut-out pillowcase, hung loosely on her small frame. Before her was a scrap of paper and a broken pencil clutched in her paws.

Max crouched at eye level, his voice soft but insistent. “C’mon, Gadget. Write something. Anything. Tell us how you’re feeling.”

Gadget blinked at him, her blue eyes clouded with confusion. Her ears twitched slightly, and she tilted her head at the pencil, her small fingers fumbling with it. She seemed to be trying, but her movements were clumsy, erratic. The pencil slipped from her grasp and rolled off the paper. She stared at it for a long moment, unmoving.

Sylvia, standing nearby with her arms crossed, frowned. “She’s still recovering, Max. Don’t push her too hard.”

“I’m not pushing,” Max shot back, though his voice wavered. He picked up the pencil and gently placed it back in Gadget’s paws. “She’s smart, okay? She can do this.”

But Gadget just stared at the pencil blankly. Then, to Max’s dismay, she dropped it again and let out a soft, frustrated squeak—a sound so utterly unlike her usual confident voice that it made his chest ache. She lowered her head, her ears flattening, and began sniffing absentmindedly at the paper.

Max’s heart sank. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Gadget, don’t... Don’t do that. You’re not—” His voice cracked, and he stopped himself, swallowing hard.

Goofy stepped forward, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Max, maybe it’s just gonna take some time,” he said gently. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed the worry he was trying to hide.

Sylvia sighed and adjusted her glasses. “Distemper can have neurological effects, especially on small animals. It’s a miracle she’s even alive, Max. But it might have taken a toll on her... cognitive functions.” She hesitated before adding, “Maybe permanently.”

“No,” Max said firmly, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know her like I do. She’s not just... some mouse. She’s Gadget. She’s brilliant. She’s... She’s her.”

Gadget lifted her head at the sound of her name, her eyes flicking up to meet Max’s. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a spark of recognition there, a glimpse of the person she had been. But it faded as quickly as it came, and she went back to sniffing at the paper.

Max couldn’t hold it in anymore. He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair and pacing the room. “This is my fault,” he muttered. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve known—”

“Now, hold on there, Maxie,” Goofy interrupted, stepping in front of him. “You’ve done everythin’ you could. More’n most people would’ve. Don’t go blamin’ yourself for somethin’ outta your control.”

Max didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He just stood there, staring at Gadget, his chest tight with guilt and frustration. She had been so full of life, so vibrant, and now... now she seemed like a shadow of herself.

An animal.

Sylvia approached, crouching down beside Gadget. She gently reached out and stroked the orange hair on Gadget’s head. “Hey, sweetie,” she said softly. “You’ve been through a lot, huh? It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Gadget leaned slightly into the touch, letting out a soft chirp-like sound. It was a small comfort, but it didn’t ease the ache in Max’s chest.

Max finally sat back down, his elbows resting on his knees as he cradled his chin in his hands. “I just... I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to help her.”

Gadget looked up again, her gaze lingering on Max. She made a faint squeaking sound, her paw twitching toward the pencil before falling limp again. Max watched her, his heart breaking all over again.

Max slumped in despair, his head buried in his hands. The room was silent except for the occasional creak of Sylvia’s old house. Even Goofy, usually a fountain of optimism, seemed lost for words.

And then, the sound of scratching broke the stillness.

Max’s head shot up. Gadget, with shaky paws, had picked up the broken pencil again. Her movements were slow, deliberate; as if every ounce of her strength and focus were being channeled into the effort. She pressed the pencil to the paper, her tiny hands trembling as she began to scrawl something.

Sylvia, who had been at the edge of the room, leaned forward, her eyes widening. “Max... she’s—”

“Shh!” Max hissed, his heart pounding. He held his breath, watching as Gadget’s shaky writing started to take shape. The letters were crude, and uneven, as though she were relearning how to write, but they were there.

H E A D F U Z Z Y

The room froze as everyone stared at the paper. Gadget dropped the pencil, looking exhausted but determined. She blinked up at Max, her eyes holding a glimmer of something familiar—something human.

Max’s voice cracked as he whispered, “Head fuzzy... you—you wrote that...” Tears pricked his eyes, but this time they weren’t from despair. He reached out, gently brushing a fingertip against her tiny paw. “You’re still in there, Gadget. I knew it.”

Gadget gave a faint nod, her ears twitching weakly. It was all the confirmation Max needed. A laugh, wet with relief, escaped his throat. “Sylvia! Dad! Did you see that? She wrote something! She’s coming back!”

Goofy’s eyes were wide with amazement. “Gawrsh, that’s amazin’, Maxie! See? I told ya she’s tough.” He clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder, grinning.

Sylvia adjusted her glasses, her professional demeanor faltering as a smile crept across her face. “It’s a good sign,” she said, her tone lighter now. “If she can communicate, even like this, it means her mind is still active. She just needs time and patience.”

Max turned his attention back to Gadget, his face lighting up with hope. “You’re going to be okay,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “We’re going to get through this together, okay? You and me. Always.”

Gadget looked at him, her small body still weak, but her expression had changed. There was a faint smile on her face, and her eyes said everything Max needed to hear.

Love and adoration.

Sylvia cleared her throat, breaking the moment. “Alright, Max. She’s still fragile, and that took a lot out of her. She’ll need rest, fluids, and time to recover. But... this is a huge step forward.”

Max nodded, gently stroking Gadget’s fur with the tip of his finger. “Thank you,” he whispered to her. “Thank you for fighting.”

Goofy chuckled, the tension in the room finally easing. “Well, looks like my boy’s got a knack for keepin’ his promises after all.” He ruffled Max’s hair, his usual goofy grin back in full force.

Max didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on Gadget, who had closed her eyes again, her body leaning against the pile of soft towels. But this time, Max didn’t feel hopeless. For the first time in what felt like forever, he saw a glimmer of something more to his mundane life.

**********************

Max was halfway through a forkful of scrambled eggs when the thought that had been gnawing at the back of his mind finally broke through. He set the fork down, eyeing the two adults across the table. The air between them was... different. Not awkward, exactly, but... weird.

“So…” Max started, his tone deliberate. He gestured between Goofy and Sylvia with his fork, eyebrows raised. “How long has this been going on?”

Goofy froze mid-chew, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Sylvia blinked, her cheeks instantly flushing a rosy pink.

“Uh…” Goofy started, his gaze darting between Max and Sylvia. “A few months?”

Max choked on his eggs, coughing as he tried to process what he’d just heard. “A few months?!” His voice cracked as he stared at his dad in disbelief. “How—when—what?! You didn’t think to, oh, I don’t know, tell me?”

Sylvia cleared her throat, looking apologetic but clearly embarrassed. “We weren’t sure how to bring it up,” she said, giving Max a sheepish smile. “We didn’t want to make things... weird.”

Max barked a disbelieving laugh, throwing his hands up. “Well, mission not accomplished! Weird doesn’t even begin to cover this!”

Goofy tried to jump in, his nervous grin not helping matters. “Aw, Maxie, I didn’t think it was that big a deal—”

“Not a big deal?” Max cut him off, his tone incredulous. He jabbed his fork toward Goofy. “Do you know what could’ve happened if I’d walked in on you two doing—” He stopped mid-sentence, his face twisting in horror as the mental image struck him like a truck. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Nope. Nope. Nope!”

Sylvia’s face turned as red as a tomato. “Max!” she exclaimed, mortified, waving her hands as if to erase the thought.

“Nope!” Max repeated, standing up and pacing around the dining room like he could physically outrun the horrifying idea. “Do you know how much therapy I’d need if that happened? Years. Decades! Whole lifetimes!” He spun around to face them, jabbing a finger at Goofy. “You owe me a heads-up if you’re gonna—ugh, I can’t even say it!”

Goofy scratched the back of his neck, his ears drooping. “Gawrsh, Maxie, I didn’t think you’d, uh, walk in.”

Max groaned, dropping back into his chair. “Dad, there’s a rule! Parents don’t date! And if they do, they don’t... you know... exist physically when their kid is around. That’s just basic decency!”

Sylvia buried her face in her hands, clearly wishing she could disappear. “We’re not having this conversation, are we?” she mumbled.

“Oh, we are,” Max said, pointing at her now. “Because I need to know how this happened. Did you ask him out? Did he ask you? Was it some... I don’t know... you fell into her bed all, 'Oops, gawrsh, Miss Marpole, I guess this just isn't my day!'"

Goofy chuckled nervously, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Well, Maxie, sometimes two people just... uh... click, y’know?” He reached over to pat Sylvia’s hand, and she gave him a small, bashful smile.

Max squinted at them like they were some kind of alien life form. “This is officially the weirdest weekend of my life,” he muttered. He stabbed at his scrambled eggs halfheartedly, sighing in defeat. “You better not elope or something without telling me. And for the love of all things holy, lock the doors at night. I’m serious.”

Sylvia couldn’t help but laugh softly, though her cheeks were still pink. “We’ll make sure to keep things, um... appropriate, Max. Promise.”

“Good,” Max said, shoving another forkful of eggs in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then added under his breath, “I’m still scarred for life, though. Just so you know.”

Goofy grinned, his mood lifting. “Aw, Maxie, it’s not so bad! You’ll get used to it. Besides, it’s kinda nice, don’tcha think? Me and Sylvia... gettin’ along?”

Max rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just... no more surprises, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Sylvia smiled warmly, reaching over to ruffle Max’s hair. “Deal.”

Max swatted her hand away, chuckling despite himself. As much as he hated to admit it, seeing his dad and Sylvia happy together wasn’t the worst thing ever. It was just... weird. Really, really weird.

And maybe... he could live with that. Eventually.

After a moment, Sylvia set her mug down and tilted her head at Max. “So… speaking of relationships…” she started, her tone casual but curious.

Max froze mid-chew, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Sylvia smirked, clearly enjoying the chance to turn the tables on him. “You and Gadget. What’s the deal there?”

Max choked on his toast, coughing violently. He grabbed his water and took a long gulp before managing to sputter, “W-What?! There’s no—there’s no ‘deal!’” His voice cracked so hard it might have shattered glass.

Goofy raised an eyebrow, leaning his elbows on the table. “Now that ya mention it, Maxie, you’ve been pretty sweet on her, huh?”

Max’s face turned a deep shade of crimson as he stammered, “I—I’m just—she’s my—” He stopped, burying his face in his hands. “Why are we even talking about this?”

Sylvia shrugged, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Because it’s obvious how much you care about her. I mean, you’ve barely left her side since she got sick. You were crying over her just last night, and now she’s the first thing you think about when you wake up.”

Goofy nodded along enthusiastically. “Yeah, Maxie! You even prayed for her! That’s a big deal!”

"First off, why did you tell him that?" Max groaned as he looked at Sylvia before dragging his hands down his face. “Second, that’s not—that’s just because she almost died!”

Sylvia leaned forward, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Look, Max, I’m not teasing you. I just think it’s sweet. You clearly care about her a lot.”

Max slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. “Of course I care about her. She’s… she’s amazing, okay? She’s smart and brave and—” He stopped himself, realizing he was digging a deeper hole.

Sylvia’s smile widened. “And...?”

Max groaned again, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor. “And nothing. She’s just… special, okay? Leave it at that.”

Goofy gave him a knowing grin. “Aww, Maxie’s got himself a li’l crush!”

“Dad!” Max practically shouted, his voice going up an octave.

Sylvia couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore, and even Goofy chuckled. Max buried his face in his arms on the table, muttering something about how this was the worst breakfast of his life.

Sylvia patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Relax, Max. We’re just teasing. But honestly, I think she’s lucky to have you. You’re a good kid. Any girl would be.”

Max peeked up at her, still red-faced but slightly less mortified. “You really think so?”

Sylvia nodded. “I do. Just… maybe give it time. Let her heal first. And, you know, figure out if she even feels the same way. I am not even sure what she really is. A lab experiment? There's just a lot to consider.”

Max sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Goofy beamed, clapping a hand on Max’s shoulder. “That’s my boy! Gawrsh, I can’t wait to see you two lovebirds at the prom!”

Max groaned loudly, shoving his chair back from the table. “That’s it. I’m done. Breakfast is over.”

As he stormed off toward the guest room, Sylvia and Goofy exchanged amused glances.

“He’ll thank us someday,” Sylvia said with a grin.

“Someday,” Goofy agreed, chuckling.

Sylvia stretched, the humor fading slightly as she picked up her coffee again. “But I am a bit concerned,” she said, her tone more serious now.

Goofy tilted his head, looking at her with curiosity. “Concerned about what, Sylvie?”

She sighed, swirling the coffee in her mug. “About Gadget’s origin. Max said there are others like her—she mentioned friends. But… what exactly is she? Where did she come from? How does someone like that even exist?”

Goofy scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Gawrsh, I dunno. She’s got that whole… talkin’ thing goin’ on, kinda like us. But she’s so tiny. It’s like somethin’ outta one of those sci-fi movies Max used to watch when he was little.”

Sylvia nodded, flipping through her mental catalog of knowledge. “It’s not unheard of in folklore, you know. Stories of tiny, intelligent creatures living among us, hiding in plain sight. But in real life?” She shook her head. “It raises so many questions.”

Goofy tapped his fingers on the table, then leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s not even accountin’ for the size difference, Sylvie.”

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Goofy gestured vaguely with his hands. “You know… if Max and her… uh, got together.”

Sylvia’s face went blank for a moment before she groaned, setting her coffee down. “Goofy, seriously?”

“Well, it’s a fair question!” Goofy said, holding his hands up defensively. “I mean, how do they, you know…?”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Leave it to you to think about that.” She shook her head and fixed him with a look. “First of all, that’s none of our business. Second, who says it would even come to that? They’re barely figuring out their feelings, and Gadget’s recovering from a serious illness. Let’s focus on that for now, okay?”

Goofy held up his hands again, grinning sheepishly. “Okay, okay! Just curious, is all.”

Sylvia sighed and leaned back, her expression softening. “But you’re right about one thing—there are a lot of unanswered questions. If there are more like Gadget out there, what kind of world do they come from? Are they all as… smart as she is?”

“Maybe Max can ask her, once she’s feelin’ better. Might help her remember more about herself, too.”

Sylvia nodded. “That’s a good point. For now, though, I think we should focus on making sure she’s okay. Max is going to need our support, no matter where this goes.”

Goofy smiled at her, reaching across the table to take her hand. “That’s what we’re here for, Sylvie. Maxie’s got a good heart, just like his old man.”

Sylvia smirked, squeezing his hand gently. “Let’s just hope his good heart doesn’t get him into trouble. With Gadget, or whatever world she comes from.”

“Trouble’s kinda my family tradition, don’tcha think?” Goofy chuckled. 

Sylvia laughed softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, let’s try to break that tradition this time, Goof.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, both lost in thought about the tiny, mysterious creature who had turned their world upside down.

Chapter 7: Good Vibrations

SEVEN: Good Vibrations

Max sat cross-legged on the guest bed, Gadget nestled on the pillow beside him. She was nibbling a saltine, her tiny hands trembling slightly but steady enough to hold the cracker. The IV line still trailed from her paw, a stark reminder of how close she’d come to the brink.

Max had just come back from home, bringing the voice device they’d built together, but now it sat forgotten on the nightstand. Gadget shifted slightly, swallowing the last of the saltine before she turned her head toward him.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice raspy but unmistakably hers.

Max froze, his eyes going wide. “Gadget…?”

She nodded weakly, her whiskers twitching. “Yeah. It’s me.”

A lump formed in Max’s throat as he leaned closer. “I missed your voice.”

“Not going to lie, I missed talking to you,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t get too excited; it hurts like heck.”

“Just take your time,” Max smiled in return. “Gadget, I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he blinked back tears. “I thought I lost you.”

Her smile faded, and her ears drooped slightly. “I thought you might’ve, too,” she admitted. “Everything’s… fuzzy. Like a bad dream.” She looked down at her paws, flexing them as though trying to remind herself they were still hers. “I don’t even remember half of what happened.”

Max exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me so bad, Gadget. I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

She looked up at him, her big blue eyes shining with guilt and gratitude. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Don’t—don’t apologize.” Max shook his head quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, I should’ve done more. I should’ve seen it sooner, gotten you help sooner—”

“Max,” she interrupted, her voice firmer despite its weakness. “Stop. You did everything you could. More than anyone else would’ve.”

He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he sighed and buried his face in his hands. “I was so scared, Gadget. I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he felt a small, warm paw touch his arm. “But I did make it,” she said softly. “Because of you.”

Max looked up, his heart swelling as he met her gaze. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “You did.”

She tilted her head, her smile returning, though it was faint. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone care about me this much.”

“That’s insane,” Max said with a shaky laugh. “You’re, like, the most amazing person—uh, mouse—I’ve ever met.”

Her laugh was weak but genuine. “Thanks, Max.” She paused, her expression softening. “Really. For everything.”

Max hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “It’s not just ‘cause I had to, you know.”

“I know,” Gadget said, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached out again, her paw resting on his hand. “And I’m glad.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, the unspoken connection between them filling the room.

Gadget finished the last bite of her saltine and looked up at Max, her little paws brushing the crumbs off her makeshift pillowcase gown. He smiled and handed her a bottle cap filled with water, which she took gratefully, sipping it carefully.

Finally, Gadget set the cap down and sighed. “Max, I need to talk to you about something.”

Max blinked, looking at her with concern. “What’s up?”

Gadget hesitated, her ears twitching slightly as she fidgeted with the edge of her outfit. “It’s about… the night before I got sick.”

Max tilted his head, confused. “The night before? What about it?”

She bit her lip, her whiskers quivering. “I… I saw you.”

Max ran his hand down his face, groaning. “Oh my God, Gadget, I thought I covered your cage! I—I swear, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think you could see anything!” His words tumbled out in a panicked rush, his hands gesturing wildly as if he could somehow wave the memory away. “I’m so, so sorry. That was—ugh, so stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I—”

“Max,” Gadget interrupted, her voice steady but soft.

“I mean, I’d never want to make you uncomfortable, and I swear it wasn’t about you or—”

“Max.”

“I didn’t even realize you—wait, why are we talking about this?! Oh no, I’ve ruined everything—”

“Max!” Gadget’s voice was louder this time, but still gentle.

He froze, his mouth open mid-sentence. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes wide and mortified. “Y-yeah?”

She sighed, her small hands resting on the edge of the towel she was perched on. “It’s okay,” she said simply, her tone calm but firm.

Max blinked, his brain struggling to process her words. “Wait… what?”

“It’s okay,” she repeated, her gaze meeting his. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And…” She hesitated, her cheeks reddening further. “I… liked it.”

Max’s jaw dropped. “You… what?”

Her tail flicked nervously as she avoided his gaze, fiddling with the corner of the towel. “I liked it,” she said again, her voice quieter but still clear. “And… I did it too.”

Max’s brain short-circuited. He stared at her, his thoughts a jumbled mess. “You—you mean—wait, what?!”

“Max, keep it down!” Gadget hissed, her whiskers twitching as she glanced nervously toward the door.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, holding up his hands. He leaned in closer, his voice barely audible. “But seriously, you—”

“Yes,” she said quickly, cutting him off again. “I mean, it got me... excited, seeing you like that.”

Max felt like his brain had been replaced with static. His face was so red he was surprised it wasn’t glowing in the dim light. “I… I don’t even know what to say right now.”

Gadget gave him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward. I just… wanted to be honest with you.”

Max took a deep breath, trying to process everything. “So… you’re not mad? Or… creeped out?”

She shook her head. “No. And you shouldn’t be either. Like I said, it’s natural.”

He nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay. Yeah. Natural. Sure.” He paused, his eyes darting to her nervously. “So… what now?”

Gadget shrugged, “I'm not too sure. But when I say I liked it, I mean, I really liked it.”

Max let out a shaky laugh. “You’re way too chill about this, you know that?”

She smiled, a hint of her old spark returning. “One of us has to be.”

Max grabbed a saltine from the little plate on the nightstand, munching on it to have something—anything—to do. Gadget nibbled at another cracker, her eyes darting to him now and then, but she stayed quiet.

Finally, Gadget broke the silence, her small voice hesitant. “Hey, Max?”

Max blinked, mid-chew, glancing at her. “Yeah?” he replied, his voice muffled by the mouthful of saltine.

She fidgeted with her tiny paws, taking a deep breath. “When I’m feeling better, do you want to… you know…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing under her fur. “Maybe… try some of that stuff together?”

Max froze, crumbs spilling from his mouth as he stared at her, wide-eyed. He swallowed hard, nearly choking on the dry cracker. “Wait… what?”

Gadget looked away, her ears twitching nervously. “I mean… you and me. Together. Trying that. You know… the stuff you were doing that night.”

Max blinked again, his face turning beet red. “The stuff?” he croaked, his voice breaking slightly.

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah. The stuff.”

The saltine in Max’s hand crumbled as he tried to form words, but none seemed adequate.

Gadget tilted her head, her blue eyes searching his face. “Max,” she said gently, her tone making it clear she thought he might not be getting it, “What I’m asking is… do you want to have sex with me?”

Max’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He gasped, choking on the cracker crumbs in his mouth, and hurriedly spat them out before coughing. “Seriously?!” he croaked, his voice an octave higher than usual. His mind spun in every direction, struggling to comprehend what she’d just said. “How would we even… you know?” He gestured vaguely between them, his cheeks flushed crimson. “You’re so small, and I’m…”

Gadget giggled, the sound light and sweet, cutting through his panic like a soothing balm. “Max,” she said, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and affection, “I’m sure we can figure something out.” She paused, fidgeting slightly with her paws, her cheeks visibly flushing under her fur. “I just…” She hesitated, her confidence faltering for a moment. “I just want to be with you. In any way we can… physically.”

Max sat frozen, his mind reeling from what Gadget had just said. The room seemed to grow impossibly small as his heart raced in his chest. She had just asked him something that felt like a million miles away from the usual conversations they had. But it wasn’t just any question—this was about something deeper, something more intimate. Was he ready?

Gadget, sensing his hesitation, shifted slightly on the pillow. She wasn’t looking at him now, her gaze a little distant. Her whiskers twitched nervously as she fiddled with the edge of her makeshift clothing again, a subtle sign of her own uncertainty.

Max’s voice came out in a rush, his words almost tumbling over each other. “I—I don’t know what to say, Gadget. I... I want. I mean, I've honestly thought about it, but I just want to make sure you’re ready.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and she gave him a small, understanding smile. “I want this, Max. I really do. But... I don’t want to rush into anything just because I asked. I need to know that you’re not just doing this because you feel obligated or anything. This has to be because we both want it.”

Max’s throat went dry, his nerves still firing, but something about her words steadied him. He reached out, carefully placing his hand on the pillow beside her, his voice gentle but firm. “I don’t feel obligated, Gadget. I want this because I care about you—more than anything, actually. And yeah, I want to be with you. In every way.” His cheeks flushed, the words leaving his mouth before he had time to overthink them.

Gadget’s eyes softened as she looked at him, her gaze filled with warmth and something more. She reached out slowly, resting her tiny paw over his hand, as if grounding both of them in the moment. "Then let’s take it slow. Let’s make sure it’s right—for both of us.”

Max’s heart swelled at her words, a sense of relief flooding through him. He nodded quickly, a grin tugging at his lips. “Slow sounds good. You need to get better first and, well, I just want to make sure you’re okay with this, that you feel the same way.”

“I do,” Gadget whispered, her tail twitching with nervous excitement. “I just didn’t want to rush into anything. I want this to be... special. For both of us.”

Max’s smile widened, his chest lighter than it had been in days. “Then, yeah. Let’s make it special.”

They sat in the quiet of the room for a moment, their hands still touching, the tension of the conversation slowly easing. There was no rush, no pressure, just the understanding that they were both ready for whatever came next—as long as it was together.

Max leaned in a little closer, his voice a soft whisper. “My life is better with you in it.”

Gadget nodded, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and reassurance. “And mine with you.”

“I'm glad,” Max said with a smile, his hand gently squeezing hers.

For a moment, the world outside their little bubble of calm didn’t matter. They were just two people—well, one person and one mouse—trying to figure out this crazy thing together, one step at a time.

**********************

Three days passed, and each one marked a step closer to Gadget’s recovery. Though she still spent most of her time curled up in bed, eating small meals, and sleeping, her strength was returning bit by bit. Her fur regained its luster, her once-dull eyes sparkled with their familiar intelligence, and her voice grew steadier each time she spoke.

Max never left her side for long. He brought her water in bottle caps, carefully portioned her meals, and even carried her to the window so she could feel the sunlight on her face. At night, they talked until their eyelids grew heavy, Gadget often falling asleep mid-sentence while Max quietly watched over her. Their bond deepened in those quiet moments, their shared experiences knitting them closer together than ever before.

On the second day, Sylvia had surprised them with a thoughtful gift: a Bluetooth speaker and a set of headphones with a built-in mic. “Thought this might be easier for you two to communicate,” she said, handing the sleek little devices to Max.

It had been a game-changer. The speaker could be hung around Max's neck from a lenth of string and the headphones were coiled up and in a little bag for Gadget to carry; and when she spoke, her voice came through loud and clear on the speaker. It was so much better than the clunky device they’d cobbled together, and Max couldn’t thank Sylvia enough.

But Sylvia had another surprise: a set of custom-tailored clothes for Gadget. “I figured you needed something practical but cute,” Sylvia explained, holding up the tiny outfit.

The ensemble was perfect. A soft, pale blue t-shirt paired with olive-green cargo pants that Sylvia had painstakingly sewn tiny pockets onto. A little denim jacket completed the look, giving Gadget an air of rugged charm. Max helped her into the clothes, carefully threading her arms through the sleeves and adjusting the fit.

“How do I look?” Gadget asked, standing on Max’s palm as she smoothed the fabric over her body.

“Like you’re ready to conquer the world,” Max replied with a grin, his heart swelling with pride.

“More like ready to conquer a dollhouse,” Sylvia teased gently, earning a playful laugh from Gadget.

By midday, it was time to leave Sylvia’s house. Goofy arrived in his battered old car, chatting warmly with Sylvia as Max packed up Gadget’s makeshift belongings. Sylvia handed Max a little pouch filled with extra crackers and a Thermos of homemade soup for Gadget, earning a grateful smile from both of them.

The ride back to Max’s house was quiet but comforting. Gadget rested in a small cushioned box on Max’s lap, the Bluetooth mic allowing her to chat with him easily. She occasionally looked up at him with a soft smile, and Max found himself stealing glances at her, his mind swirling with relief and affection.

When they finally arrived home, Max carried Gadget upstairs to his bedroom. As he pushed open the door, he was greeted by an unexpected sight. Sitting proudly in the corner of the room was a brand-new Barbie RV. Its pink and white plastic exterior gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the window, and the interior was outfitted with tiny furniture and even a bed lined with soft fabric.

Max blinked in surprise, holding Gadget up to get a better view. “What the…?”

“Surprise!” Goofy exclaimed from behind him, his goofy grin as wide as ever. “Figured she deserved somethin’ better than that old hamster cage, so I went shoppin’.”

Gadget’s eyes widened as she took in the little RV, her tiny hands clutching Max’s thumb. “Max… it’s perfect!” she breathed.

Max turned to his dad, his expression a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. “Dad, this is… wow, this is amazing. Thanks.”

Goofy waved him off. “Ah, it’s nothin’. Just wanted Gadget to feel at home.”

Max gently set Gadget down near the RV, watching as she stepped inside and explored her new space. She ran her tiny hands over the furniture, her face lighting up with delight. “This is incredible!” she called out, her voice coming through the speaker in crisp, cheerful tones.

Max and Goofy exchanged a smile. Despite everything they’d been through, this moment felt like a fresh start, a step toward brighter days ahead.

**********************

That afternoon, the sun cast long, lazy shadows across Max’s bedroom. The sound of explosions and spell casting echoed from the TV as Max sat cross-legged on his bed, furiously mashing buttons on his controller. He was locked in an epic battle, dodging enemy fire and dispatching bad guys with precision. The pixelated princess he was rescuing offered a welcome distraction—at least, that’s what he told himself.

But no matter how immersive the game was, his thoughts kept drifting.

He glanced over at Gadget’s RV, where she was curled up on the little bed inside, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Her recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Every day, she grew stronger, her personality shining brighter. The thought made him smile, but it also brought with it a pang of anxiety.

“I still haven’t told her,” he muttered to himself, pressing pause on his game. The hero on the screen froze mid-action, his sword raised.

Max leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Sure, he’d said he loved her, but only when she was unconscious, her life hanging by a thread. Did that even count? And now, with her awake and so... Gadget, he couldn’t help but feel like the words were caught in his throat.

And then there was the other thing—the promise.

His face burned just thinking about it. Three days ago, when she was still recovering, Gadget had been so upfront, so fearless in saying what she wanted. Max wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone quite like her. But now that she was nearly back to her old self, he couldn’t help but wonder: did she still want that? Was she serious?

He grabbed the nearest pillow and groaned into it. “Get it together, Max,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Still holding the controller, he glanced at the paused screen, but the thought of continuing his game felt pointless. His mind was already preoccupied, replaying every moment they’d shared over the last few days. Every smile, every laugh, every glance.

He sat up, his eyes drifting back to the RV. What if she didn’t mean it? What if it was just something she said in the heat of the moment; when emotions were running high? Or what if she did mean it, and he was the one overthinking everything?

Max shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This wasn’t like him. He was usually the go-with-the-flow type, the guy who didn’t stress about stuff like this. But this was Gadget. She wasn’t just some girl. She was... everything.

He sighed, setting the controller down beside him. “Guess I’m not gonna get much gaming done today,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Just then, a soft yawn drew his attention. He looked over to see Gadget stirring inside the RV, her little hand rubbing at her eyes as she sat up. She blinked a few times, her gaze landing on him.

“Max?” her voice came through the speaker, groggy but warm. “What time is it?”

“Uh, about four,” he said, glancing at the clock. “You were out for a while.”

She stretched, her tiny frame silhouetted by the light filtering through the plastic walls of the RV. “Guess I needed it,” she said with a sleepy smile.

Max’s heart did a little flip at the sight. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t getting back to his game. “You hungry?” he asked, nodding toward Gadget.

She gave a small nod. “Yeah, a little.”

“I’ll grab you something,” he said, already getting up to leave.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“If you bring me any of your dad’s potato salad,” she said, her tone deadpan, “I will bite your eyelids off while you’re asleep.”

Max stopped, pretending to clutch his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Gadget. Dad’s potato salad is a family legacy!”

“It’s a culinary war crime,” she shot back with a smirk.

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know what? You're not wrong.”

As he headed downstairs, Max couldn’t help but feel lighter. He hummed to himself as he opened the fridge, scanning its contents for something Gadget might like. A little plate of leftover chicken caught his eye, along with a handful of baby carrots and a slice of cheese. Perfect. He grabbed the items and set them on the counter.

Humming turned into soft singing as he assembled the plate. “Making food for a mouse… in my dad’s house…” He even added a little dance, shuffling back and forth to his impromptu tune. “She won’t bite my eyelids… unless I bring potato salad…”

With the food arranged neatly, Max grabbed a paper napkin, folded it into a makeshift placemat, and balanced the small plate on his hand like a waiter at a fancy restaurant. He headed back upstairs, grinning from ear to ear.

Bursting into his room, he practically kicked the door open. “Your food, my dear!” he announced, his voice theatrical as he stepped inside.

But the grin slid from his face in an instant, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

Standing on his desk, right next to Gadget’s RV, was another rodent. A chipmunk, to be exact.

The chipmunk was small—barely taller than Gadget—and dressed in what could only be described as an adventurer’s outfit. He wore a brown bomber jacket, its faux fur collar slightly worn, giving it a vintage charm, and on his head sat a small fedora, tilted slightly to the side as if he’d just stepped off a pulp magazine cover.

Max blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. His hand wavered slightly, and the plate tipped just enough for a carrot to roll off and hit the floor with a soft thud.

The chipmunk turned toward him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in a look of scrutiny.

Max’s voice finally found him. “Uh... Gadget?”

Gadget looked up at him from where she stood beside the RV, her expression sheepish, her tail flicking nervously. “Max... remember the friends I told you about?”

His jaw dropped as reality sank in. He pointed at the chipmunk, then at Gadget, then back again, his words tumbling out. “The Rescue Rangers?”

“Yep,” she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

Max let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Okay. Sure. Why not? Let’s just keep stacking up the weird today.”

His gaze flicked between the chipmunk and Gadget, his mind spinning. But then, a new thought struck him—a heavy one that settled in his chest like a lead weight.

If this was one of her friends... if her world was beginning to overlap with his...

She was going to leave.

The realization hit like a gut punch. His face fell, the playful bewilderment melting into something more somber.

“Wait,” he murmured, barely audible. “If he’s here, does that mean you’re… you’re going back with him?”

Gadget’s smile wavered, her ears drooping slightly as she glanced at the chipmunk. The room, which had felt charged with Max’s energy before, now grew quiet.

And for the first time since this all started, Max felt a pang of something he hadn’t wanted to think about: the idea that this fragile little bubble they’d built together might not last.

Chapter 8: I Don't Wanna Go to the Party

EIGHT: I Don't Wanna Go to the Party

The house had gone still. The soft hum of the refrigerator downstairs was the only noise besides the faint chirp of crickets outside Max's window. A dim lamp glowed on his nightstand, casting long shadows across his room, which now felt much larger… and much emptier than before.

Max sat on the edge of his bed, motionless, staring ahead at nothing in particular. In his lap, Gadget lay curled up, her tiny form resting comfortably against the fabric of his hoodie. She looked cozy, peaceful even—her head resting on her folded arms, legs draped over the curve of his thigh. She wasn’t asleep, just quiet, her eyes occasionally flicking up to his face, watching him as he quietly processed the conversation that had just unfolded.

He hadn’t said much after Chip left. He hadn’t needed to. The words “I’ll be back in a couple of days to bring her home” were still bouncing around in his skull like ricocheting bullets.

Home.

Not here. Not with him.

Back to a world where she really belonged. With people—no, chipmunks—who understood her, who were like her. The Rescue Rangers.

He rubbed his hands together absentmindedly, his eyes downcast. “So… that’s it then,” he said at last, voice low and strained. “You’re going back.”

Gadget sat up a little straighter, still small and wrapped in her denim jacket like a doll come to life. She blinked up at him. “I didn’t say that,” she replied softly.

“But that’s what’s happening, right?” Max gave a short, dry laugh that had no real humor in it. “Chip shows up, says a bunch of thank-yous, gives me a heroic pat on the head for keeping you alive, and now you get to go back to your real life. Solving mysteries, flying around in bottle-cap helicopters, all that.” He looked away, jaw clenching. “Guess I was just… the pit stop.”

Gadget frowned, her ears dipping slightly. “Max… don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he muttered. “It’s true. I mean, what did I really think was gonna happen? That you’d stay here forever? Move into the Barbie RV full-time and… what, go to college with me?” He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Her voice was firm now, insistent. She stood in his lap and carefully made her way up to his chest, placing a tiny paw against his collarbone. “You’re not stupid, Max. You saved me. You took care of me. You… you talked to me every night. You held my hand when I was scared. You made me feel safe.” Her ears flattened slightly. “That wasn’t a pit stop.”

Max looked at her then, really looked. The way her little face scrunched with emotion. The shimmer in her eyes. But it didn’t make it easier.

“You didn’t tell him about us,” he said finally.

Gadget hesitated.

“I noticed,” Max continued, voice softening, “you told him about what happened, the virus, the recovery… but not us. Not what you said to me that night.”

“I didn’t think it was the right time,” she said quietly.

Max nodded slowly, eyes distant again. “Yeah. I get it. He probably wouldn’t understand. I barely understand.”

Silence stretched between them again. The weight of the unspoken hanging in the air.

Finally, Max whispered, “Are you gonna go?”

Gadget didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in close and pressed her tiny forehead against his chest. Her voice was almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Max’s hand slowly came up and gently cupped her form, holding her there like something precious and fragile. He didn’t say anything after that. Just held her.

Max hadn’t moved much after Gadget nestled into his chest, and neither had she. Time passed in that strange, suspended way it sometimes does when something big is looming but hasn’t quite landed yet.

After a while, Gadget shifted slightly, looking up at him again with those wide, intelligent eyes. “Max?”

“Yeah?” he replied, voice still soft, still a little rough at the edges.

She hesitated, her little hands fidgeting with the hem of her denim jacket. “Would it be okay if I… slept in your bed tonight? With you?”

Max blinked, his eyes meeting hers. “You don’t wanna sleep in the Barbie RV?”

Gadget smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s nice. Really nice. But I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She paused. “Not when I don’t know how many nights I have left here.”

That did something to Max—right in the chest. He gave a slow nod, lips parting around a silent breath. “Yeah. Of course. You can stay. I want you to.”

She looked relieved, like the question had taken more courage than she was letting on. “Thanks,” she said, softly. “Let me just change into something more comfortable.”

Max gave her a gentle platform-hand to hop down onto the bedspread. He stood and moved to turn off the lamp, leaving only the warm glow of his old lava lamp across the room casting an eerie pink-purple hue. As she changed—carefully laying her jacket over the edge of her RV and slipping out of her tiny cargo pants—Max turned his back respectfully and stepped over to his dresser. He pulled on a clean T-shirt, tossed his hoodie into the hamper, and paused in the mirror, just long enough to glance at himself. He looked tired. He felt tired.

By the time he returned to the bed, Gadget had already climbed up to the pillow, wearing a soft little makeshift nightshirt—probably one of Sylvia’s handsewn doll-sized pieces again, something cotton and pastel. She looked up as he settled in beside her, one long arm curling gently around her tiny frame without even thinking about it. She leaned into his chest like it was second nature.

They lay like that for a long while, surrounded by the quiet glow of the room. Gadget’s breathing was light and slow, and Max found himself matching it without meaning to.

“Max?” she whispered after a few minutes, her voice muffled slightly against his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me be here. For everything.”

Max swallowed thickly. His hand curled slightly around her, instinctively protective. “You don’t have to thank me, Gadget.”

“I do,” she murmured. “Because even if I end up going… even if I leave… I want you to know none of this was small to me. Not one second.”

He didn’t trust his voice enough to answer right away. So instead, he pressed a small kiss to the top of her head. Just a whisper of one.

They said nothing more after that.

Eventually, their breathing evened out, and the room grew still once again—two hearts, different sizes, beating in time under the same blanket.

**********************

It was early afternoon the next day when Max decided they needed to get out of the house for a bit. Not for long—just something to break the fog of waiting. The bedroom was starting to feel too small, too heavy with unspoken words and approaching goodbyes. He pulled on his favorite hoodie—faded burgundy with a loose, stretched-out hood—and walked over to the desk where Gadget was lounging outside her Barbie RV.

She was already up and stretching, her tiny limbs extending with little pops as she yawned. Her outfit was a perfect blend of cozy and cool: a navy-blue knitted sweater with rolled sleeves, charcoal-gray leggings that fit snugly, and miniature high-top sneakers. The kicker was the tiny knitted beanie perched slightly crooked between her ears, giving her the look of a tiny, wandering artist.

Max gave her a gentle smile and tapped the edge of his hood. “Wanna go on a little field trip?”

Gadget lit up. “Seriously? Outside?”

“I figured it’d do us both some good. Plus, I need snacks. And I can’t trust my dad’s fridge anymore—something in there made a sound yesterday.”

She laughed, then scampered up his arm and nestled herself into the hood of his hoodie, leaning near his shoulder. Her tiny hands held onto the edge like a lookout post. She peeked out beside his ear. “Let’s ride.”

They stepped out into the sunshine, and immediately Gadget closed her eyes to soak it in. The breeze was warm but gentle, carrying scents of cut grass, warm asphalt, and spring blossoms. After so many days indoors, it felt like the world was waking up just for her.

“I missed this,” she murmured, her voice soft near Max’s ear.

“Yeah,” Max replied, adjusting the hood slightly so it better cradled her. “The sun’s still free, at least.”

The corner store was only a few blocks away. Gadget ducked into the hood when they passed other people, but occasionally peeked out again when it felt safe. Max kept humming softly, swaying with the rhythm of the street like it was all part of his personal soundtrack.

Inside the store, Max grabbed essentials: a small container of seedless grapes, a cold bottle of raspberry iced tea, a tray of nachos with way too much neon-orange cheese, and a bag of gummy worms just because. Gadget stayed tucked in, peeking now and then to critique his snack choices (“You are going to regret those nachos,” she warned).

Once outside, Max made a detour to a tiny park nearby. It wasn’t much—just a sagging bench, a crooked swing set, and an old tree with bark peeling off in long curls—but it was quiet, and it was theirs for now.

He plopped down on the bench with a dramatic sigh and gently tilted his hood forward, letting Gadget climb out and onto his shoulder.

“Feast time,” he declared, laying out the napkin and slicing up grapes with a plastic knife. Gadget sat cross-legged on his shoulder as he offered her the fruit like hors d’oeuvres. He dug into the nachos, cringing and then nodding. “These are, like, aggressively mediocre.”

“See? I told you.” Gadget grinned as she nibbled on a grape quarter. “Your taste buds are crying.”

They sat like that in the sunlight—Max with his nachos, Gadget with her grape slices—talking about nothing in particular. They people-watched, invented personalities for the crows fighting over a chip bag, and gave dramatic voiceovers to squirrels darting between the trees. Gadget told a story about how her old teammate Monterey Jack once got stuck in a vending machine trying to wrestle a wheel of Babybel.

It was peaceful. Easy. Normal.

And in that little moment, surrounded by chirping birds, creaky swing chains, and the faint crinkle of chip bags, Max stopped thinking about how much time they had left. He just watched the way Gadget’s nose crinkled when she laughed and let himself pretend—just for now—that none of it had to end.

Gadget leaned gently against his neck, beanie tilting even further sideways. “Thanks for this,” she said softly.

Max smiled. “Anytime.”

He just hoped within his heart of hearts that there would be another time.

**********************

Back home, the air in Max’s room was calm and cozy, warmed by the mellow rays of the late afternoon sun. Light pooled across the desk where the little pink RV sat nestled between cluttered textbooks and a crumpled Taco Bell receipt. Inside the plastic camper, Gadget was curled beneath a makeshift quilt Sylvia had sewn for her.

Her breathing was steady, though still a tad raspy, the tail end of her battle with distemper lingering like a grumpy houseguest who didn’t quite get the hint.

She was healing. Every day, she looked a little stronger, a little more like herself. Her eyes weren’t glassy anymore. She didn’t sneeze like a deflating balloon. The fur under her eyes had grown back from where the fever had made her look like a gremlin version of herself. And while she was tired easily, Max could see the spark returning. The distemper, for all its horrors, was losing.

Now, she was napping again, tiny body half-submerged in a blanket roll, her denim jacket folded neatly at the corner of her bed. One paw stuck out from under the covers like she was trying to high-five a dream.

Max stood nearby, staring at his warped closet mirror like it owed him money, the same one that still had a weird “Cursed Elvis” sticker from third grade stuck in the corner.

He rubbed his face with both hands, fluffed up his already-messy hair, and pointed dramatically at his reflection.

“Okay, Max. You’ve beaten Doom Slayer 7, you’ve survived high school, and once you made it through an entire Thanksgiving dinner with Aunt Clarabelle without losing your goddamned mind. You can do this.”

He squared his shoulders.

“Gadget… I need to tell you something.”

He frowned. “No, that’s dumb. Too formal. Feels like I’m about to read her last rites.”

He tried again, striking a more casual pose, one hand in his hoodie pocket. “Yo, Gadget. So, uh… here’s the thing. I… love you.”

He cringed.

“Okay, well, that sounded like I was confessing I dented her car. Try again.”

Max cleared his throat and straightened up.

“Gadget, I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re brave, smart, adorable, wildly tiny—like, freakishly tiny—and somehow, you’ve managed to completely rewire my heart. And maybe part of my brain, too, because I can’t stop thinking about you. Even when I’m supposed to be paying attention in math class. Or like, sleeping.”

He paused, narrowing his eyes at the mirror.

“…Did I just admit to being obsessed? Is this a Lifetime movie?”

He waved himself off and tried again.

“I love how you look at the world like it’s a machine that just needs the right tweak. I love how you threatened to bite my eyelids off over potato salad. I love that you snore like a kitten with allergies. And… I love you.”

He stood there for a second, silence echoing around the room.

“Yup. That’s it. I said it. I love you.”

He nodded to himself, proud, then immediately panicked and shook his head. “Nope. No. She’s gonna hear that and think I hit my head. Or worse—what if she thinks it’s just a weird human-to-mouse infatuation thing? Like I watched The Rescuers too many times and never recovered?”

He groaned and flopped backwards onto his bed with a dramatic thump, staring at the ceiling like it owed him an answer.

From across the room, a soft little snore floated out of the Barbie RV.

Max turned his head to look. Gadget was still sleeping peacefully, curled in on herself with one ear twitching slightly and her tail tucked beneath her chin. Her recovery wasn’t over yet. There were still moments where her strength gave out, where the shadows of the illness clung stubbornly to her tiny frame. But she was winning.

And Max had to face it—her strength would bring her all the way back. And then, when she was whole again, the world would call her home.

He swallowed hard, watching her chest rise and fall.

“Maybe I should just tell her,” he whispered. “Before it’s too late. Before the chipmunk in the hat shows up again and flies her away in a soda bottle plane or something.”

He reached up and lightly tapped his own forehead. “Come on, Max. You survived puberty. You can survive love.”

Then he sighed, and with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, muttered:

“…Probably.”

Max sighed, still fiddling with his hoodie strings, nervously rambling under his breath in front of the mirror again.

“I mean, should I say it over dinner? Nah, too cliché. Maybe while we’re watching TV? Oh god, what if I say it and she just like… crawls under the couch to escape?”

Behind him, the RV was still and quiet. The soft hum of the house surrounded everything — a tree tapping gently against the window, the faint buzz of his game console in standby mode.

He didn’t notice the small movement inside the RV.

Beneath the cozy fold of her blanket, Gadget opened her eyes.

She’d heard everything.

Every word Max had rehearsed, every clumsy attempt at finding the right thing to say, every ounce of feeling tangled up in his goofy delivery. It was messy, honest, and beautiful in the way only Max could make it.

Her heart fluttered. Not from nerves. Not from uncertainty. But from a warm, full-bodied certainty that lit up inside her like a little sun.

She’d been thinking about it for days — ever since he risked everything to help her, ever since he held her trembling body in his hands and nursed her through the worst of her illness. He’d fed her. Made her laugh. Built her a safe space. Given her music and companionship, and a chance to heal in peace.

And now she knew what she wanted more than anything.

She wanted to be his.

She didn’t know exactly how it would work. The logistics were a mystery she hadn’t solved yet, even with all her engineering know-how. But what mattered was the closeness. The touch. The sharing of something more intimate than words could express.

Tonight, she promised herself. Tonight, she would give herself to him. Fully. Willingly. Fearlessly.

And as she lay there, her eyes tracing the lines of Max’s back as he talked to his reflection, she whispered softly, barely louder than a breath:

“I love you too, Max.”

Her voice was so faint it was swallowed by the hush of the room — but it was real, and true, and hers.

Max, still oblivious, threw his hands in the air at the mirror and laughed nervously. “You know what? I’m just gonna wing it. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

Behind him, a tiny smile bloomed on Gadget’s face, and she nestled back under the blanket. Not to sleep — just to savor the warmth of that moment. Her heart beating steadily. Her mind was quiet for the first time in days.

She was ready.

And the night was coming.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay on continuing this, life got in the way, and I also got caught up in another Zootopia fic.

It's gonna happen, Max and Gadget. Next chapter. Also, Chip sucks.

Chapter 9: Natural Anthem

NINE: Natural Anthem

The kitchen smelled like Goofy’s classic cheesy casserole — half a dozen shredded cheeses, cream of mushroom soup, elbow macaroni, and a questionable handful of hot dog slices. Max wrinkled his nose lovingly as he set Gadget gently down on the table in front of her doll-sized dish, which had been carefully portioned out for her: a few pieces of plain pasta, a tomato slice, and a crumble of white cheddar.

Goofy stood by the oven with a big oven mitt still on one hand and a smear of cheese on his apron. “Dinner is served, y’all!” he sang with his usual awkward charm, sliding into his chair with an exaggerated “whooo-wee!” as if he’d just returned from climbing Mount Everest instead of baking a casserole.

Max rolled his eyes but grinned. “Looks... gooey, Dad.”

Goofy winked. “Well, gooey’s in the name, ain’t it?” He scooped himself a mountain of the stuff and passed the dish over. “Gadget, you ever have one’a these before?”

Gadget smiled politely, adjusting the sleeves on her dusty-rose sweater with little sewn-on buttons. Her hair was brushed and neat, little metal barrettes keeping it tucked behind her oversized ears.

“I can’t say I have,” she said, sniffing delicately at the cheesy mountain on Goofy’s plate. “It certainly smells... comforting.”

Goofy chuckled. “That’s a real nice way of sayin’ ‘weird lookin’,’ hyuck.”

Max forked at his plate, but his eyes weren’t on the food. They kept drifting back to Gadget. She sat primly on a napkin, she hadn’t touched the tomato yet — she kept glancing up at him instead.

There was something between them. Electric. Faint. Like static before lightning.

Every time they made eye contact, it lingered just a second too long. Like they were both trying to read a sentence neither of them had said out loud yet.

“So, what’s the plan for the night?” Goofy asked, breaking Max out of the trance. “You two got any movies lined up? Maybe that one about the raccoon and the tree fella?”

Max had no goddamned idea what movie his dad was referencing. He shook his head, “Nah, probably just something chill. Gadget’s still recovering, so low-key vibes.”

Goofy nodded, standing up with a stretch and a yawn. “Well, I’m off to the late shift. Don’t wait up — but maybe save me a square’a casserole if it don’t congeal too hard.”

He leaned down and gave Max a big ol’ dad ruffle, then gave Gadget a finger-gun salute. “You take care, lil’ miss. Don’t let Max make you watch anything where everybody cries at the end.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gadget said, smiling warmly.

With a final jangle of keys and a holler of, “Love y’all!” Goofy was out the door.

Then it was just the two of them.

Max stood, scraping his chair back, and leaned on the table. “Hey, uh... you want to finish this upstairs? Maybe... hang out for a while before bed?”

Gadget looked up at him. Her eyes caught the light just right — shimmering like the ocean. She nodded slowly.

“I’d like that.”

He carefully cupped his hands, and she stepped into them. They didn’t speak as he carried her up the stairs, but they didn’t need to. Something unspoken hung in the air between them — anticipation, like the moment just before a kiss. The night stretched out before them, silent and full of possibility.

Neither of them knew the other’s heart was ready to take the leap.

But they would.

Upstairs, the evening settled in soft and golden through Max’s window, casting long shadows across his cluttered room. The TV glowed dimly at the foot of the bed, playing some old cartoon neither of them was watching — background noise to cut the silence, though it didn’t really help.

Max had propped a few pillows against the headboard and arranged a folded blanket like a seat cushion so Gadget could sit comfortably beside him on the bed. They had their dinners with them but they picked at them like they were puzzle pieces instead of food.

They both pretended to watch the show, eyes flicking toward the screen, then toward each other, then away again.

Max stole glances at her as the light played across her features. She looked... calm. Peaceful. Her sweater had a little thread coming loose at the shoulder. Her foot tapped the bed like she was keeping a rhythm he couldn’t hear. Maybe she was nervous too.

He felt like the air was getting thinner.

That thing between them — that electricity — was now thunder in his chest. Words pressed against his throat like a rising tide.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, Gadget... I need to talk to you about something.”

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. For a second, Max almost chickened out. His stomach twisted.

But before he could say more, Gadget raised a tiny hand. “Shhh. Wait.”

Max blinked. “Wait?”

Gadget’s smile was soft. “I have a surprise for you.”

He sat up straighter. “Gadget, it’s just... it’s really important, I—”

She stood on his blanket, facing him, a tiny hand resting on his arm like it had always belonged there.

“I know,” she said gently. “But it can wait. Please, Max. Just trust me. Close your eyes.”

He hesitated, heart thudding. His voice caught in his throat. “You sure?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Positive.”

Max swallowed. “Okay...”

He leaned back against the pillow, setting his plate aside, and slowly closed his eyes.

Gadget took a step closer, watching his face go slack, his lashes dark against his cheeks. He looked older when he wasn’t smiling. Softer, too. Like the weight of everything he carried had finally settled across his shoulders.

Her chest tightened.

She knew he was going to tell her he loved her. She’d heard it — in his words, his voice, his nervous little laughs. In how he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. And tonight, she would give him her answer.

Not in words.

But in something deeper. Something permanent.

She walked across the blanket toward him, heart fluttering. The TV screen kept flickering, unnoticed, casting blue light across the room.

And Max waited — eyes closed, unaware — for the surprise that would change everything.

After several minutes of waiting, Gadget's voice finally called out over the nearby speaker, "You can open your eyes."

Max's eyes shot open, and he sat bolt upright. What he saw took his breath away. Before him, Gadget stood completely bare, her clothing gone, revealing her in all her naked glory. Her small, round breasts sat proudly on her chest, fur as soft as a whisper surrounding her nipples. Between her legs, a tiny patch of fur covered her sex, a fuzzy little slit that seemed to pulse with the same nervous anticipation that thrummed through the air.

"G-Gadget?" He stammered, "Is... everything okay?"

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze with surprising confidence. "Yes, it is," she said, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to echo through the room, "Max, remember how I said I wanted to be with you?"

Max nodded, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of something else—desire? "I remember," he croaked, unable to tear his eyes from her.

"I want you," She blushed under her fur, "Right here. Right now."

Max's eyes went wide, his cheeks aflame. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. "But... but your health..."

Gadget giggled, the sound as delicate as the chiming of a music box. "I'm feeling much better, Max. And I know what I want." She took a step closer, and Max felt his heart hammering in his chest, "Do you want me?"

Max swallowed hard, his eyes tracing every line of her bare form. "I-I do," he admitted, his voice thick with longing.

"Pick me up," She commended.

Max’s heart felt like it had grown too big for his chest, but his hands obeyed her command. He picked her up gently, his thumbs supporting her tiny waist, his fingers cradling her back. Her bare fur was warm, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He brought her closer, his hand shaking slightly with the weight of the moment. Gadget’s eyes searched his, and Max felt like he was drowning in their depths. Her whiskers brushed against his skin as she placed her minuscule paws on his cheeks, her touch surprisingly firm.

The room fell away, the TV flickering forgotten. Time slowed to a crawl as Gadget leaned in, her breath a gentle whisper across his face. Max’s eyes fluttered shut, his heart racing. He could feel the softness of her fur against his skin, the gentle beat of her heart. And then—

She placed her lips to his.

A kiss. Well, as good of a kiss as they could have with their difference in size. She lingered on his lips, the warmth of her breath mingling with his, the sweetness of her mouth like a delicate bloom opening just for him. Max felt like he was in a trance, the world outside their little bubble forgotten.

She pulled back, licking her thin lips, "Max?" She looked into his eyes again, "Will you lick me... you know, down there?"

Max's mind raced. He'd never been asked anything like this before. But looking at Gadget, so exposed and hopeful, he knew he couldn't say no. "Okay," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

He had been dreaming of this moment.

Max set her down, Gadget’s small frame resting on a pillow, her legs spread slightly apart. She looked up at Max with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability, her furry mound a stark contrast to the white fabric beneath her. Max’s heart thundered like a drumline in his chest as he laid her down, his hands trembling with the weight of what was about to happen. He took a moment to appreciate the view before him — her tiny body laid bare, trusting and open. The fur around her sex was a soft, inviting, her legs, so delicate and lithe, stretched out on the pillow, giving him a clear path to the treasure hidden between them.

"You're sure?" He asked her one more time.

"Please," Gadget looked up at him as he loomed over her, "I want you, Max. I need you."

For a moment, it all seemed fucking ridiculous. A mental battle took place in his mind, was Max really going to eat out a mouse? Okay, she wasn't exactly a mouse, she was like him, just really small. But the morality of it, the utter strangeness of it; was a thought pricking his brain. However, when he looked between her legs, seeing her small sex glistening, his hormones won the war over reason.

He needed her too.

Max leaned in, his eyes focused on her, and licked his lips. He leaned over Gadget's body, his heart racing with excitement and nerves. His tongue, large and wet, touched the soft fur of her thighs, making her shiver. He took a deep breath, the sweet musk of her scent filling his nostrils, and he knew there was no going back.

With a gentle sweep, Max's broad tongue touched the delicate folds of Gadget's sex. She gasped, her eyes widening with pleasure. Despite his size, his tongue felt surprisingly soft and gentle against her, the perfect pressure to make her quiver with excitement. He explored her, his tongue covering her thighs, pussy, and tummy all at once.

Her whimpers grew louder as Max increased the pressure. Gadget's hips bucked slightly, and she clutched at the pillow, her nails digging into the fabric. Max could feel the warmth of her arousal, her body responding to his touch like it was made for this moment. He took his time, savoring the taste of her sweetness, the way she quivered under his ministrations.

"G-golly, Max..." Gadget mewled, "Don't stop."

Max didn't intend to. His tongue danced over her, exploring every inch of her with a passion he didn't know he had. Her taste was something he hadn't experienced before — a blend of musk and sweetness that was uniquely hers. Her breathing grew heavier, her body tensing as his tongue found her clit, a tiny, hard nub nestled in her soft fur.

He watched her face, the way her eyes rolled back in her head, and her whiskers twitched with each stroke. Her breathy whispers of "Yes," and "More," were his guide, his reward. He took her sounds in, his tongue swirling and flicking, the sounds of her pleasure echoing in his ears like a sweet symphony. Her tail flicked against his face, and she reached up to grab onto one of his floppy ears for support as his saliva coated her lower half, making her fur stick to her skin. Max's eyes closed in concentration, savoring the moment, as he felt her body start to shiver and quiver under his touch.

He was her first, and Gadget couldn't get enough. Max's tongue felt like heaven against her, sending waves of pleasure through her body that she'd never felt before. The way he moved, the gentle pressure, the way he listened to her whimpers and gasps—it was all so overwhelming. She felt herself building up, a coil of tension tightening in her belly, her breaths coming faster and faster.

"M-Max..." She stammered, "I think I'm gonna..."

Max could feel it, too. Her body was tightening, her legs shaking. He licked harder, faster, his tongue flicking against her with a precision that seemed to defy his size.

Gadget's eyes rolled back, and she let out a high-pitched squeak as she came. It was like nothing he'd ever heard before—so sweet and pure and perfect that it made his chest ache. Her pussy squirted on his tongue, sending a shiver through his whole body. He licked her through it, not wanting to miss a single drop of her sweetness.

As the waves of her orgasm subsided, Max pulled back, panting. Gadget lay there, her fur damp with his saliva, her eyes half-closed, a blissful smile on her face. "Golly," she murmured, "Max, that was so good. So good."

All Max could do was nod. He was harder than granite in his pants, his tongue still savoring her sweetness. Gadget looked at him with a knowing smile, "Your turn," she whispered.

"How?" Max blinked at her.

"Just lay back and take off your pants," She smirked, "Trust me."

Max hesitated for a moment before doing as she asked, his hands fumbling with the button of his jeans. He slid them down, his erection springing free. Gadget's eyes grew wide as she took in his size. It was like comparing a skyscraper to a tiny, quaint cottage—intimidating, to say the least. But she was determined to make him feel good, too.

Gadget began to crawl up Max's legs. Her tiny paws dug into his skin lightly, leaving faint marks as she approached her goal. Max's cock stood tall and proud, the tip glistening with precum. She looked up at him, her eyes full of mischief, and took a deep breath before leaning in. Her tongue darted out, the wetness of it gliding along the shaft of his cock. Max's eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation. It was unlike anything he'd felt before—tiny and precise, but oh so intense. Gadget licked him like she was savoring a lollipop, her tongue swirling around the head of his dick. Her fur brushed against his shaft, tickling him in the most unexpected ways.

She knew she was far too small to take him in her mouth, or anywhere else for that matter, but with tongue and paws she worked him, her actions fueled by a mix of curiosity and love. Max's eyes rolled back in his head, his body jolting with every flick of her tongue. He watched her tiny frame, her furry ears twitching with excitement as she tended to him. Her movements were precise, as if she'd studied the art of pleasing a male. It was a dance, a ballet of passion, and Max was her devoted audience of one.

Her tongue found the slit of his tip, and she poked it inside, exploring his taste. Max groaned, his hands fisting in the blanket. Gadget’s footpaws worked the base of his shaft, her movements tentative but earnest. It was a strange sight, a tiny creature handling him with such care. And yet, it was incredibly arousing.

But there was some frustration to it as well. As tiny as she was, Max had no way of truly being with her. "I wish I could be inside you," Max groaned, his hips bucking, "I want you so bad, Gadget."

"I wish you could," Gadget looked up at him, licking the sticky precum on her lips.

Then an idea formed.

Gadget looked up at Max with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "There's something else I want to try," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Can you... can you put me in your hand and rub me against you?"

Max was stunned by her boldness, but the thought was too tantalizing to resist. He wrapped his hand around her gently and positioned her where she wanted, her tiny body nestled in the palm of his hand. Gadget's heart raced as she felt the heat of his erection, the softness of his skin against her fur. She wiggled slightly, her pussy pulsing with excitement as she pressed her slit against his cock.

And then he started to move her up and down.

It was an odd sensation at first, Gadget's wetness sliding along Max's shaft, the fur of her sex melding with his skin. Max watched in amazement as her tiny body danced in his hand, her paws clutching at his fingers, her legs wrapping around his shaft as he moved her. The friction was intense, the heat unbearable. He could feel her getting wetter, her pussy pulsing as he stroked himself with her.

"H-how's it feel?" She squeaked.

Max groaned, "It feels... incredible, Gadget." He slowly picked up the pace, careful not to hurt her small frame in his fist, "How does it feel for you?"

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let out a tiny moan, "It feels... different. Good. Really good."

Max was essentially jerking off with a mouse in his hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if this was something they had done a hundred times before. Each stroke sent a jolt of pleasure through Gadget’s body, her eyes rolling back into her head as she felt her second orgasm building. Max could feel her getting wetter, the slickness of her pussy against his skin. It was a strange feeling, but one that was quickly becoming addictive.

Precum leaked out of his tip, drenching her small body and adding lubrication, allowing Max to move a bit faster, a bit harder. The room was filled with their combined sounds of pleasure—Max’s deep, guttural groans and Gadget’s high-pitched squeaks of delight. It was a symphony of passion, a cacophony of sensations that neither of them had ever experienced before.

"I'm close again," Gadget breathed, "Do it with me, Max... c-cum with me."

He was close too, the pressure building, his hips rising to meet the rhythm of Gadget’s movements. He could feel the tension in his balls, the tightening in his stomach that signaled his approaching release. His eyes locked with hers, the connection between them palpable.

"Gadget I..." The words were stuck on the tip of his tongue as he looked down at the little mouse in his hand, "I... I love you."

The room stilled, the air thick with the weight of his confession. Gadget’s eyes grew wide, her body tensing for a moment before she threw her head back, "I love you too, Max!"

Her pussy clenched against his shaft as she climaxed once more, her juices squirting out onto his hand cock. Max watched in amazement, the sight of her pleasure pushing him over the edge. He came with a roar, his seed spurting out to cover her tiny form, leaving her a sticky, dripping mess.

Gadget rested against his cock, panting and covered in Max’s cum. She felt a strange mix of satisfaction and something more. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before. She looked up at Max, his face flushed and eyes glazed over with pleasure. Her heart swelled with emotions she'd never experienced before. Max’s hand remained wrapped around her, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his fingers webbed with cum. He stared down at her, the reality of his confession setting in. It was out there now, a truth that could never be unsaid. Gadget’s eyes searched his, looking for a sign of regret, but all she saw was love.

"I'm sorry," Max started, his voice thick with emotion, "I didn't mean to blurt it out like that."

Gadget's heart raced in her chest, her breaths shallow. Max had said the words she'd longed to hear. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with hope. "Do you really mean it?"

Even though she already knew it to be true.

Max nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "Yes," he whispered, "I do. I love you with all my heart."

The confession hung in the air, potent and unmistakable. Gadget’s heart swelled, her eyes brimming with tears. She never thought she’d hear those words from anyone, let alone Max Goof. The awkwardness of the situation, the absurdity of a full-sized person and an anthropomorphic mouse sharing such an intimate moment—it all faded away. All that mattered was the love in Max’s eyes and the warmth of his hand still wrapped around her.

"And I mean it too, Max," She whispered, nuzzling his sticky hand, "With all my heart."

Max felt a warmth spread through his chest, his heart swelling with a love he never knew could exist between species. He carefully lifted her off his cock and brought her to the sink in the bathroom. She was a mess of saliva and precum, but to him she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Gadget sat in the sink, her knees pulled up to her chest, as Max turned on the faucet. He cupped water into his hand and gently splashed it over her, cleaning her off. She giggled as the cold water hit her, her eyes never leaving his. "Thanks," she murmured, her cheeks still flushed with pleasure.

Max grabbed a washcloth and carefully began to wipe her down. Each stroke was tender, reverent, as if she were made of the most delicate glass. He took his time, making sure to clean every inch of her. Gadget’s eyes never left his, and she couldn’t help but feel cherished.

"Can I confess something?" Max asked as he lifted her washed form out of the sink and into a towel.

Gadget looked at him curiously, "What is it?"

"You were my first," he blushed as he watched her dry off, "And I know it's weird and messed up, but I liked it."

Gadget's cheeks were pink. "It wasn't weird, Max," she said, her voice gentle, "It was beautiful. And I liked it too. You were also my first."

They stared at each other for a long moment, their hearts beating in sync. The gravity of what they had just shared wasn’t lost on them. Max had always felt a special bond with Gadget, but now, it was something more. Something that transcended friendship, something that was as real as the beating of his heart.

He carefully cradled her in the towel, her fur sticking to the fabric, and carried her back to the bed. She was so light, so delicate, and Max felt a fierce protectiveness surge through him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he gently petted her, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. Gadget’s heart raced in her chest, the warmth of his hand sending shivers down her spine.

"You ready for bed?" He asked her with a smile.

Gadget nodded, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through her body. Max gently set her down on the pillow, and he watched as she curled up under a corner of the covers. His heart swelled with affection for her—this tiny, brave, beautiful creature who had just shared something so profound with him.

He slipped in beside her, not bothering to put on any clothes. He reached over and turned out his bedside light, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, their hearts beating in time with each other. Max's hand found hers under the covers, and she squeezed his finger tightly, her tail swishing in contentment.

Tonight was everything they had both hoped for.

And even as they began to drift off to sleep, the worries of their future were pushed away by the love they shared, wrapped in the warmth of Max’s arms. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his heartbeat a comforting lullaby to her tiny ears. Gadget’s eyes grew heavy, her thoughts a jumble of emotions she’d never experienced before. But amidst the confusion, one thing was clear: they were happy.

Notes:

This is by far one of the strangest but most fun sex scenes I have ever written. I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 10: Underneath the Radar

TEN: Underneath the Radar

Max stood in front of his wall, a small stack of photos in one hand, a roll of double-sided tape in the other. He hadn’t meant to make a whole gallery—it had started with just one picture. But now? The wall had become a timeline, a quiet testimony to a love he never expected to find in this way.

He carefully pressed a photo to the wall: a grainy little image of Gadget sitting in the crook of his neck, wrapped in the hood of his sweatshirt, smiling up at him while he looked completely unaware, caught mid-laugh by a lucky timer. He smiled at it, gently smoothing down the corner with his thumb.

There was another photo—Gadget holding a grape slice like a piece of pie, her cheeks puffed out with food. Max chuckled softly as he stuck that one next to the last, angling it a little so the layout felt alive.

His fingers hovered over the next picture. This one was different.

It was taken during their bath a couple of days ago. He’d set the camera on the sink and hit the timer without thinking, and what came out was… oddly beautiful. He sat in the tub, knees pulled up, steam curling around his face, and Gadget—completely comfortable—was nestled in the bend of his arm, her body slick and gleaming from the water, hair fluffed, eyes closed in pure relaxation.

He hadn’t meant to print that one. But he had.

He swallowed and stuck it gently to the wall, higher up, like it deserved a place of quiet reverence. He stepped back, letting his gaze linger.

So much had changed in just a few days. The idea of loving her had gone from terrifying to effortless. He said it now without hesitation, without tripping over it. "I love you," in the morning when she woke up. "I love you," as she settled into his hoodie before they watched a show. "I love you," whispered against the softness of her body at night.

And she said it back. Every time. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He'd never felt so seen. So understood. Even in the weirdness of it all—the difference in size, species, whatever—none of it mattered. They found ways. They touched. They kissed. They gave and received pleasure, yes, but more than that, they gave each other space to be vulnerable.

Max looked at one of the photos pinned near the top—a selfie of them cheek to cheek (or close enough), him cross-eyed and grinning, her half-buried in his hoodie and laughing so hard her eyes were shut. He’d made that laugh happen. He had made her laugh like that.

He pressed his hand to the wall, lightly, fingers resting near her tiny, smiling face.

He could feel it deep in his chest—something more than affection. It wasn’t just love. It was this aching, giddy kind of belonging. Like she wasn’t just his girlfriend—she was his person. The way she looked at him. The way she touched his face with her little paw; like it was the most important thing she’d ever done. The way they’d shared silence without it ever being empty.

His heart squeezed.

He hadn’t thought about it in days—her leaving. It hadn’t come up. It hadn’t needed to. Maybe it wouldn’t even happen. Maybe…

He didn’t finish the thought.

Instead, Max reached for the last photo in the stack. It wasn’t even a good shot. Just a blurry picture of her dozing in his shirt pocket while he held a sandwich in one hand and the camera in the other. But it made him laugh. It was messy. Unstaged. Real.

He pinned it up and whispered, mostly to himself, “God, I love you.”

From behind him, a soft rustling sound.

Max turned.

Gadget was there, standing in the open doorway of the Barbie RV, eyes sleepy, hair a little tousled from her nap. She looked at the wall, then at him, and her expression softened with something gentle. Something warm.

He smiled. “Hey,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

She walked to the edge of the dresser and sat down. “No,” she murmured. “But… I heard you.”

Max blushed slightly but didn’t look away. He didn't hide the wall.

Gadget took it all in—the photos, the layout, the quiet thoughtfulness of it. And then she smiled.

“Come here,” she said, softly.

He crossed to her and sat on the bed.

Gadget climbed into his hand and leaned against his thumb. “You’re everything to me, Max,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

He nodded, his throat thick.

They didn’t need to say more. Not yet.

There were other things to worry about.

Max ran his fingers gently down Gadget’s back, her fur still soft and warm from her nap. She was curled up in his palm now, lying on her stomach, arms tucked beneath her and chin resting comfortably on the pad of his hand. They were quiet for a moment, just soaking each other in.

Then Max cleared his throat, a little nervous but trying to play it casual.

“You still good for today?” he asked. “Meeting P.J., I mean?”

Gadget looked up at him from the corner of his hoodie, her little paw lightly resting against the curve of his neck. “Yeah,” she said, soft but certain. “I’m ready.”

He nodded but didn’t stop bouncing his leg.

“You sure?” he asked again. “Like… really sure? We can cancel. He doesn’t know why I invited him over. We could say something came up. I could spill water on the couch. Set off the fire alarm. There are options.”

Gadget gave him a playful smirk. “Max. We talked about this.”

“I know,” he said, dragging his hands through his hair. “It’s just… I don’t know. This feels big. You’re my person, you know? And P.J.’s my other person. And now my two people are gonna be in the same room and what if—”

“Max.”

He stopped.

She climbed up just a little higher, until she was level with his cheek, and touched it gently.

“The moment you told me you trusted him with your life… that was enough for me. I trust you, which means I trust him. I’m nervous, sure. I mean, I’m a mouse who talks, and that’s not a Tuesday-night-normal for most people. But I’m also your girlfriend. And I want to be a part of your world, all of it.”

Max swallowed hard, the way her words always seemed to sneak up and wrap around his heart like ivy. He smiled, small but honest. “You make it sound so easy.”

She grinned. “It kinda is. When I’m with you.”

Max exhaled and leaned back against the wall, a little more relaxed now. “Okay. Okay, cool. Just… fair warning—he might panic at first. Or freeze. Or start talking about anime really fast. That’s a thing he does when he’s overwhelmed.”

“Well then,” Gadget said, “sounds like he and I might get along just fine.”

Max chuckled, gently stroking her back with a finger. “He’ll love you. He’s got a good heart. You’ll see.”

Gadget gave a small nod. “And if he doesn’t?” She smirked. “I’ll reverse the polarity in his microwave. Just enough to keep his popcorn from ever popping.”

Max laughed out loud. “God, I love you.”

“Love you too, doofus.”

They stayed like that for a few more moments, just sharing space, waiting for the knock at the door that would bring a whole new layer of real into their lives.

**********************

About half an hour later, the doorbell rang.

Max jumped a little despite himself. “Okay. Showtime,” he muttered, wiping his suddenly-sweaty palms on his jeans before heading for the door.

He opened it to find P.J. standing there, wearing his usual hoodie and cargo shorts, holding a crumpled gas station bag filled with snacks like it was a peace offering.

“Yo!” P.J. greeted with a big grin. “What’s up, man? You been ghostin’ me for like, what, two weeks? I thought you died or joined a cult.”

Max gave an awkward chuckle and stepped aside to let him in. “Not dead. Not a cult. Just... been busy.”

P.J. looked him over as he stepped into the hallway, his brow quirked. “Busy, huh? You don’t look like you’ve been productive busy. You look like you’ve been ‘locked in your room jerkin' it to porn’ busy.”

Max winced. “Yeah, that’s fair. But I promise you’re about to understand everything.”

“Okay...” P.J. followed him upstairs. “So, what? You joined a fight club? Discovered a new anime? Finally got a girlfriend?” He laughed as if that were the least likely option.

Max coughed and mumbled, “Well...”

They reached his bedroom door. Max turned to his best friend with a serious look. “I’m trusting you, alright? Like, this is big. It’s kind of unbelievable. But it’s real. So... be cool.”

P.J., now more curious than ever, just blinked and said, “Dude, are you about to show me a crime scene?”

Max rolled his eyes and opened the door.

P.J. stepped in—and froze.

There, neatly arranged in the far corner of the room, was a very detailed Barbie-sized RV, with tiny furniture, doll accessories, and even a miniature bed. It looked like someone had been living in it. He turned to Max slowly.

“So...” P.J. said, eyeing the setup, “do you... wanna tell me something? Because if you’re coming out, man, I’m here for it. Like, I don't judge...”

Max let out a sharp sigh. “Dude. No. Not gay. Just—just give me a second.”

He walked over to the edge of the bed, where Gadget had been waiting just out of view behind a pillow. She stepped forward onto Max’s hand like they’d practiced earlier, her little frame graceful, confident, but clearly a bit nervous.

P.J. watched her like someone watching a cartoon come to life.

“P.J.,” Max said, lifting his hand to chest level, “this is Gadget. She’s my girlfriend.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then P.J. laughed. “Okay. Alright. Very funny. You got me. You got a pet mouse. Cool. Hardly worth prying me away from my gaming marathon though.”

Gadget smiled sweetly and waved. “Hi, P.J. It’s nice to meet you. Max talks about you a lot.”

P.J.’s mouth fell open.

He took a step back.

“Holy—what in the titty fucking fuck?!”

Gadget tilted her head. “I get that a lot.”

“Y-you’re... real? You talk?! And you’re his—like, his girlfriend?!”

Max, trying to hide a smirk, nodded. “Yep.”

P.J. just stared, then turned slowly to Max. “Bro. Bro.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been dating a tiny talking mouse for two weeks?!”

Max shrugged. “It's... complicated.”

P.J. looked like he was about to sit down and then forgot how. “Dude. I thought you were avoiding me because you were spanking it to Mallory McMallard images online. But this?! This is... this is some Studio Ghibli, Tiny Toon Adventures, fever dream level stuff, man!”

Gadget giggled.

Max just smiled and held her close to his chest. “I told you it was big.”

P.J. finally sat on the edge of the bed, stunned but clearly not running out the door screaming. He blinked again. “Okay. I need a minute. And probably like, a juice box or something.”

Gadget leaned over toward Max’s ear and whispered, “I like him.”

“Yeah,” Max whispered back, amused. “Me too.”

The hours slipped by easily. They sprawled out across Max’s room—P.J. in the beanbag chair surrounded by crinkled chip bags, Max on the bed with his legs hanging off the edge, and Gadget perched cross-legged atop a shoebox near the RV, sipping a capful of orange soda like it was fine wine.

The TV was playing cartoons in the background, mostly ignored. They’d all gotten a little caught up in talking.

Max and Gadget took turns recounting everything—how they met, how she’d gotten sick, how he took care of her. Gadget filled in the blanks about her past with the Rescue Rangers, telling stories about their adventures with warmth and fondness. Max mostly watched her with quiet adoration, chiming in now and then with a joke or an affectionate nudge.

P.J. listened the whole time like he was trying to rewire his own brain.

Finally, somewhere between the tail end of a bag of Bugles and the final five minutes of an episode of Rocko’s Modern Life, he cleared his throat. “Okay, so... I have a question. And, uh, don’t take this the wrong way, Gadget.”

She looked up from where she sat. “Shoot.”

“It’s just that—okay, you’ve got a history, friends, stories, and that’s all wild enough. But like... what are you?” P.J. rubbed the back of his neck, awkward but sincere. “I mean, you’re a mouse, right? A talking mouse in clothes. With feelings. Who can build like... actual tech. And I don’t mean ‘cartoon mouse funny,’ I mean real-life, you’re-here-in-my-best-friend’s-room mouse. That shouldn’t be possible.”

Gadget didn’t take offense. She just tilted her head and nodded, her expression shifting to something softer, thoughtful.

“That’s... actually a really good question,” she said quietly. “And one I’ve asked myself a lot.”

Max sat up a little straighter.

“I’ve got memories of my dad, Geegaw Hackwrench. He was a brilliant inventor. I remember living in a treehouse. I remember joining up with the Rescue Rangers. But when I really try to think back—really back, like before all that—there’s a blank.” She tapped her little fingers against her knee. “I never questioned it growing up. We were just ‘there,’ you know? Chip, Dale, Monterey Jack, me. Like we’d always been.”

P.J. frowned. “But doesn’t that bug you?”

Gadget smiled faintly. “It used to. But then life kept happening, and I got busy building things and helping people. I stopped looking so hard.” She looked up at Max, her voice quiet. “But maybe it’s time I started again.”

Max gave a slow nod. “We don’t have to rush into anything, but... yeah. If you wanted to know more, we could look into it together.”

P.J. leaned back in the beanbag chair, arms folded behind his head, the crinkling of a now-empty Bugles bag beneath him. He glanced at Gadget, then looked between her and Max. “You know what? I’ll help,” he said, like he was just now deciding it. “Tonight, when I get home, I’ll do some digging online.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “What, like... late-night conspiracy forum kind of digging?”

P.J. nodded. “Exactly that. I’ve got access to those weird conspiracy sites, like X-Files message boards, all that junk. Half the people on there think lizard people run the government—so a brilliant, talking mouse inventor who once ran with a chipmunk detective agency? That’s barely page three stuff.”

Gadget blinked in surprise. “You really think you’ll find something?”

“Hey, stranger stuff’s happened,” P.J. said with a grin. “There’s gotta be someone out there who saw something. A blurry photograph, a campfire story... some nut who knows more than you do.” He paused, realizing how weird that sounded. “Uh, respectfully.”

Gadget chuckled. “None taken. I’d be curious to see what’s out there.”

Max nodded. “I mean, if there’s even a scrap of a clue, it’s worth following.”

**********************

The front door clicked shut with a soft thunk as Max saw P.J. off into the warm, still night. Crickets chirped lazily somewhere out in the yard, and a streetlamp buzzed gently at the corner. Max stood there for a second, hands in his hoodie pocket, watching his best friend disappear down the sidewalk, backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Later, dude!" P.J. called back, waving. "Tell Gadget I said goodnight—and if she's got any sisters, I would love to meet them!"

Max laughed under his breath. “I’ll let her know,” he called, then turned and headed back inside, locking the door behind him.

The house was dim and quiet. Goofy’s car was still gone—he was on the late shift tonight—and Max moved softly up the stairs, feet hitting each carpeted step with a tired but content rhythm.

As he opened his bedroom door, a warm little world greeted him: the soft glow of his desk lamp cast a golden pool over the far wall, where new photos of him and Gadget hung proudly. Gadget herself was standing on the bed in her nightwear—an oversized pink T-shirt, brushing out her blonde hair with a Barbie comb Max had got for her.

She turned at the sound of the door and smiled. “Hey. Everything okay with P.J.?”

Max smiled as he shut the door behind him. “Yeah. I think he’s still a little shell-shocked, but… he’ll be alright.” He walked over and flopped onto the bed beside her, resting on his side. “He said goodnight. And that he would love to meet any sisters you have.”

Gadget giggled and climbed over to him, settling herself comfortably by his shoulder. “You'll have to tell him sorry. I am one and done.”

They shared a quiet smile, and the atmosphere shifted again—something intimate but easy between them. No pressure, no plans, just quiet understanding.

Max reached up and gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You tired?”

“A little,” she admitted, leaning into his hand. “But I wanna stay up with you for a bit.”

“Yeah,” Max murmured. “Same.”

They shifted under the covers together, the room bathed in warm light and the faint hum of a box fan in the corner. Gadget curled into Max’s chest, her tiny body fitting perfectly against the crook of his arm. Max pulled the blankets up around them both, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

As they lay there, Max traced gentle patterns on her back with his fingertip, and Gadget nuzzled into the space between his neck and collarbone.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be boring after today,” she whispered playfully.

“I’m okay with boring,” Max said, his voice barely more than a breath. “As long as it’s with you.”

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Ditto.”

The hush of the room settled around them, soft and comforting. Max's fingers slowed against Gadget's back, and his eyes traced the ceiling in quiet thought. For a while, neither of them spoke—just the low hum of the fan and the gentle rhythm of their breathing filled the space.

Then, softly, Max broke the silence.

“…Hey, uh…” he began, his voice careful. “You given any more thought to… y’know, what you’re gonna do?”

Gadget stirred slightly against him but didn’t pull away. “You mean… if I’m going back to the Rescue Rangers?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “I mean, Chip’s coming back soon, right?”

There was a pause. Max could feel her tiny heartbeat, faint but steady.

“I’ve thought about it,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “A lot, actually.”

Max waited, his stomach tight. He didn’t want to sway her, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t care.

“When I first got sick,” she said, “and everything felt so bad… all I wanted was to go back. To go back to what I knew. The Rescue Rangers, my home, that whole life.” She lifted her head a little to look at him. “But you were the one that toolk care of me.”

Her head rested against him, feeling the slow thud of his heart.

“And every day I’ve gotten stronger,” she said. “Not just physically, but… emotionally. You gave me space to heal in a way I didn’t even know I needed. You treated me like a person—not a project or a teammate or a mission. Just… me.”

Max swallowed. “Gadget, I—”

She cut him off gently. “I’m not saying I’ve decided completely. There’s a part of me that still feels tied to them. That purpose, that family… it was my world for a long time.”

Max nodded, trying not to let the ache creep into his expression.

“But…” she continued, pressing her face against him. “There’s a part of me now that wonders if maybe… maybe I’ve outgrown that life. Or maybe I just want something different. Something smaller, slower. A real home. A life with you.”

Max blinked hard. His throat tightened.

“…So, you don’t know yet,” he said softly. “But… we’re part of the equation now.”

She smiled against him. “You’re the biggest part of the equation, Max.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “That’s the most romantic math I’ve ever heard.”

Gadget chuckled. “Don’t tell my old teammates. They’ll never let me live it down.”

Max picked her up in his hands and they kissed softly, her small lips against his, and then settled back into the quiet warmth of each other. The question still lingered in the air, but it no longer felt like a weight—more like a door that could be opened in time, together.

And while they wanted to spend the night talking, maybe more, sleep quickly overtook them, and they found each other in their dreams.

**********************

A door slammed somewhere downstairs, followed immediately by the unmistakable voice of Peg Pete, sharp and slicing through the house like a kitchen knife through birthday cake.

“Peeeee Jay! You better take out that garbage before it starts walkin’ on its own!”

P.J., hunched in the glow of his chunky late-90s computer monitor, didn’t budge. He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and called back, “I’m busy, Ma!”

“So is the bacteria in that trash can! MOVE IT!”

He winced but didn’t move. Not yet.

Onscreen, a grainy old website loaded slowly—one of those black-background, bright-green-text conspiracy pages. At the top, in pixelated Comic Sans, it read: MYSTERIES OF THE TINY WORLD.

“Come on, come on…” he muttered, impatiently clicking through links: Cryptid sightings, Urban animal myths, Unconfirmed rodent intelligence reports.

He knew how crazy this looked.

Hell, it was crazy.

Max’s girlfriend was a mouse.

A literal, talking, invention-building, miniature lady mouse with opinions and emotions and some serious eyes. The kind of eyes that made you feel like she was seeing three steps ahead of you and measuring your soul at the same time.

P.J. rubbed his face and leaned back in his chair, trying to process how his best friend was not only dating a mouse—he was in love with her.

And she was in love back.

Not some dumb cartoon crush, not some guy-and-his-pet Jerry Springer nonsense. Real.

And yeah, it was weird.

No way around it.

But it was also kind of… sweet.

And Max was the happiest P.J. had seen him in months. Maybe longer.

Ever since Roxanne dumped him back in February—ugh, that had been a mess. The kind of crying-on-the-curb, Nickelback song on repeat, calling-P.J.-at-3-am. kind of breakup. Max had spiraled hard.

And now… he was grounded. Centered. Calm.

Because of a mouse.

P.J. leaned forward again, scrolling through a forum thread labeled “Rodent Uplift Theory – Are Some Mice Smarter Than Us?”

“Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s see… Soviet lab experiments… weird sightings in Monterey Bay back in the late ‘80s… wait, what's a N.I.M.H.?"

He clicked the link.

An old post popped up with the title: "N.I.M.H. National Institute of Mental Health, Animal Genome Project."

P.J.’s eyes widened.

“…Okay,” he said slowly. “Now we’re cookin’ with peanut oil.”

Downstairs, Peg’s voice rose again,

“If that trash isn’t gone in two minutes, I’m feeding it to you!”

“YEAH, OKAY!” P.J. yelled, already pulling up a Notepad window and typing out links.

And then he saw the photos.

Chapter 11: Crazy

ELEVEN: Crazy

The sun had barely risen when a frantic pounding erupted at Max’s bedroom door.

“Max! Max! Max!”

At first, the sound barely registered. Max groaned, rolling over in bed, one arm draped over his eyes. Beside him, Gadget lay curled in a tiny nest on one of Max's shirts on a pillow, still asleep, her breathing steady and light.

The pounding didn’t stop.

Max shot upright with a groggy grunt, blinking in confusion. It was P.J.'s voice, unmistakable in both tone and volume. He rubbed his face, scratching absently at his crotch before throwing off the blankets and sliding off the bed.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, stepping into a wrinkled pair of track pants from the floor. "Keep your gitch on, goddamn..."

He shuffled to the door, unlocking it with a click. When it swung open, P.J. stood there wild-eyed, hair a mess, his shirt half-buttoned and clinging to a stack of paper printouts and notebooks as if they were precious cargo.

"NIMH!" P.J. shouted, the word bursting out of him like a fire alarm.

Max squinted. "Huh?"

“N-I-M-H,” P.J. panted. “National Institute of Mental Health. Dude. I think I found out where Gadget came from!”

Max just stared at him, bleary-eyed and deeply unprepared for any level of conspiracy theory this early in the morning.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, half-serious. “Do I need to call your mom and tell her you’ve officially cracked?”

Behind him, Gadget stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and her whiskers twitched as she slowly sat up on the edge of the pillow. She blinked toward the door, concerned but still foggy with sleep.

“Max?” she asked softly. “What’s going on?”

Max glanced back at her, then at P.J., who had pushed past him into the room and was already spreading papers out on the bed like he was building a murder board.

“I didn’t sleep,” P.J. said, his words tumbling out. “I went online last night, right? You said she didn’t know where she came from, so I started digging. Like, really digging. Bro, there are all these reports, conspiracy theories, everything from the late '70s to early '80s. Government experiments on rodents—genetic intelligence boosters, behavioral control, neural implants—crazy sci-fi stuff. But get this…”

He flipped a page with shaking fingers.

“They escaped. A whole group of them, rats, mice, and a few other small animals. Just vanished. There’s barely anything official on it, just old rumors and a few whistleblower interviews from a decade later. But if this stuff is even halfway true... Gadget might’ve been part of it.”

Max’s brain tried to keep up, and failed.

“So what, you’re saying she’s like... a supermouse?”

P.J. nodded rapidly, excitement overtaking his exhaustion. “I think she was part of the NIMH experiments, dude. The timing lines up. The intelligence, the speech, the mechanical genius? She might not be the only one out there either.”

Max turned toward Gadget, who was now fully awake, her small hands gripping the edge of the pillow as she listened intently. Her brow furrowed, eyes wide—not with fear, but with the dawning realization that this might finally be the beginning of an answer.

“Have you... ever heard of this, Gadget?” Max asked gently.

She shook her head slowly. “No. But... it doesn’t sound impossible. I always thought I was just... different. But maybe there’s a reason.”

P.J. held up one more sheet of paper—an old newspaper clipping, scanned and grainy. The headline read: “Animal Testing Lab Break-In: Rodents Missing After Alleged Breach.” The photo showed a faded black-and-white image of the NIMH facility in the background, the date stamped in the lower corner: August 12, 1981.

Max exhaled and sat down beside Gadget, his arm curling instinctively around her. P.J. stood across from them, slightly trembling from caffeine, excitement, and zero sleep.

“So,” Max asked, voice wary, “where is this place?”

“Castle Rock,” P.J. said, spreading a folded stack of printed Google Maps, some of them still warm from the printer, edges curled, over Max’s comforter. “Maine.”

Max blinked, slowly.

“Maine,” he repeated flatly. “As in... four states away?”

P.J. nodded eagerly.

Max blinked again. “P.J., you expect me to skateboard to Maine?”

P.J. looked up, all wide-eyed innocence. “None of us owns a car.”

“Doornail,” Max muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You break into my house at dawn, ranting about secret mouse science, and now you want me to hitchhike across the country?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” P.J. admitted, unbothered. “But this has to be it, dude. The place. The one that started it all.”

Max gave him a long, deadpan stare. “Maybe I should ask my dad to drive us?” he offered with maximum sarcasm.

P.J. snapped his fingers. “Exactly! Ask your dad!”

“He’s got work, genius,” Max shot back. “Some of us have parents with jobs.”

P.J. looked mildly offended for a second, then shrugged. “I’m just saying… if you’re not curious, fine. But bro—don’t you wanna know?”

That hit differently.

P.J. turned, his gaze shifting to Gadget, who had been sitting quietly on the pillow, her expression thoughtful and unreadable. “Do you wanna know?” he asked her gently.

Gadget’s ears twitched. She looked up at P.J., then at Max, then down at her tiny hands folded in her lap.

“…Yeah,” she said softly. “I do.”

Her voice was quiet but firm, tinged with something deeper—something old and buried that had begun to stir the moment she saw that newspaper clipping.

“I’ve always wondered,” she continued, “why I’m like this. Why I think the way I do, why I remember so little from before the Rescue Rangers. I mean… we just lived in a tree, fixing broken stuff, helping folks, like it was all normal. But… maybe it wasn’t. Maybe there’s more.”

Max exhaled, his resistance deflating as he looked at her—earnest, brave, and very small.

He turned back to P.J. and grimaced. “Alright. Let’s say we do go to Maine. How exactly are three broke idiots, one of whom is the size of a Twinkie, supposed to get there?”

P.J. brightened instantly. “I have ideas!”

Max groaned. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

**********************

“…so it’s just the three of us. Me, P.J., and a… friend,” Max said, pacing back and forth in the upstairs hallway, phone pressed to his ear.

On the other end, his cousin Debbie burst out laughing. Not a chuckle—a full-blown cackle.

“Max, there is no way in hell I’m driving from fucking Ohio to Maine,” she said between snorts. “Do you know how many hours that is? That’s, like, a death march, not a road trip!”

Max rolled his eyes. “I figured you’d say that.”

Debbie continued laughing until she started coughing. “God, you’re such a dork. What is this, a Scooby-Doo mystery?”

“I didn’t wanna do this, Deb,” Max said, lowering his voice dramatically, “but you owe me.”

“Oh my God, what?” she groaned. “What now?”

Max leaned against the hallway wall, grinning. “You remember that weekend you stayed with us when you were eighteen? The party?”

There was a pause. A very long pause.

“…You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Max said, voice dripping with smugness. “You got plastered off that disgusting watermelon vodka, puked everywhere, and I had to sneak you back into the house before my dad woke up. You literally shit yourself.”

Debbie hissed through her teeth. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“And I won’t,” Max said sweetly, “if you drive us to Maine.”

Another pause. Max could practically hear her scowl through the phone.

“God, you’re such a little blackmailing punk,” she muttered.

“But a charming one,” Max added.

“You’re lucky I don’t have anything better to do this week,” she grumbled. “Fine. I’ll come get you morons. But you’re paying for gas and all the snacks.”

“Deal,” Max said with a triumphant grin.

“And this ‘friend’ better not be some sketchy Internet rando.”

Max hesitated. “…Define sketchy.”

Debbie groaned. “I’m already regretting this.”

Max hung up the phone and couldn’t keep the smug grin off his face as he strolled back into his bedroom.

P.J. and Gadget were hanging out near the Barbie RV setup—Gadget sitting cross-legged on a plastic chair, sipping from a thimble of orange juice, and P.J. nervously fidgeting with a Powerline cassette tape he’d found on Max’s shelf.

Max leaned against the doorframe like a man who just landed the winning touchdown.

“She said yes.”

P.J. blinked. “Wait, really?”

Gadget perked up. “Your cousin?”

Max nodded. “Debbie. She’ll be here in an hour or two.”

He strutted over to his dresser and yanked open the second drawer, digging beneath some old socks and a ratty pair of boxers before pulling out a crinkled plastic baggie. Inside was a wad of folded bills, mostly twenties and fives. A couple ones stuck out at odd angles.

“Been saving this since last summer,” Max said proudly, tossing it onto the bed. “That should cover gas, food, and a motel room.”

P.J. whistled. “Dang, that’s gotta be at least three hundred bucks.”

“Three-sixty, actually. Plus whatever spare change is jammed in the couch cushions.” Max said, grinning as he zipped the bag shut and stuffed it in his backpack.

P.J. stood up, brushing chip crumbs off his shirt. “Okay, I’m gonna run home and pack. And try to come up with an excuse to tell my parents.”

Max gave him a flat look. “Dude. You’re eighteen. This isn’t some Saturday morning cartoon where we make up stories about sleeping over at each other’s houses.”

P.J. narrowed his eyes. “Have you even met my dad?”

Max stopped mid-zip. His brow furrowed, memories of Pete’s red face and gravel-voiced lectures flooding in like a bad sitcom montage.

“…Okay yeah. You’re right,” he admitted, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

“I’ll need it,” P.J. muttered as he slipped out the door.

Max turned back toward Gadget, who had been quietly watching the exchange, her expression curious and maybe even a little excited.

“Well,” he said, sitting down beside her, “looks like we’re really doing this.”

She smiled. “It’s a long way to Maine.”

Max chuckled. “Yeah. But I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

Max had tossed a couple of shirts into his backpack, along with a spare hoodie and a can of body spray, when he noticed Gadget wasn’t watching him anymore. She was back by the Barbie RV, moving little pieces around—adjusting a tiny bench, straightening the welcome mat. Just… puttering. Not really doing anything productive. Just keeping her hands busy.

He paused mid-fold with a flannel shirt in his hands and looked over at her.

“Hey,” he said softly, “you okay?”

Gadget didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the miniature door of the RV, then reached out to touch it like she was bracing herself against it.

“I’m scared,” she finally said, her voice quiet and small.

Max’s face softened. He set the shirt down and sat on the floor beside her, cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees.

“I’ve always wondered where I came from,” Gadget continued. “I used to tell myself it didn’t matter. That I had my work, my friends, the Rescue Rangers, and that was enough.” She gave a weak laugh. “But now we might actually find out. And I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Max frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at him, those big sky-blue eyes filled with something heavy. “What if there’s nothing special about me?” she said. “What if I was just… an experiment? Some fluke of science. Some lab rat with a lucky mutation.” She turned away again. “What if all I am is a mistake someone forgot to clean up?”

Max blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. He scooted a little closer.

“Gadget…” he started, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t care if you came from a science lab or a magic spell or a shooting star. You’re you. You’re brilliant, and sweet, and stubborn as hell.” He chuckled. “And you’ve got this crazy laugh that sounds like a hiccup mixed with a squeak. It’s kind of adorable.”

She gave a watery smile, biting her lip.

“I’m serious,” he said. “However you came into the world, you’re in it now. With me. With us. That matters way more than the how.”

She finally turned toward him again, stepping closer until she could lean against his knee. He instinctively brought a hand down beside her, and she rested her tiny paw against one of his fingers.

“You always say the right thing,” she murmured.

“I try,” he said. “And hey… even if you are some big science mystery, maybe finding out more will help you figure out what you wanna do next. Doesn’t have to change who you already are. And how much I love you.”

"I love you too," Gadget nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “…Thanks, Max.”

He smiled and gave her a little salute. “Anytime, Gadget.”

They sat there quietly for a moment, the hum of the box fan in the window filling the space. The sky outside was turning gold with early morning light. Soon Debbie would show up, and they’d be off on this weird road trip to Maine—but for now, it was just the two of them, sharing that small, honest moment.

A moment that was broken by a sharp, rhythmic scratching at the window.

Max blinked and turned toward the sound, confused for half a second before realization crashed into him like a freight train. His stomach dropped.

No. Not today.

He stood up and crossed the room, heart thudding. Gadget looked up too, suddenly tense.

Max tugged the curtains aside and, sure enough, there he was—brown fedora, bomber jacket, arms crossed, and a determined scowl stamped across his face.

Chip.

Max sighed heavily through his nose, muttering, “Aw, hell.” Then, loud enough to hear, “Gadget, your, uh… friend is here.”

She looked up from where she’d been organizing a few pieces of clothing into a small pouch, her expression falling as soon as she saw him.

Max slid the window open without another word, stepping aside.

The little chipmunk hopped in without hesitation, straightening his coat and brushing dust off his sleeves with practiced elegance. His eyes immediately found Gadget.

“Hey,” he said, smiling in that soft, familiar way.

“Hi,” Gadget breathed. Her voice was gentle but uncertain.

She crossed the room and they met halfway. She crouched down, and Chip placed a paw on her arm. They didn’t hug this time—maybe the moment didn’t call for it—but the warmth between them was palpable.

Max stayed near the window, arms folded, saying nothing.

“I came to check on you,” Chip said, eyes still on Gadget. “Monty and the others wanted me to bring you back. They’re worried.”

Gadget hesitated. “I’m not ready yet.”

Chip blinked. “Gadget… it’s been weeks. You’ve recovered. We’ve all been waiting.”

“I know,” she said, softer now, but firm. “And I’m grateful, Chip. For everything. You and Monty… you took care of me when I couldn’t even stand on my own. I’ll never forget that. But there’s something happening now, something important. I can’t leave yet.”

Chip’s eyes narrowed slightly, and only now did he glance at Max. “Is this about him?”

Max didn’t even flinch. “This is about her, dude. Chill.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Chip snapped.

Max crossed his arms, jaw already tightening. “So, what, you just show up and think you can drag her back like nothing happened?”

Chip’s eyes narrowed. “She’s been sick, guy. She almost died. I didn’t just show up—I came to bring her home. Where she belongs.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, she looks pretty damn okay now.” Max took a half-step forward, his voice rising. “And last I checked, she’s not your property.”

“Boys!” Gadget’s voice cut sharply through the rising heat. Both of them turned to look at her.

She stood on the desk now, eyes fierce, her little hands balled into fists. “Enough,” she said. “Both of you.”

Chip opened his mouth, but she shut him down with a single raised hand. “I’m not going back yet, Chip. Not now.”

He looked stunned. “But… why? You’re healthy again. We need you. I—” He faltered. “I missed you.”

Gadget’s expression softened for just a second, but she stood firm. “I missed you too. All of you. But this… this might finally be the answer I’ve been looking for. Not just for me—maybe even for you too. But we found something, something important. It’s not just about where I came from. It’s about where we all came from.”

Chip’s mouth opened, then closed again. Slowly, he took off his fedora and rubbed the back of his head. He looked tired. “Gadget…”

She stepped toward him, voice gentler now. “Please. I have to see this through.”

Chip looked over at Max, who was watching silently now, chewing the inside of his cheek. Slowly, Chip gave a reluctant nod. “Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m coming with you.”

Max groaned. “Of course you are.”

“Max,” Gadget said firmly.

He threw up his hands. “Yeah, yeah, I know—it’s fair. This might be about him too.”

He turned away, muttering as he went to shove more clothes into his backpack. “Debbie’s not gonna believe this.”

Chip glanced at Gadget. “Debbie?”

“You’ll see,” Max said flatly.

**********************

Outside in the early afternoon sun, Debbie stood in front of her pristine white ’92 Mustang GT Cobra Convertible, arms crossed and sunglasses already perched on her head like a tiara of authority. She wore snug jeans, an orange tank top that popped against her lightly freckled skin, and a look of sheer disbelief painted across her face.

“Oh hell to the naw!” she barked, gesturing wildly toward Max and P.J., and more importantly, the two small figures perched on Max’s shoulders. “I am not getting rodent shit all over my leather seats!”

Max, already tired, already irritated, sighed through his nose. “They’re not wild animals, Deb. You literally just heard them speak fluent English like five minutes ago!”

“I don’t care if they’re Care Bears, Max,” she snapped, already swinging open her driver’s side door. “No rodents in my car!"

As she made a move to sit down and drive off, Max narrowed his eyes and said two magic words:

“Watermelon Vodka.”

Debbie froze, hand still on the steering wheel. Her face scrunched in a grimace, a memory she’d hoped long buried bubbling to the surface. She turned slowly, almost hissing through her teeth. “You promised.”

Max grinned, arms folding smugly. “And I will keep that promise. If you let them ride.”

A long, painful pause. Debbie groaned and slammed her car door shut, spinning around with a dramatic flair. “Fine. But I swear, if I see even one Raisinet on my seats—”

“Why you gotta be gross?” Max muttered, rubbing his temples.

That’s when P.J. stepped forward with the confident stride of a man who had absolutely no business being confident. He ran a hand through his hair, puffed out his chest, and said with syrupy earnestness, “Don’t worry, Debbie… m’lady… I shall personally see to it that no harm comes to your precious Mustang.”

Max made a choking noise and rolled his eyes so hard it was a small miracle he didn’t lose equilibrium. “Oh my god.”

Chip leaned over and whispered to Gadget, “Is he serious?”

Gadget smiled and whispered back, “I think he’s trying to be chivalrous.”

Chip raised an eyebrow. “It’s not working.”

Max clapped his hands. “Alright, Romeo, let’s just get going before she changes her mind again.”

The trunk slammed shut with a satisfying thunk, backpacks and duffel bags hastily crammed inside alongside a plastic bag of snack food and P.J.’s emergency stash of comic books. Chip and Gadget nestled themselves in a little makeshift nest of towels near the back seat’s center console.

Debbie slid into the driver’s seat with a huff, already queuing up her ancient iPod for what she promised was an “educational crash course in real music.” Meanwhile, Max and P.J. made a beeline for the passenger door… only to stop in perfect sync, both reaching for the handle.

“Excuse you?” P.J. said, squinting at Max like he’d just cut in line at a buffet.

Max blinked. “What the hell, man?”

“Excuse you?” P.J. repeated, a little louder, like volume would add legitimacy to his claim.

They both reached for the handle again, this time swatting at each other’s hands in a truly tragic display of half-hearted slap fighting. One of them muttered something about “dibs,” the other countered with “I called it psychically,” and it spiraled from there.

Debbie groaned from inside the car, rubbing her temples like she was suddenly reconsidering every life choice that led her to this moment. “Max rides shotgun!” she barked, voice cutting clean through the chaos like a drill sergeant on a time crunch.

P.J. recoiled slightly, deflated. “Aw, man.”

Max smirked at him, casually plucking the printed Google Maps from P.J.’s hand like he was swiping a menu. “Sorry, bud. Blood before, well… whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish with my cousin.”

P.J. looked away, sheepish. “It’s not like that.”

“It so is,” Max grinned, sliding into the passenger seat with the ease of a man who’d just won a territorial dispute. He buckled in and looked over at Debbie. “Let’s ride.”

Behind them, P.J. muttered something about injustice as he climbed into the backseat.

Debbie revved the engine, the Mustang purring to life beneath them like a contented beast.

She cracked her knuckles, smirked, and said, “Hope you boys packed snacks. We’ve got fourteen hours and one bathroom stop—maybe.”

Max slouched in his seat, grinning toward the windshield as he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Next stop: Castle Rock.”

Notes:

Only true heroes will get the Castle Rock reference.

Chapter 12: Joyride

TWELVE: Joyride

The Mustang Cobra blazed down I-70 like it had something to prove, top down, wind whipping, and the Fatboy Slim remix of Beastie Boys' "Body Movin’" pounding from the stereo like it was fighting for its life.

“Body movin', body movin', A1 sound and the sound's so soothing!”

Debbie had one hand on the wheel, the other outstretched in the wind, fingers snapping to the beat. Her orange tank top caught flashes of sunlight as her auburn bob danced wildly in the breeze. She was fully in her element—highway queen, attitude cranked to eleven.

Max was slouched in the passenger seat, a smirk plastered on his face. Gadget was nestled in his lap, her little paws draped over his forearm, watching the road zip by with wide, curious eyes. Max occasionally stroked her back gently with his thumb, a subtle touch grounding him in all the chaos.

“Deb, seriously,” Max called out over the music and wind, “can we not go warp speed? This isn’t The Fast and the Furious!”

Debbie shot him a devil-may-care grin. “Oh please, this baby purrs at ninety! Besides, it’s Ohio—nothing but cows and flat land. Let her run!”

In the backseat, P.J. clung to the door like it might launch open at any second. His oversized hoodie flapped around him as he leaned forward, trying to peek between the front seats. “Okay but like... does anyone else not want to die today? Just checking!”

Gadget sat in Max's lap, holding onto the seatbelt strap like she was on the world’s tiniest rollercoaster. Chip stood on the seat beside them, gripping the headrest with one paw, his fedora miraculously staying on.

Debbie caught sight of Chip in the mirror. “You still hanging in there, Indiana Jones Jr.?”

Chip smirked, tilting his hat, "Just another adventure." A wry grin spread across his face, "What can I say, I like to go fast."

Debbie laughed—a low, genuine laugh—and looked back to the road. “Is that so, small fry?”

Chip leaned back, hands behind his head. “I have one setting: go.”

"Forget what I said earlier," Debbie glanced at Max, "Dr. Jones here can ride with me anytime."

P.J. practically deflated in the back seat, glancing at Chip with a look that could melt steel. “Can we not flirt with my friend’s cousin while going seventy-five on a two-lane road?!”

Max burst out laughing. “Dude, relax. He’s got a better shot than you, apparently.”

“Hey!” P.J. yelped. “That’s cold, man!”

Gadget looked up at Max and chuckled quietly, curling a little closer against him. “Your family’s fun.”

Max glanced down and smiled at her. “You haven’t seen Thanksgiving yet.”

Up front, Debbie kept the music loud and the speed steady, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She glanced down at Chip again. “So, you always this smooth, or is it just when there’s danger involved?”

Chip grinned. “Danger sharpens the wit. Also helps when you’re trying to impress someone.”

P.J. silently mouthed kill me into the wind as he slouched deeper into the back seat.

The Mustang thundered down the interstate, leaving behind a blur of farmhouses, telephone poles, and familiarity. Somewhere ahead was a mystery—maybe even a revelation—but right now, it was just a bunch of friends, the open road, and the rhythm of the Beastie Boys.

**********************

The evening sun beat down as the Mustang cruised along I-80, the golden light filtering through bug-smeared windows. It was just past 6 PM, and they had officially crossed the state line into Pennsylvania near Youngstown. The once-rowdy energy of the car had mellowed with the stretch of miles behind them. After one bathroom break at a gas station somewhere outside of Akron—and an embarrassing vending machine mishap involving P.J. and a stuck bag of Cool Ranch Doritos—the road had settled into a kind of quiet rhythm.

Up front, the Beastie Boys had long since faded to a low thump, replaced by some mellow Counting Crows track murmuring from the speakers. Max leaned against the window, long legs curled up slightly to accommodate Gadget, who was cozily perched in his lap, nestled under the hem of his hoodie with only her little head poking out to enjoy the breeze. She watched the passing landscape with a calm, almost meditative stillness.

In the back seat, P.J. was out cold, head tilted at an awkward angle, mouth half-open. Rising and falling gently with each breath on top of his stomach was Chip, curled up like a walnut, his tail wrapped around his body. P.J. unconsciously shifted, causing Chip to grumble in his sleep and readjust with a tiny snore. Max glanced back at the sight and chuckled.

“You still good?” he asked, turning toward Debbie with a tilt of his head.

Debbie let out a quiet yawn, only half-stifled, and then held up an open can of Red Bull, giving it a little shake. “Ain’t a thing, cuz,” she replied with a sideways grin. “This baby and a gas station Slim Jim got me runnin’ on all eight cylinders.”

Max smirked. “You sure? I can drive if you’re—”

Debbie scoffed. “Not a chance, squirt.” She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “We’ll stop when we hit New York State. Pizza and a motel, like we said. I saw a place called 'Sleepy Hollow Inn' when I checked the map. Sounds haunted, but the kind of haunted where they still change the sheets.”

Gadget chuckled quietly in Max’s hoodie, and he smiled down at her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

“I could go for pizza,” she murmured.

“You and me both,” Max said softly, resting his hand gently over her back.

Outside, the Pennsylvania woods rolled past in streaks of green and shadow, the hum of tires on pavement steady and calming. For now, everything was simple. Quiet. Peaceful.

The peace didn’t last.

A low rumble crept up behind them—deep and growling like a bear with indigestion. Debbie’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, brows already knitting together as the lifted monstrosity of a truck came barreling into view. It was a bloated behemoth of a vehicle: oversized tires, chrome grille that could decapitate a deer, and more LED lights than a low-budget rave.

It roared up beside the Mustang, keeping pace. The truck’s cab was jacked so high that Debbie could barely see the grinning faces of the two guys inside, but she could hear them just fine.

“Hey sweet thang!” one of them bellowed, sticking his head partway out the passenger window. “Where you headed, baby? Need a real ride?”

His buddy followed up with a loud, honking laugh. “Bet she purrs louder than that little car does!”

Debbie’s hands clenched the wheel, jaw tight. “Oh hell no,” she muttered.

The crude barking from the truck was loud enough to rattle the Mustang’s windows—and loud enough to wake P.J., who sat up with a snort, blinking rapidly. His startled movement jostled Chip, who bolted upright like someone had poured ice water on him.

“What the—?” P.J. groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh great,” Max muttered, twisting in his seat to glance at the truck. “The Appalachian mating call.”

Debbie didn’t say a word. She just smirked and shifted her grip on the wheel.

“Oh no,” Gadget whispered from Max’s lap, peeking out.

“Debbie…” Max started cautiously.

Too late.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Debbie downshifted, slammed her foot on the gas, and the Mustang roared to life—leaving behind a trail of burnt rubber and a stunned chorus of "WHOA!" from the truck. The sudden speed forced everyone back against their seats. P.J. let out a yelp and grabbed for the seatbelt, while Chip skidded across the leather and barely caught himself on the edge of the seat.

“Is she racing them?!” Gadget squeaked.

“She’s racing them,” Max confirmed, eyes wide with something between admiration and horror.

The truck gunned its engine, unwilling to be shown up. It surged forward, trying to match her, its suspension bouncing wildly as it sped up to challenge her lead.

Debbie grinned like a maniac, hair whipping in the wind. “These yokels think they can flirt and outdrive me?” she muttered. “Bless their hearts.”

The Mustang weaved between slower cars, darting onto a clearer stretch of I-80 while the truck followed clumsily, horn blaring. Max was gripping the door, Gadget clinging to his hoodie like a squirrel in a hurricane. P.J. looked like he was reconsidering all of his life choices.

Eventually, as traffic thickened up ahead near a construction zone, Debbie braked just enough to let the truck lurch past, its occupants whooping and throwing up hand signs like they’d won something. But Debbie just smirked, took an exit ramp like a pro, and looped around through a service station side road before rejoining the highway—well ahead of them.

They never saw the truck again.

“God,” Max muttered, loosening his death grip. “Do you ever do anything halfway?”

Debbie reached over, grabbed her Red Bull, and took a long sip. “Not since I was changing your diapers, cuz.”

From the back seat, P.J. wheezed, “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“I didn’t,” Chip added dryly. “But I definitely saw yours.”

Debbie snorted and flipped the radio back on. “Now that’s how you handle creeps. Welcome to Pennsylvania.”

**********************

The Mustang rolled into the cracked, weed-framed parking lot of the Sleepy Hollow Inn just past 11 p.m., its headlights casting long, eerie shadows against the faux-Colonial facade. A carved wooden sign above the office door read Welcome to the Sleepy Hollow Inn – Est. 1959, with a little cartoon of a headless horseman riding beneath it. Charming... in that slightly-haunted, might-get-bedbugs sort of way.

Debbie killed the engine and leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Well, here we are. Home sweet creepy home.”

Max squinted at the place. “Yeah, I’m definitely getting cursed-object-vibes from this joint.”

“Relax,” Debbie said, already popping her door open. “We’ll be outta here by sunrise. It’s a pillow and a bathroom, not a timeshare.”

In the backseat, P.J. blinked awake with a confused snort. “Are we in Transylvania?”

“Nope,” Max replied, stretching with a groan, “Just the glamorous outskirts of Albany.”

Chip yawned and tumbled off P.J.’s stomach, landing nimbly on the seat. “This place smells like old pretzels and lemon-scented bleach.”

Gadget emerged from Max’s hoodie where she’d been dozing. She rubbed her eyes, then smiled faintly. “At least there’s a roof.”

Debbie returned a minute later with a room key dangling from a plastic fob labeled Room 6. “Two beds, one sad little bar of soap, and a vending machine out front with what might be chips or possibly rat poison.”

Max shot her a look as they headed to the room. “Maybe don’t use the word ‘rat’ around Gadget.”

“Oh, please,” Debbie smirked, looking down at Gadget perched on Max’s shoulder. “She’s the cleanest one of all of us.”

The room was... about what they expected. Dated wallpaper, buzzing light fixture, floral bedspreads that had fought in at least one war. But the air conditioning worked, and the sheets looked clean enough under questionable lighting.

P.J. faceplanted on one of the beds. “You’re telling me people vacation here?”

Max dropped his bag by the door and flopped onto the other bed, Gadget hopping into his lap without missing a beat.

Chip did a perimeter sweep, hopping up onto the windowsill to peer through the blinds. “Looks like we'll be safe here tonight.”

"Safe from what?" P.J. rolled his eyes.

"Anything," Chip replied. "You can never be too careful."

"God, you're so weird," P.J. muttered.

“Dibs on shower,” Debbie called, already kicking off her sneakers as she disappeared into the bathroom.

The muffled sound of running water and 90s R&B drifted out a few seconds later.

For a few minutes, the room settled into a kind of peaceful static. Max absently stroked Gadget’s fur as she curled into his lap. P.J. muttered something into the pillow about sore legs. Chip leaned against the window and watched the empty parking lot with the air of a tiny, over-caffeinated bodyguard.

“You okay?” Gadget asked softly, looking up at Max.

“Yeah,” he said, but it came out slower than usual. “I guess… it’s just hitting me. How far we’ve come. We’re not even halfway yet.”

She nodded. “And you’re wondering what we’ll find.”

He gave her a little smile. “That obvious?”

Gadget leaned her tiny head against his chest. “Max… whatever’s out there, we’ll face it together. And maybe what we find will help all of us.”

There was a long pause. Then Max smirked. “I mean, worst case, we get an Airbnb in Maine and write a tell-all book. Mouse Girl and the Dork Squad.”

Chip scoffed. “Excuse you—Dork Squad implies more than one dork.”

P.J., still face-down, raised a hand like a referee signaling a touchdown. “Guy, you're doing a perimeter check of a motel that probably charges by the hour. Calm your chipmunk tits.”

Max chuckled, and Gadget laughed softly.

**********************

The motel room smelled faintly of melted cheese and pepperoni now, thanks to the three large pizzas spread across the cheap wooden desk. One box was already decimated, the second halfway there, and the third—pepper and onion, Debbie’s choice, which she was methodically working through slice by slice with a can of Sprite in hand.

Debbie leaned back in the creaky desk chair, laughing as she told a particularly wild story from her freshman year of college. “So, I’m in this frat house bathroom, right? There’s a keg, a guy dressed like Ace Ventura, and someone’s pet iguana on the sink. I’m just trying to pee, but this thing is staring me down like I owe it money.”

Max was practically wheezing. “Oh my God.”

P.J., cross-legged on one of the beds with a plate in his lap, grinned wide. “Bro, I can't wait for college.”

Debbie raised her can in salute. “You're gonna have a blast.”

On the desk, Chip and Gadget were perched on a folded towel beside the third pizza box, sharing tiny crumbs and recounting old Rescue Ranger cases. Chip was mid-story about a jewel thief in Paris when he puffed out his chest and said, “We had to parachute out of a hot air balloon with nothing but dental floss and a napkin. Dale screamed the whole way down.”

“Because you cut the napkin too short!” Gadget said, laughing, nudging him playfully.

“Details,” Chip replied, smirking.

Max sat on the edge of the second bed, smiling at the warm buzz in the room. He looked over at Gadget and Chip, and though a flicker of jealousy still itched at the back of his mind, he couldn't deny the good vibes flowing all around them. Even P.J. was relaxed—until Chip offered Debbie a high-five and called her “Cutie.”

P.J.’s eye twitched.

The mood slowly mellowed as midnight crept in. Debbie stretched and yawned, tossing her paper plate into the trash. “Alright, delinquents and rodents. I’m calling it. I drove all damn day, I’m getting one of these beds.”

Max nodded. “Fair.”

She flopped onto the right bed with a sigh, grabbing the remote and flipping through the motel cable, already landing on Unsolved Mysteries reruns.

That left the second bed—and the awkward moment between Max and P.J.

P.J. stood beside it, arms crossed. “So...?”

Max didn’t even blink. “I’m the only one here with a girlfriend. I’m sharing it with her.”

Gadget, now sitting at the edge of Max’s pillow, blinked innocently. “Well, I don’t mind the floor, but—”

“Nope,” Max said quickly. “You’re not sleeping on some dusty carpet like a gerbil in a shoebox. You're with me.”

P.J. looked from Max to Chip to Gadget, then pointed. “Chip can curl up in a sock. She can sleep in a drawer. Heck, she probably built a drawer bed.”

“Hey!” Chip barked.

Max smirked and patted the mattress. “Sorry, Peej. I'm also funding most of this trip.”

P.J. narrowed his eyes. “Son of a bitch. Fine, can I at least get a pillow?”

Debbie, without looking away from the TV, added flatly, “I can still hear you. And I will smother someone in their sleep if I don’t get peace and quiet in ten seconds.”

Max dimmed the lights as he climbed into bed, Gadget curling up beside him with a content little sigh. As the room settled into silence, with only the glow of the TV playing softly across the wallpaper, there was a quiet kind of warmth between them all. For the first time on this strange road trip, it felt like they were more than just a weird group of misfits—they were friends.

Family.

"Night, weirdos," Debbie mumbled, already half-asleep, curled up on her side, blanket up to her chin.

"’Night, Debs," Max replied softly.

P.J. had rolled himself burrito-style into a cocoon of a blanket on the floor, one arm flopped over his face. “Night, guys,” he yawned.

"Night," Chip said as he dragged a towel to the window to make himself a bed there.

One by one, the room went still—just the low hum of the AC and the muffled sounds from the TV giving the motel room a cozy, sleepy rhythm. The overhead light had been turned off, leaving only the bedside lamp on its dimmest setting. Gadget snuggled beneath the blanket next to Max, her tiny form resting comfortably on the pillow beside his.

They lay there in comfortable silence, eyes half-lidded but not quite ready to drift off.

Max whispered, “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

Gadget nodded slightly. “I know.”

A beat passed. Then Max turned his head toward her a little. “Are you scared?”

Gadget hesitated. Her voice was small, but honest. “Yeah… I am. It’s just—there’s a lot I don’t know. A lot we might find. A lot we won’t be able to change.”

Max reached over and gently ran his finger along her side. “I get it. But… I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining just a little. “Me too. I don’t think I could’ve done it without you. Or… all of them, really. P.J., Debbie, Chip. It’s weird, but… it’s good weird.”

Max smiled. “Yeah. Kinda feels like we’re our own little team.”

Gadget’s voice softened even more. “I love you, Max.”

Max didn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

She shifted just a little closer, and Max pulled the blanket over them both as they finally began to drift. Outside, the sounds of distant traffic hummed across the dark New York highway. Inside the room, everything was still—quiet, safe, and wrapped in the kind of peace that only comes after a long, strange day with people who matter.

**********************

The morning sun peeked through the cheap blinds of the Sleepy Hollow Inn, painting dusty golden stripes across the carpet and cheap motel bedspreads. A quiet stillness hung in the air, save for the soft sound of distant birds and a light rustling of sheets.

P.J. was still out cold, face down on the floor, arms sprawled in opposite directions. The blanket had shifted in the night, now bunched around his knees, leaving his tighty-whiteys halfway down his backside. His rear was comically perched in the air, and yes—his plumber’s crack was on glorious display, bathed in the morning light like some kind of monument to bad sleeping positions.

Max loomed over him now, a pizza crust in one hand, the wicked grin of a boy with a plan spreading across his face. Perched on Debbie’s shoulder were Gadget and Chip, both holding in their giggles. Debbie, arms crossed and smirking in her tank top and pajama shorts, looked between Max and the crust with narrowed eyes.

“Do it,” she dared, her voice low and sharp with mischief.

“Shhh!” Max hissed, waving a hand dramatically to quiet them all. “You’ll wake him up.”

He turned back to P.J., zeroing in like a surgeon. He raised the pizza crust like a holy relic, eyes narrowing in focus—and with surgical precision, he dropped it.

Plop.

It landed perfectly—not a sound as it nestled itself into P.J.’s butt crack like it belonged there. P.J. let out a snort in his sleep, shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. Max, Debbie, Gadget, and Chip all immediately clamped their hands and paws over their mouths, trembling with barely contained laughter.

And then, as if on cue, P.J. let out a louder snore and rolled onto his side. His eyes fluttered open in that half-asleep, disoriented way, looking up at four faces frozen above him.

“Uh… what’s going on, guys?” he muttered.

That’s when he felt it.

His eyes widened slowly. One arm reached behind his back. His fingers curled around the foreign object. And he pulled out the crust like Excalibur from the stone, holding it in front of him as if it might explain everything.

There was a beat of silence.

“Haha, very mature,” P.J. deadpanned, staring directly at Max. “What are all of you, like, eleventeen?”

That was it. The dam burst.

Max dropped to his knees, doubled over in laughter. Gadget and Chip were practically howling. Debbie wheezed, leaning against the dresser for support as she laughed so hard tears welled up in her eyes.

Max managed to gasp out, “Don’t ask what I was originally planning to draw on your face with a Sharpie.”

P.J.’s eyes went wide. “Oh, you better not have!” He leapt to his feet in a panic, nearly tripping on the blanket wrapped around his legs. He made a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

A second later, they heard, “Okay… okay… we’re good. No dicks. I repeat, no dicks!”

Debbie stretched, arms reaching above her head as her back cracked in a satisfying pop. She glanced around at the chaos of the motel room: pizza boxes, tangled blankets, Chip’s towel bed, and the echo of laughter still lingering in the air.

“Alright, ramblers,” she said with a grin, heading to grab her duffel bag. “Let’s get rambling.”

**********************

The white Mustang zoomed along the winding roads of Massachusetts, passing rows of quaint colonial houses and roadside diners with signs that read “World’s Best Clam Chowder” in sun-faded paint.

They’d made a brief stop in Salem just before noon—long enough to grab iced coffees, pose for some goofy tourist photos by the statue of Samantha from Bewitched, and wander through a gift shop where Max tried on a witch hat and threatened to hex P.J.

Debbie, of course, ended up deep in conversation with the cute guy working the register—much to the annoyance of Chip and P.J.

"Bro, she can do so much better," P.J. huffed.

"Damn right," Chip agreed.

Back on the road, they coasted through the rolling greenery of New Hampshire in peaceful silence. It was a bright early afternoon, the roads nearly empty, the skies clear.

Max sat back with Gadget curled beside him, watching the trees blur past.

“Almost there,” he murmured.

Gadget looked out the window, her ears twitching. “It’s so quiet out here. I keep expecting… I don’t know. Something.”

“No ghosts, no witches,” Max said with a small smile. “Just trees, rocks, and road.”

From the back seat, Chip raised an eyebrow. “Don’t jinx it.”

P.J. grumbled, “If this turns into a Stephen King story, I’m throwing all of you out of the car.”

They all laughed, even as the Mustang continued gliding toward Maine, the sun dipping slowly toward the horizon—toward answers, and whatever truths waited at the edge of Castle Rock.

By the time they hit Maine, they had to pull up the convertible top, the Mustang’s wipers squeaked in a steady rhythm as rain pelted the windshield, the roads slick with puddles and a sheen of gray.

Castle Rock stretched out before them—a small, brooding town tucked between thick pine woods and steep, rocky bluffs. The streets were narrow, flanked by old colonial buildings with weathered clapboard siding and leaning porches. Signs for antique shops, hardware stores, and diners blinked in neon, flickering against the gloom of the storm.

It wasn’t touristy, not really. It looked like the kind of place where the locals knew everyone by name—and newcomers stuck out like sore thumbs. A tall, white church steeple loomed above the treetops, and a faded sign near the edge of town read:

WELCOME TO CASTLE ROCK — EST. 1789
“A Quiet Place to Call Home”

Max craned his neck from the passenger seat. “Creepy little place.”

Debbie squinted through the rain. “Looks like a Murder, She Wrote episode got left out in the rain.”

In the back seat, P.J. muttered, “More like where murder actually happens.”

Chip tugged on his coat collar. “I’m not loving the vibes.”

Max turned to Debbie. “We should find a motel.”

Debbie nodded. “Yeah, I’m not driving to some abandoned laboratory at night in this downpour.”

Max frowned and scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno if I’ve got enough for a motel and gas to get back home.”

Debbie threw him a sideways smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cover the room. Honestly? I’m glad I came along on this trip. It’s been... weirdly awesome.”

Max smirked. “Aww, look at you, being all emotionally supportive.” He gave her a mock-sweet smile and added hopefully, “So... you covering dinner, too?”

Debbie’s smile flattened. “Don’t push your luck, scrub.”

Everyone chuckled as the Mustang rolled deeper into Castle Rock, their breath fogging the windows. The sign for a small roadside inn glowed through the downpour up ahead—faint, flickering letters spelling out:

"The Pines Motor Lodge – Vacancy."

They had arrived.

The motel turned out to be a surprisingly decent stop for the night. The check-in clerk—a wiry old man with Coke-bottle glasses and a Red Sox cap—barely looked up from his TV as he handed over two keycards and slid a registration slip across the counter.

"Forty bucks a room, cash or card?" He asked through a mouthful of toothpick.

Max blinked. “Wait… forty? Like, total?”

The man shrugged. “Ain’t tourist season, kid. And no one comes to Castle Rock unless they’re lost or lookin’ for somethin’ they shouldn’t be.”

Max gave an uneasy chuckle as he handed over the money.

The two adjoining rooms were small but cozy—walls painted a faded seafoam green, beds neatly made with stiff white sheets and floral coverlets. A low hum came from an old but functional window AC unit, and the TVs were those boxy Zenith models with wood paneling, sitting atop scratched oak dressers. The carpet was that rough kind of beige every roadside motel seemed to have, but it was clean. Each room had a small round table with two chairs, a nightstand between the beds, and dim, soft-glowing lamps.

The best part? No mystery stains, no mildew smell, and the shower had water pressure that didn’t feel like it was powered by a hamster wheel.

After a brief round of bickering and dirty looks, it was decided that Max and Gadget would take one room for themselves.

“Come on,” Max said, spreading his hands as the group debated. “You really wanna listen to me and Gadget whisper sweet nothings all night?”

“Oh God,” Debbie muttered, grimacing. “You win. You win. I’m not listening to that.”

“Uh, can we not phrase it like that?” P.J. added, cheeks flushing.

Chip nodded sagely. “I’d prefer you keep your hands to yourself.”

Debbie grabbed her key and turned to the two boys, dead serious. “Let’s get one thing clear. If either of you get any ideas—like, any—you’re sleeping in the damn rain.”

P.J. saluted dramatically. “Ten-four, m'lady.”

Chip just gave a polite, vaguely British, “Understood.”

The door between the rooms was propped open, and they all settled in. Shoes were kicked off, lights dimmed, and the TV flicked on to some local station playing old reruns of Cheers. Max flopped on the bed with Gadget curled beside him, while Debbie sat cross-legged on her own bed, flipping through a takeout menu.

“Okay, gang,” she said, waving the tri-fold paper. “Tonight’s cuisine: Chinese. And yes, I am paying. No one tell my checking account.”

“Praise be to General Tso,” Max murmured.

They placed their order—a mix of lo mein, fried rice, orange chicken, egg rolls, and a carton of dumplings that Chip was very curious about.

As the rain tapped gently against the windows and the scent of sweet and savory sauces filled the rooms, there was a warm sort of calm in the air. No racing rednecks, no weird flirtations, no mysteries—just the feeling of being together, safe, and full of anticipation for what tomorrow might bring.

Debbie clapped her hands once with a big grin. “Alright, alright, you hooligans, sit tight. Cousin Debbie’s got a surprise.”

She grabbed her hoodie off the back of the chair and disappeared out into the rain before anyone could ask what she meant. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving behind the soft patter of raindrops and the hum of the AC. Max, now reclined with Gadget leaning against him, gave a curious glance toward the door.

“She’s up to something,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t be Debbie if she wasn’t,” P.J. replied, lying belly-down on the bed and lazily flipping channels with the remote.

Just a minute later, the door flung back open and in marched Debbie, soaked to the knees but triumphant, holding a paper bag above her head like it was the Holy Grail. “Bam!” she declared. “Celebration time!”

She dropped the bag on the small table by the window and pulled out a bottle of Fireball whiskey, slamming it down like she’d just scored the winning touchdown.

Max raised a brow. “Uh, you do know P.J. and I aren’t 21, right?”

Debbie rolled her eyes dramatically as she tore open a stack of Styrofoam cups from beside the motel’s tiny coffee station. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you need a sippy cup, Maxie?”

Max scoffed, insulted. “Oh, it’s on now.”

Debbie laughed and started pouring generous shots into three cups, then looked at Gadget and Chip perched on the nightstand nearby. “Don’t think I forgot about you two.” She grabbed two empty pop bottle caps from a discarded Coke and Sprite, carefully filling each with a tiny splash of Fireball.

Chip sniffed his suspiciously, nose crinkling. “Uhh, I don’t really drink.”

Gadget nudged him with an elbow. “Can you not be a goody-two-shoes for like five seconds?”

Debbie leaned in with a grin and gave Gadget an affectionate pat on the head. “I like her more and more every day.”

Chip blushed and gave a resigned shrug. “Well… here’s to questionable decisions.”

With everyone gathered on the motel room floor—Debbie, Max, and P.J. seated in a loose circle on the carpet, and Gadget and Chip nestled in a towel near the table—they raised their drinks.

“To making it to Maine,” Debbie said.

“To finding answers,” Gadget added.

“To not puking tonight,” P.J. mumbled.

Max smirked. “And to not letting Debbie shit her pants if she drinks more than two of these.”

They all laughed, touched their cups and caps together, and tossed back the first fiery burn of cinnamon whiskey.

**********************

1 am came quickly.

As the buzz of laughter and the cinnamon heat of Fireball settled into cozy fatigue, the group slowly began to wind down. The last joke was cracked, the final empty cup was tossed into the trash, and yawns started to outnumber words.

“Alright, that’s enough debauchery for one night,” Debbie announced, stretching and cracking her back like an old cat. She pointed sternly at both P.J. and Chip. “Remember, if I even sense you two getting weird while I’m asleep, I’m chucking you into the parking lot.”

P.J. put his hands up defensively. “What? I’m the respectable one.”

Chip tilted his cap. “Yeah, what he said—also, I’m like four inches tall.”

Debbie didn’t even blink. “Parking. Lot.”

With a chorus of “Goodnights,” the group broke off—Debbie, Chip, and P.J. retreating to their room, while Max gently closed the adjoining door. The soft click of the latch felt oddly momentous.

For the first time since they’d hit the road, it was just Max and Gadget.

The motel room was dim and still. Rain continued to drum lightly on the roof, the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light over the modest but clean space. A low hum came from the old mini fridge in the corner, and the floral bedspread crinkled softly as Max slipped under the covers beside Gadget.

She curled into his chest, her little hand resting just under his collarbone. Her ears twitched slightly as she murmured, “You know… we’re alone. No cousins, best friends, or moral compasses.” She tilted her head up toward him and waggled her eyebrows in the most exaggerated, cheeky little way. “You wanna… you know?”

Max looked down at her, eyes half-lidded and warm with affection. But then, his jaw cracked open in a wide yawn.

“As much as I really want to right now?” he said, voice low and teasing. “It’s probably best we don’t. Knowing P.J., he’s probably plotting retribution for the pizza crust incident, and I don’t want him walking in on us… well, you know.”

Gadget snorted, hiding her face in his shirt. “Like when you walked in on your dad and Sylvia?”

A visible shiver went through Max’s body, as if someone had dumped ice water down his spine. “Ugh, don’t remind me. There’s not enough bleach in the world to scrub that image out of my brain.”

Gadget laughed harder now, her small frame shaking against him. “What were they even doing again?”

Max groaned. “It's not what they were doing at the time, it was what they were doing before.”

That earned another round of muffled giggles before Gadget sighed, content, and nestled deeper into him. “Still… it’s nice. Just being here with you.”

Max kissed the top of her head. “Yeah… it really is.”

Outside, the storm rolled on quietly. But in that little room, wrapped up in each other and the safety of the moment, the world could wait.

And a minute later, they both fell asleep.

Blissfully unaware of what secrets Castle Rock held in store for them.

Or surprises.

Chapter 13: Nausea

THIRTEEN: Nausea

Ah, the “L-Shaped Blanket.”

A staple of network television, this marvel of modesty engineering is draped with almost surgical precision: high up on the woman, barely covering anything more than the collarbones; low on the man, conveniently stopping just below the navel. Somehow, no matter how wild the night of passion may have been, the sheet remains perfectly, inexplicably in place by morning. The lighting is always soft. Hair tousled just so. A well-placed beam of sunlight peeking through a sheer curtain to indicate a new day dawning—clean, tasteful, and PG-13.

But not this time.

Because instead of two perfectly primped TV actors tangled up beneath a strategically placed sheet, it was P.J., Debbie, and Chip.

And?

Absolute motel carnage.

The cheap floral comforter was half on the floor, half hanging from a ceiling fan that had definitely seen better days. An empty bottle of Fireball lay beside a tipped-over lamp, glowing faintly. A pair of jeans hung off the corner of a painting. Debbie’s tank top was somehow dangling from the curtain rod. A sock was lodged in the bedside lampshade like a forgotten war trophy.

P.J. lay flat on his back, shirtless and snoring, one hand resting dramatically on his stomach like a man who’d just eaten Thanksgiving dinner and fought a bear afterward. Chip was sprawled across his chest, using a crumpled-up tissue as a makeshift blanket, also very, very naked, save for his hat. Debbie was curled up against P.J.’s side with a leg hiked over him, her hair a wild, tangled halo of red, a triumphant smirk on her sleeping face like she’d just won a bar fight with destiny.

And in the open doorway between the rooms stood Max and Gadget.

Frozen. Speechless. Staring.

Horror plastered across Max’s face as if he’d just stumbled into the final ten minutes of a very different kind of TV show.

Probably something on HBO.

“I…” Max began, his voice breaking into a stunned whisper. “I am going to have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

Gadget, equally shell-shocked, just blinked slowly, her mouth half-open in disbelief.

Max turned, not taking his eyes off the interspecies catastrophe. “How does this keep happening to me?”

The peaceful hush of morning was shattered in an instant.

Debbie stirred first, groaning softly as she blinked awake, her arm stretching across P.J.'s chest. P.J. snorted, eyes fluttering open next. Chip gave a little twitch, yawned, and sat up slowly—still comfortably sprawled across P.J.’s torso like a living teddy bear.

Then they all paused.

Three sets of slowly awakening eyes surveyed their surroundings.

The rumpled sheets.
The clothes.
Each other.

And then—

“OH MY GOD!” Debbie screamed, sitting bolt upright and yanking the nearest piece of fabric, a Costco hot dog t-shirt that read 'I Got That Dog in Me', against her chest.

P.J., in response, let out the highest-pitched scream imaginable—like a kettle whistle and a malfunctioning siren had a baby. He scrambled backward, only to fall off the bed entirely with a thud and a muffled ow.

Chip, eyes wide, spun in a full circle like he could somehow find an exit by turning fast enough. “WHAT—WHAT—WHY AM I STICKY?!”

Max, still standing in the doorway with Gadget, let out a long, exhausted sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So much for getting a good night’s sleep, huh?”

Gadget looked between the three panicked figures and deadpanned, “This is gonna be an awkward breakfast, huh?”

What followed was pure chaos: Debbie tripping over a nightstand as she lunged for her jeans, Chip trying to hop into one of P.J.'s socks for modesty before thinking better of it, and P.J. wrapping himself in the motel’s shower curtain like a traumatized burrito.

Why the shower curtain was hanging from the door knob was a mystery for another day.

“I don’t remember anything!” P.J. wailed, hiding behind the armchair.

“I had, like, two caps of whiskey!” Chip squeaked, clutching a pillow like it could protect his dignity.

“I don’t even like cuddling!” Debbie shouted, yanking on a hoodie.

Amid the flurry of tangled limbs and mortified yelps, each of them tried to piece together the night.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Debbie said, breathless and red-faced. “Let’s just all calm down and agree on one thing—nothing happened. Right?”

They all nodded frantically. Too quickly.

Max muttered, “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s exactly what it looks like.” Then turned back toward his room. “I need coffee. Strong coffee. And possibly bleach.”

“Get me some too,” Gadget added. “The bleach, not the coffee.”

And with that, they left the three still-scrambling disasters behind them—closing the adjoining door very slowly… and very firmly.

**********************

The Castle Rock Diner was a charming little hole-in-the-wall with wood-paneled walls, foggy windows streaked with rain, and a waitress who called everyone "hon" whether she meant it kindly or not. The group sat in a red vinyl booth that squeaked with every movement. Debbie, P.J., and Chip sat on one side—each looking like they’d aged ten years overnight—while Max and Gadget lounged across from them, suspiciously well-rested.

Max lifted a crispy strip of bacon to his mouth and took a leisurely bite, chewing thoughtfully as if tasting victory itself.

He opened his mouth to speak.

Debbie didn’t even look up. “Not. A. Word.”

Max grinned with a twinkle in his eye and leaned forward. “Okay, okay.” He cleared his throat, then with utmost smugness said:

“Floccinaucinihilipilification.”

Debbie let out a guttural noise and collapsed face-first into the table with a thump. “I fucking hate you so much right now…”

Across the table, Gadget—who had just bitten into a fresh strawberry—plucked Chip’s hat right off his head and dropped it onto her own, cocking it at a serious angle. She squared her tiny shoulders, puffed out her chest, and in a comically stern voice mimicked him:

“You need to be careful, Gadget! Alcohol can lead to unwise decisions! We’re supposed to be upstanding citizens who lead by example and never, ever have premarital sex, even by accident!”

Chip’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t stop her. He just crossed his arms as she doubled down.

“We could've started an interspecies incident!” she said, pacing in a tight circle on the table like she was giving a lecture to an invisible class.

P.J., sipping orange juice with deep bags under his eyes, looked across at Chip. “Does she always gloat like this?”

Chip, still trying to swipe his hat back without standing up, grunted, “Always.”

Gadget tipped the hat back on her head coolly. “It’s part of my charm.”

Max leaned over and whispered to Gadget, “Ten bucks says P.J. doesn’t make eye contact with Debbie once this entire meal.”

“I heard that,” P.J. muttered into his hash browns.

Debbie groaned again, face still on the table. “If I just keep my eyes shut, maybe I’ll wake up and this will all have been a bad dream.”

“A wet dream,” Max replied with a smirk.

Debbie sat up slowly, pointed her fork at him, and said with absolute certainty, “I will key your car.”

“I don't even own a car, why do you think you're here?”

“Then I’ll key your soul, Max.”

Chip finally reclaimed his hat, straightened it on his head with all the dignity of someone who had definitely not woken up after a drunken, possibly bisexual, interspecies threesome, and mumbled, “So. Uh. What’s the plan for today?”

Max reached for the syrup. “We find that lab.” He glanced toward the window, where the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. “And maybe, if we're lucky, we finally find out where our little friends came from.”

Gadget tilted her head, the moment turning a little softer. “Yeah... maybe.”

Debbie sighed, stabbing her scrambled eggs like they personally betrayed her. “Just promise me we don’t find any more whiskey.”

Max raised his glass of orange juice. “To questionable decisions, uncomfortable mornings, and unraveling rodent conspiracies.”

P.J. just sighed. “And never speaking of this again.”

Everyone murmured agreement with Chip adding, "Well, I had fun."

**********************

After the most awkward breakfast of their lives, the group found themselves back on the road, weaving through the misty outskirts of Castle Rock. The drizzle had lightened to a pale fog that clung low to the pavement, blurring the forested edges of the highway. Debbie’s Mustang rolled to a quiet stop in front of a rusted gate, half-collapsed and swallowed by thorny vines.

Max stepped out first. A gust of wet wind tousled his hair as he stared at the faded sign hanging askew on the fence:

UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT PROPERTY
NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF MENTAL HEALTH
NO TRESPASSING

The letters were chipped and rusted, almost illegible beneath layers of graffiti—some vulgar, some just bored teenagers marking territory. One corner of the fence had long been cut open, the edges curled like torn paper.

“This is it,” Max said, half to himself.

Gadget climbed onto his shoulder, tail curling instinctively around his neck. She stared through the fence with a tight, unreadable expression.

“I thought it would be bigger,” she whispered. “I mean… in my mind. I always thought it would be…” She trailed off.

“More,” Chip finished, from his perch on Debbie’s shoulder.

They made their way through the torn fence. Ahead stood the carcass of the lab, the main building. It had once been imposing, clearly—tall and clinical and purpose-built. Now it was just concrete bones. Most of the roof had collapsed. The windows had all been shattered, leaving jagged holes like broken teeth. The air inside smelled of dampness, old ash, and faintly of rust.

They stepped through what had once been the lobby. Tiles crunched underfoot. Moss had begun to crawl up through cracks in the floor. A long-forgotten reception desk lay on its side, covered in graffiti tags and dirt.

Debbie ran her fingers along a burned-out filing cabinet. “Place looks like a war zone.”

Max was silent as he moved deeper into the ruins. His footsteps echoed against bare concrete and hollow spaces.

“I was expecting something more… preserved,” he said. “Like, I dunno, files still in drawers, old machines lying around, some kind of clue.”

Gadget dropped from his shoulder and landed lightly on a scorched countertop. She scanned the area, ears twitching, eyes flitting from collapsed beams to corroded lab equipment.

“There was a fire,” she said, voice low. “The metal’s warped. It burned hot. I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Deliberate?” P.J. asked, ducking under a bent support beam.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe someone wanted to erase everything that happened here.”

Max knelt near a pile of ash and broken glass. “Any chance this is where it happened? The experiments? Your… creation?”

Gadget shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember a place like this.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking much smaller.

Debbie gave her a sympathetic look and offered a hand for her to climb back up. Gadget declined with a tiny nod of thanks but kept walking, deeper into the husk of the building.

Chip was quiet, taking in the space like a battlefield. “They didn’t just leave. They wanted this place gone. They made sure of it.”

P.J. moved over to what had once been a lab station—burned wires and a twisted microscope. “Whatever was here... It’s all gone now.”

Gadget stopped in the middle of the ruined room, staring up through the open roof at the dull gray sky above.

“I thought this would help,” she said quietly. “Coming here. Seeing it. Maybe it would make things make sense. Like I’d find something—anything—that said why.”

Max stepped closer, knelt down, and reached out gently, brushing his hand across her back. “You okay?”

"No,” she admitted. “But I’m glad you’re here. All of you.”

For a few moments, no one said anything. The sound of distant wind moved through the skeletal walls, stirring a loose piece of paper across the floor.

Then, P.J. cleared his throat and pulled out the folder of printouts he’d brought from home. “Hey… I don’t wanna rush anything, but—look at this.”

He held up a faded photograph. It showed the lab in its prime: clean, intact, cold. But in the background, almost lost in the trees, was a second structure. Smaller, windowless. Easy to overlook.

“I think this was part of the facility too,” he said. “Offsite storage? Auxiliary labs? Maybe even animal housing. It’s not part of the main building, but it might still be out there.”

Max took the photo. “You think it survived?”

“I think it’s worth checking out,” P.J. said.

They all looked toward the tree line behind the ruins. Dense, dark, and still wet from the earlier rain.

Debbie sighed, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “Of course the next clue is in the spooky-ass woods.”

Gadget looked at Max. “What do you think?”

He looked down at the photo again, then toward the trees.

“I think we came too far to stop now.”

The trail leading away from the ruined N.I.M.H. building was narrow and tangled with roots and wet underbrush. The drizzle had mostly stopped, but droplets still fell from the trees overhead like nature hadn’t quite made up its mind. Max led the group forward, pushing aside branches, with P.J. close behind and Gadget nestled quietly on Max’s shoulder, her expression focused and uncertain.

Debbie followed a few paces behind, the forest closing in a little tighter around them. She was quieter now, reflective. Chip sat perched on her shoulder, steady, silent.

But something was wrong.

She felt it before she saw it—this tiny trembling that ran through him like a vibration. She slowed, heart suddenly heavy.

“Hey,” she said softly, glancing over at him. “You alright there, Indy?”

Chip didn’t answer. His arms were folded, his hat pulled low—but it didn’t hide the way his small frame was shaking. She gently reached up and touched him, just lightly, like you’d touch a frightened bird.

He looked up at her, and Debbie’s breath caught.

He was crying.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. But the tears were there, clinging to the fur beneath his eyes, tracing down his muzzle. The strongest of them all—the planner, the protector, the one who always knew what to do—looked completely lost.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered.

Ahead, Max and Gadget stopped at the sound of his voice. Gadget turned back, saw him—and her hand flew to her mouth.

“Chip…” she said, heartbreak in her voice. She had never seen him like this. For years, he’d held it all together. Held the Rescue Rangers together. And now, in the cold gray woods outside a ruined building that had no answers, the weight of it was finally too much.

Debbie looked around at the others. “Go on ahead,” she said quietly. “We’ll catch up.”

Max hesitated. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”

P.J. looked at Chip, then stepped back toward him through the mossy underbrush, huge fingers moving with surprising gentleness as he reached toward the tiny chipmunk.

He ran a single fingertip across Chip’s damp cheek, wiping away the tear trails.

“Hey, bro,” P.J. said, voice low and warm. “We got you. I got you.”

Chip nodded, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. P.J. gave his shoulder the lightest of taps with that massive finger, then stood and walked away, following Max and Gadget deeper into the woods.

Leaving Debbie and Chip alone.

The silence pressed in for a moment, just rain drips and distant footsteps fading.

Debbie slowly sat down on a fallen log, letting Chip slide from her shoulder onto her open palm. She held him there like something precious.

He wouldn’t look at her.

“I should be better than this,” Chip murmured. “I should be stronger. I’m supposed to be the leader, y’know? The one who figures it all out. Who keeps it together. I’m not supposed to—”

“To what?” Debbie said gently. “Feel things?”

Chip closed his eyes. His voice cracked.

“I thought I wanted to know where we came from. Thought it would give us some kind of… answer. Some purpose. But standing in that building, I just—” He swallowed. “I felt small. And empty. Like nothing there was ever going to make it better. Or make me matter.”

Debbie didn’t speak right away. She just let him sit in it. Gave the pain room.

Finally, she whispered, “You ever read the last page of a mystery before the rest of the book?”

He looked up at her, confused.

“You skip ahead to the end,” she continued. “Think it’ll make it easier. That if you just know how it ends, you won’t be so anxious the whole way through. But you don’t get the payoff. You don’t get the why. It’s just an ending without meaning.”

Chip sat silent in her palm, listening.

“This?” she said, motioning gently to the woods around them. “This whole trip? You, Max, P.J., Gadget… me? You’re not here to find the last page. You’re here for the middle. The messy part. Where the characters screw up, fall apart, cry a little. Or a lot.”

“You do matter, Chip. You matter to Gadget. To your friends. To us.”

His lip quivered. “Even though I’m falling apart?”

“Especially because you’re falling apart,” she said. “We don’t love the perfect parts of people. We love the cracks. The parts that show us who you really are.”

She reached up and touched his hat, adjusting it gently. “And who you are? Is someone worth sticking by.”

Chip let out a shuddering breath. One more tear slipped down—but it wasn’t quite as painful as before.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anytime, Indy.” She smiled again. “Who would have thought I would be sitting, talking to a chipmunk on a Saturday in the middle of nowhere?”

"Could be worse," Chip wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat. "Could be what we did last night."

"Just shut up, Dr. Jones," Debbie chuckled.

They sat there together in the woods—Debbie and the brave little chipmunk who finally let himself fall apart. And for the first time in a long time… Chip didn’t feel alone.

Up ahead, the trees thickened around Max, Gadget, and P.J. as the path narrowed, the air turning cooler, damper. Moss clung to every surface like time itself had slowed out here. Max pressed forward, brush crunching beneath his sneakers, with Gadget perched on his shoulder, her tiny hand gripping the collar of his jacket. P.J. followed closely, a little muddy, a little tired, but steady.

Then they saw it—tucked behind a tangle of overgrown vines and gnarled tree limbs.

The off-site building.

It was half-sunken in the earth, the stone dark with age and water stains, ivy clawing up its face like nature was trying to pull it back underground. But it was intact. Not burned. Not defaced. Just... hidden.

“Well, would you look at that,” Max muttered.

P.J. walked up to the massive rusted door set in the concrete. He grabbed the handle with both hands and pulled. It didn’t budge. Not even a little.

“Stuck,” he grunted, giving it another hard yank. “Probably sealed for years.”

Max stepped beside him, rolling his shoulder. “Let’s show it who's boss.”

They both leaned in, shoes digging into the damp ground, muscles straining. The door screamed as it gave way—a long, metallic shriek that echoed through the forest like a warning bell. Birds scattered from the trees overhead. A few startled squirrels dashed away.

Max stepped back, wiping his brow. “Subtle.”

P.J. looked over his shoulder. “Should we wait for Debbie and Chip?”

Max already had his flashlight out. He clicked it on with a sharp flick and moved to the doorway.

“They’ll catch up.”

Inside, the air was musty—tinged with rust, dust, and something faintly metallic. The flashlight cut a beam through the darkness, illuminating rows of empty filing cabinets, overturned chairs, and cracked tiles. Office spaces, long-abandoned. Every drawer was empty, every shelf bare. Only the ghosts of old paperwork remained—yellowing outlines on walls where posters had once hung. Time had scoured this place clean.

Gadget climbed down from Max’s shoulder and walked slowly along the wall, her hand trailing against it.

“Same as the main building,” she said quietly. “Everything’s just... gone.”

Her voice trembled. Max noticed.

“I was hoping,” she whispered. “Just... anything. A folder. A note. A photo. Some kind of clue. Something to say why we were made. Why me.”

Max stepped over and knelt beside her, the flashlight tilted upward just enough to light her face. Her eyes shimmered.

“I’m sorry, guys,” she said. “I guess we wasted time coming all the way out here.”

Max shook his head. “No. We didn’t.”

He sat down beside her on the cracked linoleum, his flashlight resting on his knee.

“It was an adventure,” he said. “We got to see new places. Listen to '90s jams. Spend time together. Witness whatever Debbie, P.J., and Chip did last night...”

"Shut up," P.J. sighed.

Gadget managed a small smile.

Max’s voice softened. “So what if you didn’t find out your origin? You’re real. You’re here. That’s all that matters in my eyes.”

He turned slightly, looking back at P.J. “Right, buddy?”

But P.J. wasn’t listening.

He was facing the doorway, hand cupped around his ear, his whole frame stiff.

“Shh,” he said. “I told you to shut up. You guys hear that?”

Max tilted his head, confused. “I don’t hear anything.”

But Gadget did. Her ears twitched, eyes going wide.

“I hear... running water?”

They stepped outside, into the soft light beneath the trees. The forest seemed quieter now. Like it was listening, too.

Then Max heard it—a soft, distant burble, faint and rhythmic, hidden under the whisper of the breeze through the leaves.

“Yeah,” he said, “I hear it now.”

P.J. took a step toward the sound. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

“It’s probably always been there,” Gadget said, her voice gaining steadiness again. “But we weren’t listening.”

The three of them exchanged looks.

Max clicked off the flashlight and pocketed it. “Well. Guess we’re still adventuring after all.”

Debbie and Chip emerged from the thick brush moments later, damp from the undergrowth but relieved to see the others ahead. Chip still looked a little pale, but his composure had returned. As they approached, Gadget immediately bounded from Max’s shoulder to Debbie’s, throwing her arms around the chipmunk without hesitation.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her cheek pressing to his.

Chip tipped his hat back just enough to give her a small, warm smile. “Yeah… just had a moment. I’ll be fine now.”

Gadget didn’t say anything more—she didn’t need to. She just hugged him tighter for a second before perching on Debbie’s shoulder.

With their group whole once more, they pressed deeper into the woods, following the sound of the water until the trees suddenly parted—and they saw it.

A stream trickled quietly through the woods, its banks mossy and soft, framed by ferns and wildflowers. But nestled beside it, camouflaged in the underbrush, was something impossible. Something alive.

A village.

Tiny houses—dozens of them—were constructed from bottle caps, carved bark, matchboxes, rusted thimbles, hollowed-out cell phones, even old soda cans. There were rope bridges made of dental floss, chimneys crafted from pen casings, windows lined with beads for panes. Tree roots had been woven into staircases, and the shell of an old flashlight had been transformed into a lookout tower. Faint curls of smoke rose from a few chimneys, their scents oddly sweet and herbal.

The entire settlement was barely larger than a backyard sandbox, but it was clearly thriving. It bustled with activity—tiny figures moving through the narrow paths, tending to fires, carrying satchels of food, sharpening crude spears no longer than toothpicks.

It was primitive, yes—but organized. Lived-in. Real.

Max blinked. “Are we seeing this?”

“You’re seeing it,” Debbie whispered, her voice thick with wonder. “We’re all seeing it.”

The group crouched low in the brush, eyes wide, hearts pounding. Not because the village was terrifying—but because it wasn’t. It was beautiful, in a scrappy, unexpected way. And somehow, it felt important. Like they were looking at the page of a story none of them had ever been told… but one that still had their names written in the margins.

P.J. leaned forward and whispered, “Okay… now what?”

But no one got a chance to answer.

Because in the very next moment, the spears started flying.

Notes:

Floccinaucinihilipilification.

noun.

The action or habit of estimating something as worthless. (The word is used chiefly as a curiosity.)

Chapter 14: Humans Being

FOURTEEN: Humans Being

The morning mist drifted lazily through the village like a half-forgotten dream, soft and cool against the earth. It clung to the mossy stones and tangled roots, beading gently on blades of grass and the edges of overturned thimbles and matchboxes. Birds were beginning to stir in the treetops above, their calls faint and scattered, still respectful of the early hour.

Mrs. Brisby knelt in her garden with a trowel fashioned from an old spoon, gently patting soil over the roots of a crooked little herb. Her brown fur, though carefully groomed, was streaked with bits of dirt, and her sleeves were rolled to her elbows. It had rained the night before; the earth was heavy and rich beneath her paws. A good day for planting. A quiet day.

She sighed and sat back on a flat stone near the garden’s edge, wiping her brow with the back of her paw. Her red cape, worn and fraying at the edges, slid slightly off her shoulder. She tugged it back into place with a soft, habitual gesture. The fabric was thin now, more patch than original, but she would never part with it. It had been Jonathan’s. A piece of him she could still wrap around herself when the days grew too long.

Across the clearing, her children played—Martin and Timothy mock-fighting with carved sticks, each declaring victory with the same enthusiasm, whether they won or lost. Teresa sat cross-legged beneath a large, upturned teacup, now used as a reading nook, her nose buried in a yellowing scrap of newspaper that she read as reverently as scripture. Cynthia twirled through the wet grass in wild little circles, her laughter cutting through the mist like a wind chime.

It was a good life.

Or… a good enough life.

Mrs. Brisby folded her paws in her lap, watching them. She’d kept Jonathan’s last name when her passed away—insisted on it, in fact. “Elizabeth” hadn’t felt right anymore. Too small. Too bare. Mrs. Brisby was who she had become, who she had to be now. A caretaker. A provider. A mother. And she wore that name the way she wore the red cape—tattered, maybe, but with quiet pride.

Two years. Two years since Jonathan passed. Sometimes, it still caught her off guard, how quickly that time had gone. And other days, it felt like a lifetime had passed since she’d last heard his voice, since his arms had wrapped around her after a long day, since the two of them had watched their children grow with soft, amazed smiles.

There had been no time to mourn, not really. After the farm became unsafe, she had packed up their lives—what little they had—and moved the children far from the eyes of the Giants. They’d followed whispers of others like them, of sanctuary. Of the Rats.

The Rats of NIMH had been… something else. Clever. Brilliant. Secretive. And cold. Their world of gears and light and hierarchy had been impressive, but she hadn’t belonged there. That hadn’t been what Jonathan wanted for their children. He’d longed for peace. A simpler, kinder life.

So she and the other mice had found this place instead—beside a stream, deep in the woods, beyond the reach of machines or men.

And here they stayed.

It was safe.

It was humble.

It was enough.

She exhaled, long and quiet, watching Martin knock Timothy over with a playful shove, only to help him back up a moment later. Cynthia was singing now, some nonsense rhyme, half made-up, dancing with her arms in the air. Teresa didn’t even look up from her reading.

Mrs. Brisby smiled faintly. They were happy. Or close enough. That was what mattered.

But still… she missed conversation that wasn’t interrupted by arguments. Missed the stillness that came from having someone who saw her, really saw her, not just as “Mom” or “Widow Brisby.” Someone who could sit beside her in the garden and share the silence.

She touched the edge of her cape again and closed her eyes. For a moment, she imagined Jonathan’s voice whispering her name. Not “Mother.” Not “Mrs. Brisby.” Just Elizabeth.

But it was only the wind.

She opened her eyes again, pushed herself up from the stone, and brushed the dirt from her knees. Another day. Another meal to make, a home to keep, a family to hold together. It was a good life.

A quiet life.

A lonely life.

Silence.

Too much silence all of a sudden.

Mrs. Brisby froze.

The songbirds scattered.

A flutter of wings high in the canopy, a chorus of chirps cutting off mid-note—then silence. That thick, unnatural silence that fills a forest when something wrong is coming.

Mrs. Brisby straightened from the garden, ears twitching. A prickle climbed her spine.

Then came the scream.

“GIANTS! GIANTS ARE COMING!”

A blur of fur shot past her garden. It was Noll, one of the younger mice, his eyes wild, his voice shrill with panic as he barreled through the center of the village.

The effect was instant.

Chaos.

Mice dropped tools, food, books—anything in their paws—and bolted. The soft stillness of the morning shattered into alarmed squeaks and the patter of feet scrambling into shelter. Mrs. Brisby’s heart seized in her chest. No, she thought. No, not here. They can’t be here.

They had seen humans before, yes—but always far off, near the roads, or once, faintly silhouetted in the distance along the river. But no Giant had ever come this deep into the woods. Not this close to the village.

“Teresa! Cynthia! Martin! Timothy!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with sudden fear as she tore across the clearing, her red cape flapping like a banner behind her.

Her children were already running toward her—Teresa pulling Cynthia by the paw, Martin skidding through the mud with wide eyes. Mrs. Brisby gathered them to her quickly, ushering them toward the overturned soup can that served as their home.

“Inside! Now!”

“But—Mama, what’s happening—?” Teresa gasped.

“Inside! Go!”

Mrs. Brisby turned back toward the village just in time to see the others arming themselves. The older males were rallying—grabbing sharpened toothpicks, spears made from needles lashed to twigs, even slings made from scraps of cloth. They weren’t a warrior people, not truly—but they would defend their own.

And then she saw them.

The Giants.

Three of them, towering, monstrous. One of them—a female—had vibrant red hair. Another—large and solid—had his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. The third, lean and broad-shouldered, swept his eyes across the treetops like he was looking for something.

Mrs. Brisby’s breath caught in her throat. Why are they here? What do they want?

She stepped forward, instinct screaming that something wasn’t right—and then she realized it.

Timothy.

Her youngest. Her brave one. Her reckless one.

“Timothy?” she gasped, turning. “Timmy?!”

Her eyes scanned the garden. The path. The nearby trees.

“Timothy!”

Nothing.

Panic turned her stomach into ice. She spun in circles, heart racing, fear rising in her throat like bile. The noise of the village faded behind the rush of blood in her ears.

And then she saw him.

A small figure, halfway up the slope of a moss-covered rock that jutted just above the treeline. He was climbing, scrambling upward with quick, excited paws, his tiny form silhouetted against the graying sky.

Trying to get a better look at the Giants.

Mrs. Brisby’s scream tore through the village.

“TIMOTHY! Get down! Right now!”

But the child either didn’t hear her—or worse, didn’t listen.

And as the heavy footfalls of the Giants pressed closer, her paws gripped at the earth, a thousand memories flashing through her—Jonathan, the promise to keep them safe, the nights alone wishing her children would stop chasing danger—

She ran.

And prayed she wasn’t already too late.

**********************

“OW! Shit! That hurt!” P.J. cried, hopping back on one foot as a pebble nailed him square in the shin. “They’ve got fucking catapults!”

Dozens of tiny figures were charging from the underbrush—mice, no more than a few inches tall, brandishing toothpick spears, sewing needle pikes, and wielding shields made from buttons and bottle caps. They shouted in high-pitched, warlike squeaks, rallying like a miniature army defending their homeland.

Max threw his arms up, instinctively shielding Gadget. “Is this happening right now?! Why is this happening right now?!”

“Because we look like kaiju to them, that’s why!” Debbie grunted, batting away a tiny spear that harmlessly clattered against her thigh. Chip clung to her shoulder, ducking behind her hair. “Don’t step on them!”

“Try not to step on them! They’re everywhere!” P.J. yelped.

“We come in peace!” Max shouted, raising both hands high as he crouched down. “We’re not here to hurt you!”

Tiny spears bounced off his jeans and hoodie, barely a nuisance but growing in volume and accuracy.

P.J., eyes wide, suddenly tugged hard at Max’s sleeve. “Dude. Dude. DUDE.”

“What?!” Max turned.

P.J. pointed, pale. “That.”

Max followed his finger—then froze. “Oh no.”

Across the clearing, a group of mice were scrambling with ropes and twine, trying to angle a massive, rusted double-barreled shotgun, half-buried in the earth like an ancient relic. They had propped it up with sticks, metal scraps, and one old broom handle—and they were now pulling at a frayed cord tied to the trigger.

Debbie’s jaw dropped. “They wouldn’t.”

Max’s eyes went wide. “They would!”

“EVERYONE MOVE!” he shouted.

BOOM!

The shotgun thundered. One barrel erupted with a plume of smoke and deafening noise, the force of it sending the mice sprawling.

A tree branch just feet from them exploded into kindling, raining leaves and splinters.

Max shielded Gadget and fell to the mossy earth. Debbie dove behind a fallen log with Chip clinging to her collar. P.J. hit the ground with a yelp and covered his head.

For a long second, all was still.

Max lifted his head, blinking. “Did… did that really just happen?”

P.J., still face-down, muffled, “They shot a gun. They literally shot a gun at us.”

Max, flat on his back, let out a long sigh. “Cool. Field trip's going great.”

Debbie peeked over the log, eyes widening. “They’re gonna shoot again!”

P.J. groaned from the ground. “Of course they are. Why wouldn't they?!”

“Maybe we should, you know—run?” Debbie shouted, already scrambling to her feet.

No one needed further convincing.

Max grabbed Gadget protectively, tucking her against his chest as he took off. Chip clung to Debbie’s jacket with a tight squeak as she bolted behind Max. P.J. stumbled upright and started to follow—but his foot caught in the gnarled root of a small tree.

CRACK!

He pitched forward, hitting the dirt with a painful thud. The tree gave a sharp, snapping groan—and half of it split and toppled, crashing down into the stream nearby.

“Guys, wait up—OW!” P.J. tried to scramble up, but the root twisted around his ankle like a snare.

BOOM!

The second barrel of the shotgun exploded.

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” P.J. wailed in a pitch that could shatter glass.

Debbie shrieked and ducked. Chip screamed something that may or may not have been a prayer.

Max, catching his balance and Gadget still pressed to his chest, spun toward the sound. Then he froze.

Floating away on the broken half of the tree, in the current of the stream—was a child.

A tiny mouse boy, clinging to the bark with white-knuckled paws, his eyes wide with terror as the water carried him swiftly downstream.

Gadget gasped. “Max—look!”

“I see him!” Max barked.

“Max, wait!” Debbie called.

But he was already moving.

“I GOT HIM!” Max shouted, pushing forward.

He dodged tiny warriors and startled villagers, practically dancing through the chaos. “Move! Get outta the way!"

Then—he jumped.

SPLASH!

Max hit the water hard, sending up a small wave. Gadget clung to his shirt like a terrified kitten as the cold current dragged them forward. Max kicked his legs and reached.

“Come on, little guy, hold on! I got you!” he called out, the current pulling him closer to the drifting boy.

The child mouse looked up, coughing, soaked and terrified.

Behind them, the chaos of the village had gone quiet.

Even the mice had stopped. Everyone was watching.

Gadget gritted her teeth, her voice urgent in Max’s ear. “You’ve almost got him!”

Max’s fingers stretched—

“Gotcha!”

He pulled the shivering, wet mouse into his hand just before the broken tree fragment hit a rock and splintered. The water surged again, and Max swam for the edge, Gadget still clinging, the boy cradled close.

With one final heave, Max grabbed the bank and hauled himself out, coughing, soaked, trembling, but safe—with the child safe in his hand.

Max lay sprawled on the mossy embankment, chest heaving, his clothes soaked clean through and clinging to him like a second skin. He blinked water out of his eyes, then slowly rolled onto his side and gently set the tiny, shivering mouse child down on the soft grass.

The little guy coughed a few times, then looked up with big, frightened eyes.

Max gave him a weak but reassuring smile. “You’re alright, kid… You’re alright.”

A blur of red rushed into view—small paws, swift and trembling. The child squeaked out something only the other mice would understand, and then he was swept up into the arms of a brown-furred mouse wearing a tattered red cape. She fell to her knees, holding him close against her chest, whispering softly into his soaked fur, rocking back and forth in pure maternal relief.

Max watched her, propping himself up with one elbow, his breath finally slowing.

Gadget, equally soaked, clung to the collar of his shirt, her fur plastered down, but her eyes were bright and smiling. She looked at him with a lopsided grin and nudged his cheek.

“Well, look at you go, Mr. Hero.”

Max let out a weary grunt and raised a thumb. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll sign autographs after I cough up this stream."

The bushes rustled, and the rest of the group emerged—first P.J., limping slightly but wide-eyed with amazement. Debbie was right behind him, Chip perched on her shoulder, both soaked from earlier but looking stunned at the scene before them.

All around them, the tiny villagers—mice in patchwork clothes, some still clutching toothpick spears or makeshift slings—began to circle around the scene. There was no more shouting, no more attacks.

Just silent, curious awe.

The mother mouse looked up at Max. Her eyes were wide and soft, glistening with both fear and gratitude. She said something—a small, squeaky trill of sound that Max barely registered over the thundering of his own heartbeat and the ringing in his ears.

He blinked, brow furrowing. “Huh?”

Gadget lifted her head from Max’s collar, brushing back her wet bangs and smiling again. “She says… thank you. For saving her son. His name is Timothy.”

Max sat up slowly, he looked at the tiny mother and her son, both huddled together, trembling but safe.

He gave her a small nod, his voice low and soft.

“Ain’t nothing, ma’am.”

**********************

Max sat hunched beneath a plaid blanket, still damp from the stream, steam rising faintly off his clothes in the warm afternoon air. Debbie had run back to the car and returned with supplies—blankets, bottled water, and another Bluetooth speaker, the same they used when Gadget and Chip needed to talk. It now sat perched on a flat stone near the edge of the makeshift log circle they'd settled into, its little blue light glowing softly.

The speaker crackled faintly as Gadget made some quick adjustments to the mic input, then nodded toward the tiny figure standing beside it.

Mrs. Brisby stepped forward with hesitant grace, still wearing her worn red cape, though she'd tidied herself and her children as best she could after the chaos. Her paws were clasped in front of her as she looked up at the giant figures before her. Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, and little Timothy sat behind her, eyes wide as they peeked around her legs, occasionally stealing glances at Max like he was a storybook creature brought to life.

Gadget crouched beside the mic, gently adjusting for Mrs. Brisby. “Go ahead,” she encouraged softly. “They’ll hear you just fine.”

There was a pause.

Then, from the speaker, a clear voice—small but strong—carried across the forest hush.

“My name is Mrs. Elizabeth Brisby. These are my children—Teresa, Cynthia, Martin, and Timothy, the one you saved.” She paused to lay a gentle paw on Timothy’s shoulder, who flinched shyly. “We… we live here. I’m sorry for the way you were greeted. We’ve had to learn to protect ourselves.”

Her voice crackled slightly through the speaker, but the warmth of it still came through.

Across from her, Max gave a nod, his legs stretched out in front of a small fire that Debbie had coaxed to life. “No hard feelings,” he said, voice hoarse but kind. “Little guy’s safe, that’s what matters.”

Chip sat on Debbie’s shoulder, his tail flicking slightly as he watched the huddled mice around the perimeter of the gathering. Many of them remained in shadow, peering out from behind pinecone huts, soup can shelters, or pieces of rusted tin. Still wary. Still watchful.

“They’re not used to outsiders,” Mrs. Brisby said, looking around her. “Especially not... Giants.” Her voice was tinged with apologetic worry, even as she tried to sound diplomatic. “But we see now you didn’t mean us harm.”

Debbie gave her a small smile. “Well, we did walk straight into your backyard. Can’t blame a mom for wanting to defend her family.”

Mrs. Brisby looked up at her, eyes soft with something between relief and lingering sadness. “I appreciate your kindness. Truly.”

There was another quiet moment as the wind shifted through the trees, the murmur of the stream gurgling in the background. P.J. sat hunched beside Max, poking the fire with a stick, his ankle bandaged after his earlier fall.

“So…” P.J. said, glancing toward Mrs. Brisby, “you guys live out here, like, full-time?”

“We do,” came the reply. “This forest has kept us safe, hidden. We were staying on a farm nearby, but had to move.”

Max glanced down at her, remembering seeing a farm on their drive in. “What about the lab, the one nearby?”

Mrs. Brisby gave a slow nod. “Yes… The National Institute. We don't go there.”

The group exchanged glances. The weight of something unspoken hung in the air.

From her place at the edge of the log, Debbie looked down at Mrs. Brisby, her brows knitting with gentle curiosity. “You knew what it was? The lab? You knew people… from there?”

Mrs. Brisby nodded again, eyes lowered. “My husband, Jonathan. He was one of them.”

Silence followed.

A breeze carried the scent of pine and smoke across the clearing, and for a moment no one said anything.

Max finally broke it, softly. “I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Mrs. Brisby looked up, her eyes meeting his.

“Yes,” she said, “I believe we do."

Debbie offered a small, sincere smile. “You mentioned your husband. Where is he now? Is he with the other mice from the lab?”

The question seemed simple enough, but the shift in Mrs. Brisby’s face said otherwise.

Her features softened, eyes lowering to the pine needles beneath her feet. Her hands clasped one another tightly. “Died,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a breath through the speaker. “Two years ago.”

The silence that followed was deep, respectful. Even the mice behind her bowed their heads slightly.

Gadget, who stood beside Mrs. Brisby, hesitated for only a moment before placing a gentle hand on the other mouse’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Really.”

Mrs. Brisby gave a small nod of thanks, but didn’t speak. Her children huddled closer to her, Timothy curling into her side.

Looking to shift the heavy mood, Max leaned forward slightly, brushing wet hair from his forehead. “So, uh… who’s in charge around here?”

Mrs. Brisby looked up, blinking as though returning from somewhere far away. “No one now,” she said. “We once had a leader—an old, wise mouse named Mr. Ages. He was one of the original escapees from NIMH along with my husband… he helped guide us here after we fled the farm.”

Debbie tilted her head. “What happened to him?”

“He passed,” Mrs. Brisby replied, voice steady but filled with sorrow. “Last winter. The blizzard came early, and… he was old. He gave everything to protect us, to teach us how to survive. We’ve… tried to carry on since.”

P.J. glanced around the village, now seeing it with different eyes—less a strange little hidden society, and more a place held together by grief and resilience.

After a pause, Mrs. Brisby turned her gaze to Gadget. “Is that why you came?” she asked gently. “The lab?”

Gadget looked up, eyes large and filled with a quiet ache. She gave a small nod. “We came here looking for answers. To see if there was anything left. Anything that could tell us… where I came from. Why me and Chip are the way we are.”

Chip remained silent, his expression unreadable as he sat on Debbie’s shoulder, arms folded tight across his chest.

Mrs. Brisby studied them both—Gadget’s sadness, Chip’s guarded stillness—and gave a small, understanding nod.

“I don’t know what answers you’ll find,” she said. “But if there’s anything I can do to help… I will.”

Gadget offered a quiet, hopeful smile. “Thank you.”

Max suddenly perked up, a grin spreading slowly across his face. “How about we spend the night?”

P.J. and Debbie both turned toward him with mirrored looks of alarm.

“WHAT?!” they said in perfect sync.

Max just chuckled. “No, seriously! Think about it. We hang out, get to know everyone a little better. See what we can learn. Deb, you could drive back to the motel, order some pizzas—”

A small voice interrupted, curious and sincere. “What’s a… pizza?”

Everyone looked down. Cynthia, wide-eyed and sincere, had edged a little closer from behind her mother.

P.J. grinned. “Only the most delicious thing you’ll ever eat.”

Max continued, warming to his idea. “I saw a sporting goods store on the way into town. Could grab some sleeping bags, maybe a tent or two…”

Debbie raised a brow, arms crossed. “Oh, so now I’m just your personal delivery girl and camping quartermaster? I am not made out of money, you know. Who is gonna pay for all this?”

Max blinked, caught, before he could answer—but then Debbie smirked, tossing her keys in the air and catching them. “You know what? Fine. I’ve had enough sleeping in motels to last a lifetime.”

As the conversation settled and plans began to take shape, Chip crossed his arms and gave the village another curious scan. “I think I’d like to stay here,” he said, tilting his head toward the cluster of tiny homes made from spools and matchboxes. “Look around a bit.”

“I’m going with Debbie,” P.J. announced, standing and brushing off the seat of his jeans.

Max shot him a grin. “Because you’re a simp?”

P.J. didn’t even blink. “No. To change my pants.”

There was a beat of silence—and then laughter broke out. Even Mrs. Brisby gave a puzzled but polite smile, not entirely sure what was so funny.

Debbie gave Max a playful shove on her way past. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t get into any trouble.”

“No promises,” Max called after her with a grin.

With that, Debbie and P.J. made their way out of the clearing, stepping over the tiny bridges and vegetable patches as gently as they could. The village seemed to relax slightly with their departure, as if sensing the reduction in “giant” presence.

Mrs. Brisby turned her attention to Chip, her expression warm. “Would you like a tour, Mr. Chip?”

He tipped his hat politely. “I’d be delighted, ma’am.”

She gestured gently, and the two of them began walking toward a row of little homes nestled into the roots of an old maple.

Gadget, still slightly damp, hopped down from Max’s shoulder and sat on the log beside him, wringing out the hem of her shirt. Max flopped beside her, the blanket still clinging to him like a cape.

Mrs. Brisby turned back to them briefly. “Would you both like to come too?”

Max shook his head. “Nah. Think we’ll just sit here for a bit. Dry off, decompress. It’s been a crazy morning.”

Gadget nodded, “Yeah… we’re good. But thank you.”

Mrs. Brisby gave them a kind smile and continued on, Timothy following her and Chip closely.

Max leaned back, letting the filtered sunlight hit his face as he listened to the gentle hum of village life and the distant laughter of mouse children.

“Crazy morning,” he repeated softly.

Gadget leaned her head on his arm, a small smile playing on her lips. “You could say that again.”

Chapter 15: Lost

FIFTEEN: Lost

The soft crunch of tiny feet on dirt and moss padded the silence as Chip walked beside Mrs. Brisby through the village. Afternoon light filtered through the forest canopy, casting golden rays that made the mist shimmer as it lifted. Around them, the miniature world bustled—quietly, carefully—like a self-contained dream.

Homes were made from overturned tin cans, broken teacups, and bits of hollowed wood. Wires salvaged from old fences acted as railings. Rope ladders stitched from vines and thread connected higher dwellings tucked into tree hollows. The buildings looked as though they had grown from the forest itself.

Chip kept his hands in his jacket pockets, eyes wide, scanning every detail. The more he saw, the more fascinated he became.

“These houses... you built all of this with no power tools?" he asked.

Mrs. Brisby glanced at him, puzzled. “Power Tools?”

“Y’know, power drills, buzz saws... stuff from the, uh, giant world?” he offered gently.

She smiled faintly. “We use what we find. Sharp rocks, thorns, old needles. Mr. Ages taught us how to work with what we have. We’ve never needed… what did you call it?”

“Drills,” Chip repeated, smiling to himself. “You’re like pioneers. A whole village made of scraps and ingenuity.”

Mrs. Brisby’s smile held a hint of pride. “We’ve learned to be resourceful. Life in the woods doesn’t leave much choice.”

Timothy followed closely behind them, sneaking curious looks at the chipmunk. His eyes kept drifting to the leather jacket, the hat—he looked like something from a storybook. One of the heroes his older sister Teresa would read about on chilly nights by candlelight.

As they walked past the village square—a sunlit clearing filled with drying laundry strung between roots and rusted spoons used as garden spades—Chip noticed several villagers glancing his way. Their eyes were wary but not hostile, like people watching a thunderstorm on the horizon. They’d never seen anyone quite like him.

“I know I must look strange,” Chip said gently.

Mrs. Brisby tilted her head. “You don’t look strange. Just… different. Like something from the old stories.”

Chip chuckled, a little awkwardly. “I’ve heard that before.”

They passed a group of young mice weaving baskets from dried grass. Another pair were sharpening long thorns into makeshift spears. Chip stopped to admire a pulley system rigged from yarn and acorn tops that lifted buckets of water from a small well.

“This place is incredible,” he said. “It’s like… like you’re making civilization from nothing. No electricity, no machines, just—”

“We had to start over,” Mrs. Brisby said quietly. “After the move. After Jonathan died. The field wasn’t safe anymore, and the giants were always so close. We came here to disappear. To live as simply as we could.”

“Jonathan,” Chip said softly. “That was your husband, yeah?”

She nodded. “He was brave. Wiser than I ever gave him credit for. But he kept secrets from me… until the very end. Secrets about what they did to him. About NIMH.”

Chip gave a small nod, his expression soft. “He was one of them? One of the escapees?”

“Yes. One of the first. He left that world behind for us. But sometimes I wonder if he ever really escaped it.”

A breeze rustled the trees. Timothy skipped ahead a few steps, then circled back to walk beside them again, eyes still on Chip with wordless wonder.

Mrs. Brisby noticed. “He’s always been… curious. Timothy was recovering from sickness when we left the farm. He barely remembers the old place.”

Chip smiled at the boy. “Curious is good. Gets you into trouble, sure—but it also gets you where you’re going.”

Mrs. Brisby gave a soft laugh. “That sounds like something Jonathan would have said.”

They paused at a quiet bend in the path, where a lantern made from an old marble and some wire cast rainbows on the ground.

“You live in a different world,” Mrs. Brisby said, looking at Chip. “A faster one, I think. With things I’ve never heard of.”

Chip looked around—the hand-stitched clothing of villagers, the slow hum of a village at peace with itself—and then over at her.

“Maybe. But I don’t know if that makes it better.”

She looked at him, puzzled.

“You’ve built a life here,” he said. “You’ve got community, family, meaning. Sometimes I think… we forget what that’s worth.”

Mrs. Brisby was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled again, but this time with something deeper behind it—something older than the village, older than the forest.

“Maybe we’re both looking for the same thing,” she said. “Just from different directions.”

And Chip, hat tipped low, walked on beside her—an explorer in a forgotten world, finding more answers than he expected from a place that had none of the things he thought he needed.

**********************

Rutger’s Sporting Goods was one of those small-town fixtures that felt older than the town itself. The place smelled like rubber, leather, and for some reason? Baked beans. Like every camping trip ever taken packed into a single building. Faded taxidermy lined the top shelves, watching over dusty racks of flannel, sleeping bags rolled and tied like cinnamon rolls, and a forest of aluminum tent poles stacked like spears in barrels. Wind chimes clinked gently above the door every time it creaked open.

Debbie let out a breath as she wandered past a shelf of portable stoves. “I still can’t believe this is happening. Talking rodents? Secret government experiments? This is like something out of an X-Files episode.”

P.J., examining the specs on a mid-range tent, didn’t even look up. “For you this may be a mystery. For me?” He gave a tired shrug. “It’s Tuesday.”

Debbie shot him a look. “It’s Saturday, dumb ass.”

P.J. blinked, head tilted slightly. “Huh. Right.”

They kept moving, weaving between displays of lantern fuel and hiking boots. Debbie pulled down a boxed tent and tossed it into their cart, already half full with gear. She grabbed a small, foldable camping stove and added it as well.

“You ever think about what this means?” she asked after a beat. “Like… if Gadget and Chip are real, and this village is real… it changes everything. Bridging the gap between animals and people. Intelligence isn’t just a thing for us. We’re not alone in the way we think. Or feel. Or dream.”

P.J. opened a pack of waterproof matches and examined them like they held the answers to the universe. “Yeah. It’s like that old fantasy—what if your dog could talk back?”

Debbie nodded, her tone quieter now. “And not just talk. Understand. Feel loneliness. Joy. Grief. Love. On the same level we do.” She glanced toward the front of the store, toward the glass doors and the sleepy streets outside. “How do we keep living like we’re the only ones that matter when we know we’re not?”

P.J. stood there for a second, unusually thoughtful. Then, deadpan: “I hope my mom's dog Chainsaw never talks.”

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

P.J. gave a haunted little shiver. “Because she’s slept in my room. And she’s seen… things.”

Debbie groaned and laughed, tossing a pair of flashlights into the cart. “You are so weird.”

“And yet still charming,” P.J. replied with a smirk.

“Debatable.”

They pushed on toward the checkout counter, the reality of everything they’d learned weighing heavy, but softened—just a bit—by the company, and the banter, and the weird, miraculous truth that the world was a little bigger and stranger than they’d ever dreamed.

**********************

The warm hum of summer filled the air, soft and steady, like the earth itself was asleep. Max blinked himself back to the land of the living. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but here he was — laid back against a warm rock near the edge of the village, hoodie bundled around him like a pillow.

Something small shifted against his side.

He looked down and blinked, surprised, then smiled. Curled against him was Cynthia, Mrs. Brisby’s youngest daughter — pink-nosed, soft-furred, and entirely at peace. She had tucked herself under the fold of his hoodie like a baby bird, one tiny paw gripping the fabric like a security blanket, her breathing slow and steady.

Max didn't move.

Didn’t even twitch.

Something about the moment felt… sacred. Like disturbing it would be a sin. So he lay there, letting the breeze comb through his hair, and simply watched the world move gently around him.

Across the way, a burst of laughter. He turned his head and spotted Gadget.

She was kneeling down, playfully covering her eyes while Martin and Teresa ducked and dodged around her, a makeshift game of hide-and-seek unfolding. A daisy — or some small wildflower like it — was tucked behind her ear, braided delicately into her soft hair. It bobbed every time she turned her head, and the sun caught the edges of her fur just right, like she was lit from within.

She looked beautiful.

Not in that casual, hot-girl-on-the-beach way, but in a way that made his chest ache. She was glowing, truly glowing, surrounded by her kind — tiny voices laughing, paws reaching for her, trusting her, loving her. He’d never seen her like this. Not on the road, not in the motel, not even during their quietest, sweetest moments together.

And that’s when the thought hit him.

Children.

The word dropped in his mind like a pebble in a pond, sending ripples through everything.

Did she want them?

Of course, she hadn’t said anything. Neither of them had. They’d been together what, a month? Barely? And it wasn’t like they were planning a mortgage or anything. But still… there it was. Watching her now, seeing her light up, holding a giggling Teresa on her hip like she’d done it a hundred times — something deep in Max stirred.

And cracked.

Because he couldn’t give her that. Not really. Not in the way she deserved.

Whatever this was between them — whatever beautiful, impossible love had bloomed — it didn’t change the facts. He was him. She was a mouse. Their coupling broke every rule — societal, biological, moral — depending on who you asked. And he was okay with that. He’d fight the world for her. But this… this was different.

She belonged here.

Not in some philosophical way. Not like he was going to leave her behind and do the noble thing. Screw that. He’d drag her back to Ohio in his jacket pocket if that’s what she wanted.

But it didn’t stop the ache.

Because as he watched her laugh, and twirl, and lift Martin off the ground in her arms like he weighed nothing — he saw a future. And he wasn’t in it.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. Too soon. Way too soon. She hadn’t said anything about kids. Maybe she didn’t want them. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was happy just as they were — two weirdos in a car, blazing across state lines with 90s rock blasting and not a care in the world.

But still…

That thought stayed. Like a splinter just under the skin.

And all he could do was smile down at Cynthia sleeping beside him, stroke a gentle finger down her back without waking her, and whisper quietly to himself:

“Don’t screw this up, Max…”

Then he turned his gaze back to Gadget.

And despite everything swirling inside him, when she spotted him from across the clearing and waved — her whole face lighting up — he smiled back.

Gadget trotted across the mossy clearing with a hop in her step, her flower-tied hair bobbing as she made a beeline for Max. She scurried up his chest like it was second nature, perched herself just under his chin, and without hesitation, pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Well, hello there, sleepy head. Have a good nap?”

Max blinked, dazed in the best way, then gave a slow nod. “Yeah… sorry. Guess thrilling heroics kinda wore me out.”

Gadget glanced down and let out a tiny giggle of delight. “Look at you making friends.”

Cynthia, still curled snugly against Max’s side, stirred and yawned, blinking up at Gadget with a shy smile before dozing off again. Max chuckled, keeping still so she wouldn’t wake.

“If only it was that easy in high school,” he said. “I might’ve been stuffed into fewer lockers.”

Gadget snorted, trying not to laugh too loudly and wake the little one. She sat back against his collarbone, taking in the peaceful scene around them — the rustle of leaves, the distant chatter of villagers, the occasional flutter of bird wings.

“It’s amazing here,” she whispered. “Untouched. Peaceful. Nothing like the cities, the tech, the static. I could get used to this.”

Max nodded slowly. “Yeah… it’s impressive.”

But there was no weight behind his words.

Gadget immediately picked up on it.

She squinted, pinched his cheek with both paws, and gave him a playfully accusing glare. “Alright, buster, what’s going on?”

Max gave a weak chuckle. “Nothing, nothing…”

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, folding her arms and tapping her foot on his chest. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes before. That serious, broody male look. Spill it.”

Max laughed, full and genuine this time. She knew him far too well.

“Fine, fine…” He exhaled, eyes drifting over the village. “It’s just… watching you here. With them. You’ve kind of found your people. Maybe. We’re still figuring things out, I know, but Gadget, you fit here. So well. Watching you play with those kids… it made me wonder if…”

He trailed off.

Before he could finish, Gadget placed both tiny paws over his mouth and gave him a firm shush.

“Listen,” she said sternly, her big blue eyes locking onto his. “This place is wonderful. Magical, even. But Max — if you’re worried I’m going to stay here and leave you behind? Don’t.”

He blinked.

“I love you,” she said, letting the words sink in. “And there is no place I would rather be than with you. Do you understand? Is that registering? I mean, golly, you’re supposed to be the intelligent creature in this relationship.”

She finally let her paws drop from his mouth.

Max just stared at her for a moment, heart a weird, swelling mess in his chest. Then he smiled.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I mean, finding you, finding out about you, then almost losing you to distemper, and then all this? Can’t blame a guy for being a little on edge, right?”

Gadget’s expression softened. She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against his lips. “No,” she said, “I can’t.”

The moment stretched, warm and perfect — until a sudden chorus of squeaky voices broke the silence:

“Oooooooh!”
“Ewwwwww, they’re kissing!”
“Kissyyyyy faaaaace!”

Max glanced down to see all three of Mrs. Brisby’s children watching them, now wide awake. Cynthia clung to his hoodie, giggling behind her paws. Martin had his arms crossed, making exaggerated retching noises. Teresa simply sighed dreamily.

Max groaned and covered his face. Gadget rolled over laughing and flopped against his chest.

“Great,” Max muttered. “We’ve got an audience.”

Then, from the edge of the trees came the sound of crunching leaves and laughter, followed by the unmistakable aroma of hot, cheesy deliciousness.

“Who’s ready for the best darned campout ever?!” came Debbie’s voice, loud and triumphant.

Max and Gadget looked over just in time to see Debbie and P.J. emerging from the woods, arms overloaded with sleeping bags, rolled-up tents, and a tall stack of pizza boxes balanced expertly on top.

P.J., grinning from ear to ear, added with a chuckle, “And don’t worry, I brought enough for both giants and ravenous woodland critters.”

A few of the mouse children squealed in delight at the smell, rushing to the edge of the clearing. Cynthia immediately perked up and scrambled away from Max’s hoodie, hopping excitedly toward Debbie and P.J.

Max sat up straighter and smirked. “Saved the day again, huh?”

Debbie winked, “What can I say? I come bearing carbs and polyester.”

As the villagers gathered, sniffing curiously at the pizza and marveling at the camping gear, Max glanced down at Gadget still nestled on his chest.

“Looks like the party’s here,” he said softly.

Gadget smiled and patted his collar. “Then let’s make it a good one.”

And with that, the clearing filled with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the beginning of an unusual, unforgettable evening.

**********************

Night had fallen over the hidden mouse village when the camp was set, but the place was anything but quiet.

Lanterns dangled from low branches, casting golden halos of light across the gathering. Two large tents flanked the edge of the village, but all attention was focused on the massive picnic spread—at least, massive to the mice. For the humans, it was just a couple of pizzas, a few bags of chips, and some two-liter bottles of soda. But for the mouse villagers?

Pure, delicious chaos.

A single Cool Ranch Dorito was laid out on a flat piece of bark like it was the centerpiece of an altar. A crowd of mice had gathered around it, whispering in awe. One brave soul stepped forward, took the tiniest nibble, and immediately collapsed to his knees.

“I’ve seen the face of God,” he whispered, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

Debbie couldn’t stop laughing, holding a half-empty chip bag over her shoulder. “I told you the Dorito thing would happen!”

Max leaned in with mock seriousness. “You ever see that meme? About how one Dorito has so much flavor, it would kill a medieval peasant?”

He pointed to the tiny crowd, where another mouse had tried a chip and was now lying flat on his back, staring at the sky and softly muttering about “flavor ghosts.”

“Yup,” Debbie grinned. “Confirmed.”

The pizza was just as much a marvel. One pizza box lid alone served as a buffet table, slices laid out like massive slabs of cheesy treasure. Mice swarmed the edges of the crust like construction workers tackling a skyscraper. A mouse child climbed up a pizza box and waved down to her friends like she was on top of a playground tower.

The soda wasn’t helping the calm, either. Thimble cups and bottle caps fizzed with soda pop, spilling sticky sweetness that had half the younger mice buzzing. Literally. One was vibrating in place while squeaking out the entire alphabet song at lightning speed.

P.J., leaning against a log with a plate in his lap and a Dorito sticking out of his mouth, murmured, “This is either the start of a beautiful friendship… or a cult.”

Max chuckled, watching Cynthia wobble by, crust in one paw and soda sloshing in the other. She paused to smile up at him with sticky cheeks, then promptly tripped and fell. He reached down and helped her up, wiping off her nose with a napkin.

“It’s like a Chuck E. Cheese exploded in a Renaissance fair,” he muttered.

Gadget, curled beside him on the blanket, was beaming. “They’re so happy. When’s the last time they’ve had anything like this?”

“Probably never,” Max said. “Not unless some pizza delivery guy crashed into the trees.”

At last, as stomachs filled and the younger mice began settling into happy food comas—or sugar twitches—it was time for phase two.

P.J. clapped his hands together. “Alright, folks! Who wants to see a story from beyond the stars?”

He pulled out his laptop, carefully placing it in the middle of the town square. The mouse villagers crowded around, whispering in amazement as he flipped it open and it came to life. The screen glowed. A few mice gasped. One fainted.

“What sorcery is this?” muttered a grizzled mouse elder, leaning on a sewing needle like a cane.

“It’s a laptop,” P.J. said proudly. “And we’re watching a movie. It’s called Star Wars.”

“Oh!” Gadget lit up. “That’s the one with the glowy swords and the grumpy guy in the mask, right?”

“The very one,” P.J. said, clicking play.

As the opening crawl scrolled across the screen, the music swelling triumphantly, the villagers were mesmerized. You could hear a pin drop… until the Star Destroyer chased the rebel ship onto screen.

Shrieks. Full-on, panicked squeaks. A couple of mouse kids ran behind a pizza box and peeked over the crust like it was a barricade.

Then came Darth Vader.

Screams. A full three mice jumped into P.J.’s lap and clung to his hoodie like it was a lifeboat.

P.J. calmly chewed a piece of crust. “Fun fact: Vader’s suit was actually inspired by samurai armor.”

Martin sat on his shoulder, wide-eyed. “He breathes like a monster!”

“Oh yeah,” P.J. grinned. “That’s the iconic part.”

Off to the side, Debbie, Max, and Gadget sat under one of the tents, watching the mice more than the movie.

Max glanced at Gadget. “Think they’ll sleep tonight?”

Gadget smiled, folding her paws beneath her chin. “Not a chance.”

And honestly? That was fine. For one evening—just one—they weren’t experiments, or lost souls, or remnants of a burned past. They were kids. Families. Friends. And for a little village hidden in the Maine woods, this was the night they discovered galaxies far, far away.

And Doritos.

And for two specific rodents, something else was happening.

On a piece of soft moss and a woven yarn blanket near the edge of the gathering, Chip and Mrs. Brisby sat side by side. She had been leaning forward, fascinated, her whiskers twitching at every new revelation, every strange technology, every alien language. Chip had explained a few scenes here and there in hushed tones, his voice patient, gentle.

Then the Sand People attacked.

The guttural, trilling cry of the Tusken Raiders echoed through the speakers. A thunderous orchestral swell followed.

Mrs. Brisby gave a sharp squeak of surprise and instinctively pressed against Chip’s side. She froze, suddenly embarrassed by the reflex—but Chip didn’t flinch. Instead, he glanced down at her and wrapped a careful arm around her small shoulders, drawing her gently closer.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, eyes on the screen. “He’ll be okay. Ben’s on his way.”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with nervousness and a flicker of something else—comfort, trust. For a moment, the movie’s light illuminated both their faces, and their eyes met. Neither said anything. They didn’t have to. Something passed between them, unspoken and tender. A connection.

Two souls from different worlds, but not so different in the end.

Debbie caught it first.

Sitting beside Max under the canopy of their tent, she had Timothy curled up in her lap, half-asleep from the sugar crash, clinging to a piece of pizza crust like a teddy bear. She leaned her head toward Max and whispered, “Look.”

Max followed her gaze. Past the kids, past the crowd of villagers still enthralled by space battles and Jedi prophecy… to the mossy patch where Chip and Mrs. Brisby sat, quietly snuggled up under the silver-blue glow of the laptop screen.

Max blinked. At first, he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Chip.

The same chipmunk who had stormed into their lives like a stubborn blast from Gadget’s past. Who had seemed determined to reclaim the world he once had, or at least keep a piece of it from slipping away. And now… he looked different. Softer. Grounded. Like he’d finally stopped chasing the past and started seeing the present.

Max felt something strange stir in his chest. Not jealousy. Not annoyance. It was something warmer.

He smiled. Just a little.

“Well, I’ll be,” he murmured. “Would you look at that.”

Debbie smirked. “That chipmunk has game.”

“And she's a good mouse,” Max said quietly. “She’s kind, brave… she’s been through so much, but she’s still got that light.”

“Kind of like someone else we know,” Debbie added, nudging him.

Max glanced toward Gadget, who was now sitting cross-legged with Cynthia and Martin, all of them mimicking lightsaber sounds with sticks. His heart filled again—maybe for the hundredth time that day. Maybe more.

He looked back at Chip and Brisby, still curled together as Obi-Wan entered the scene and waved away danger with a Jedi mind trick. Chip leaned his head slightly against hers. Mrs. Brisby rested comfortably, no longer shy.

“I think he might be falling for her,” Max said.

Debbie leaned back on her elbows, grinning at the stars above. “Yeah… I think she might be falling right back.”

And as the movie played on, a galaxy of new connections was forming beneath a very different sky—friendships, families, and the quiet beginnings of something tender and new.

For once, nobody felt like an outsider.

They were exactly where they needed to be.

**********************

By the time the movie ended, the night had mellowed into a peaceful hush.

The last embers of energy burned out as the sugar highs from soda thimbles and Cool Ranch Doritos wore off. Mice, both young and old, yawned and stretched, bellies full and minds swimming with images of space battles, lightsabers, and droids. Villagers began to retreat to their homes, and laughter drifted in the cool night air, now gentler, more exhausted.

P.J. clapped his laptop closed, stretching his back with a groan that echoed through the square. “Movie night success,” he mumbled proudly to himself as he carefully packed it away in its cushioned bag.

“I’ve never eaten so much cheese pizza in my life,” Max muttered as he unzipped the flap of their tent.

Gadget giggled. “That little guy, Crumb? He ate three slices. I don’t know where it all went.”

“I’m not entirely convinced he didn’t just absorb it through osmosis.” Max held the tent flap open for her, and she climbed in with a happy sigh.

Meanwhile, Debbie strutted up to the other tent, arms crossed, smirking as she glanced over her shoulder. “You coming, tons of fun?”

P.J., who had just realized there were only two tents, blinked. “Wait… but there’s only—”

Before he could finish, Debbie unzipped the flap and slid inside.

“—two tents,” he mumbled, helplessly.

Her voice called out lazily from within, “And hands to yourself.”

P.J. looked up at the stars, nodded solemnly, and sighed. “I’m gonna die in there.” Then, with reluctant but obedient acceptance, he ducked in behind her and zipped the flap closed.

Nearby, in the heart of the village, Chip was playing escort through the quiet streets. He walked beside Mrs. Brisby, the soft dirt path lit only by moonlight.

On his back, Timothy snored softly, arms loosely hooked around Chip’s neck. In his arms, Cynthia was nearly asleep, her cheek pressed against his chest, breathing steadily. Martin and Teresa trailed behind, yawning and rubbing their eyes, dragging their feet with the dramatic sluggishness only children can manage when fighting sleep.

Chip’s arms ached a little, but he wouldn’t have traded the moment for anything.

Mrs. Brisby smiled over at him, her hands clasped in front of her. “They really took a shine to you,” she said, her voice quiet, warm.

Chip chuckled softly. “It’s mutual. They’re good kids. All heart. You’ve done an incredible job with them.”

She looked down for a moment, modest but touched. “I just try to do what’s right. It’s not easy, raising them on my own.”

Chip nodded, the weight of her words not lost on him. “You’ve done more than just raise them. You’ve kept them kind. Brave. Hopeful.”

They arrived at her home—a large, moss-covered cinder block half-sunken into the earth, its entrance cleverly fashioned with bark and vines like a little wooden gate. Lanterns hung above it, casting soft yellow light across the step.

Mrs. Brisby turned and addressed Teresa and Martin, gently but firmly. “Alright, you two. Wash up and get ready for bed, please.”

“Do we have to?” Martin groaned.

Mrs. Brisby raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to bring out the stern mom voice?”

They both groaned in surrender and trudged inside.

Mrs. Brisby turned back to Chip. He carefully slid Timothy from his back and passed Cynthia into her arms while Timothy stumbled toward the house.

“Thank you for helping,” she said quietly, now holding her youngest.

Chip shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, uh… my pleasure. Really. I had a great time tonight. Like, really great.”

Mrs. Brisby hesitated on the doorstep, rocking slightly with the weight of the sleeping child, but she looked up at him with a smile that melted through any awkwardness.

“I did too,” she said. “You brought a bit of… wonder into their lives. Into mine.”

Chip started to say something, then fumbled it.

“I mean, it’s just… you’re incredible. I’ve known you for less than a day, and somehow it feels like… like I’ve always known you. Is that weird? That’s probably weird. I ramble when I—”

She stepped forward, still holding Cynthia against her, and kissed him.

Soft. Sweet. Lingering.

The world seemed to freeze. The trees, the village, even the stars—all paused for that one gentle moment.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes still held his.

“Goodnight, Chip,” she whispered.

Then she turned, slipped through the bark-covered door, and disappeared inside.

Chip stood there in stunned silence for a full thirty seconds, his heart pounding so hard he was sure half the forest could hear it. Then, slowly, a dopey grin spread across his face.

“…Whoooa,” he murmured.

Then he turned and walked back toward camp, kicking a pebble lightly, humming to himself, like a chipmunk floating on air.

The stars twinkled above, the last few fireflies flickering lazily through the leaves.

**********************

The faintest blush of sunlight crept over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of lavender and rose. The air was still and cool, draped in a fine, silvery mist that rolled low across the forest floor and curled gently around the tents and he sleeping village. The mice were tucked in their tiny homes, the world hushed and holding its breath.

Max stirred inside his tent.

With a groggy sigh, he blinked at his digital watch: 6:01 AM. The sun had barely made an appearance, and the chilly air hadn’t quite shaken off the night. Max shifted slowly, careful not to wake Gadget, who was curled up beside him.

He smiled at her, brushing a bit of hair from her face. Then his bladder made its presence urgently known.

Grimacing, Max carefully slid out from beneath the blanket, adjusting Gadget so she could keep sleeping undisturbed. She murmured softly in her sleep, clutching a corner of his sleeve before relaxing again. He gently freed it, then unzipped the tent flap and stepped out into the misty morning.

The world was still kissed with dreams.

The dew on the grass shimmered, and birds had just begun to sing the first tentative notes of their morning songs. The mist swirled as Max stepped through it, yawning, stretching with a groan, and making his way into the brush for a little morning relief.

As he stood there, humming faintly to himself, eyes half-lidded and brain not quite online yet, he looked around and smiled. It really was something, this little world they’d stumbled into. Secret mouse villages, pizza parties with thimble sodas, unexpected romance, and found family.

It was a trip he was sure he was never going to forget.

He zipped up, turned to head back to camp—

And stopped.

A sound. Mechanical. Rhythmic. Steady beeping—not quite loud, but sharp enough to cut through the mist. Then voices. Shouting. The clank of metal. The whirr of gears.

Max's brow furrowed. He crouched low and crept toward the source of the noise, weaving through the underbrush.

And then, just past the treeline, the forest gave way to something new.

A wide dirt clearing had been carved out of the land, trees uprooted and stacked in piles. Construction vehicles stood like sleeping giants: backhoes, diggers, a bulldozer already churning earth into neat mounds. A billboard was being raised into place, its surface glossy and glaring against the soft, natural world it invaded.

The image on the sign showed cartoonish suburban homes with pristine lawns and smiling families.

Max squinted to read the words being bolted into place across the top:

SHADY LANE HOMES
Breaking Ground This Summer!

The blood drained from his face. The billboard towered over the clearing, casting a shadow that reached back into the woods—back toward the village.

The village.

Max stood frozen for a moment, his breath clouding in the cool air, the mist suddenly feeling much heavier.

Then, barely above a whisper, he said it:

“…Oh no.”

Notes:

The next chapter is going to be a roller coaster of emotions, and long. I am almost done writing it and it will be posted tomorrow.

Chapter 16: We Gotta Get Out of This Place

SIXTEEN: We Gotta Get Out of This Place

The air in the village square was thick with panic. Lanterns swayed gently in the morning breeze, their soft glow doing little to soften the angry voices echoing through the trees.

"They brought this upon us!" a grizzled older mouse shouted, pointing a trembling paw at Max, Debbie, and P.J., who stood awkwardly at the edge of the gathering.

"They didn't mean to—" another mouse, younger and timid, tried to interject.

“Oh please,” someone else barked, “That mouse and that chipmunk—what did you expect bringing outsiders here? You’ve cursed us!”

"That sign means giants are coming. Big ones. With machines!" another wailed.

Children clung to their parents, and even the bravest of the village warriors—armed with toothpick spears and walnut-shell armor—looked rattled. Fear, despair, and uncertainty crackled in the air like dry lightning.

Max stepped forward and cleared his throat. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise like a dropped pin in a funeral parlor.

"Okay. Enough," he said, his voice even. "This is not getting us anywhere. We need to think of a plan."

The crowd simmered. Grumbling continued, but no one interrupted.

Max looked around at them—these tiny people who had let them in, trusted them, and feasted with them. "I get it. You're scared. You have every right to be. But fear isn't going to stop bulldozers or construction crews. We need to be smart. We need to be together."

A few heads nodded, a few more turned away. An elder mouse stepped forward, challenging him gently, "And where exactly do you suggest we all go, giant?"

Max hesitated—

"That's uh, a good question."

Off to the side, away from the heated conversation, Chip slowly approached Mrs. Brisby.

She sat on a patch of moss, Teresa and Martin huddled close, and Timothy still clutching a corner of her tunic in his sleep. Cynthia curled up in her lap, watching the commotion with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Are you okay?” Chip asked softly.

Mrs. Brisby shook her head, not even bothering to pretend. “No. I’m not. We've already had to run before. From the farm. We thought we were safe here.” Her voice cracked. “But now we have to leave again.”

Chip knelt beside her, eyes tender. “I understand. Believe me, I do. But we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Mrs. Brisby’s gaze snapped to his, anguished. “Where, Chip? Where? Where can we go that people like your friends won’t eventually tear down to make condos or whatever a strip mall is?” Her voice trembled with exhaustion and pain. “There’s no place left for us.”

Chip didn’t answer—not right away. What could he say? She was right.

So instead of speaking, he leaned in and gently wrapped his arms around her. Mrs. Brisby stiffened for a moment… then melted into the embrace, eyes shut tight as silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Off to the side of the village square, Debbie and P.J. were packing up the last of the camping supplies. Debbie shoved a bundle of folded tarps into the back of a duffel bag, her jaw clenched in quiet frustration.

“This is just so unfair to them,” she muttered, shaking her head. “They build a life, settle in, and then—boom—bulldozers show up. All because someone wants to throw up another bunch of overpriced houses no one asked for. This is fucked.”

P.J., kneeling nearby and wrestling with a stubborn tent pole, nodded. “Super fucked. But I’ll be damned if we let anything happen to them. I mean, c’mon—they just discovered Doritos.”

That made Debbie snort, despite herself. “Seriously? That’s your rallying cry? Not ‘freedom’ or ‘justice’ or ‘saving innocent families’? Doritos?”

P.J. shrugged, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Hey, food is universal. Besides, I stress eat when I’m nervous. And this whole thing’s a giant stress burrito.”

She zipped up the duffel and tossed it aside with a sigh. “I just wish there was something more we could do. Something bigger.”

Unbeknownst to them, Max had caught wind of their conversation. His ears perked up.

“Something bigger,” he echoed softly.

He stared down at the forest floor, brows furrowed, before his eyes suddenly lit up. “Ohio.”

He snapped his fingers. “Ohio!”

Both Debbie and P.J. jolted.

“What? What about Ohio?” Debbie asked, eyes narrowing.

Max turned to them, a huge grin spreading across his face. “We move the village. We take them somewhere safe. Home. We take them to Ohio!”

Debbie blinked at him, mouth slightly open, like he had just suggested airlifting the moon.

“Wait. Hold on. What?” she said, holding up a hand. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Max said. “It’s the only real option. Every forest around here is gonna get eaten up eventually. They need somewhere far, somewhere stable.”

Debbie scoffed, throwing her arms in the air. “Max, I drive a Mustang. It can barely fit four people, let alone seventy talking mice and all their stuff!”

Max just smiled. “Hey, they're small.”

P.J. threw in helpfully, “Mouse-sized even.”

Debbie turned on him, glaring. “Don’t you start.”

P.J. raised both hands. “Hey, I’m just the emotional support guy.”

Gadget jogged up, ears perked, catching the tail end of the conversation. “What’s going on?”

Max turned to her, voice full of conviction. “We’re taking them with us. All of them. To Ohio.”

Gadget blinked. “Really? You think we can do it?”

Max gave a small, confident nod. “We have to try.”

Debbie groaned, rubbing her temples. “I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this…”

P.J. clapped a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a saint.”

“I’m an idiot,” she grumbled before speaking again, “So say we do get them to Ohio,” she muttered, glancing sideways at Max. “What then?”

Max frowned, scratching at the back of his neck. “I guess they could…” He trailed off, gears visibly turning in his head. “...live in my basement?”

Debbie gave him the flattest, most withering stare she could muster. “Oh, I’m sure your dad will just love that.”

Max stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders sagging. “He knows about Gadget. I mean… he took that okay. Eventually. I think he’d understand. My dad’s got a big heart.”

P.J., who had been quietly rolling up a sleeping mat, looked up and squinted at Max. “Bro,” he said, “you’re starting college after the summer. What then? Just gonna leave your dad with a flourishing mouse society living next to the washer and dryer?”

Max threw up his hands. “I don’t know, okay?! I don’t have all the answers!”

His voice echoed louder than intended, startling a few nearby mice who were passing by. Max winced, his outburst bouncing off the quiet trees. He took a breath and ran a hand down his face.

“I just… I know they’re not safe here. We can’t walk away from this. We have to do something.”

Debbie looked at him for a long beat, then at P.J., and finally out toward the edge of the woods where the distant shape of construction equipment sat like a threat on the horizon.

“Okay,” she finally said, voice softer. “We’ll figure it out. But you better start thinking long-term, Goof. You can’t just take on a whole second family without a plan.”

Max gave a half-smile, weary and grateful. “I’ll come up with something.”

P.J. slung the sleeping mat over his shoulder. “Well, first thing’s first—we’ve gotta get them packed.”

“And explain what Ohio is,” Debbie added with a groan.

As they turned toward the village, where the mice were still nervously gathering, Max squared his shoulders.

One step at a time. They had a direction now.

Ohio.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was something.

Mice stood shoulder to shoulder, perched on crates, scattered across thimble stools and bottlecap seats, some still clutching blankets or children. Fear hung in the air, thick and sticky like the morning fog still creeping through the trees.

Max stepped into the center of it all, Gadget on his shoulder, holding onto hisd hoodie like a grounding wire. He glanced around, swallowed the nerves, and then raised his voice.

“Everyone! Quiet down for a second!”

The murmurs died down. Eyes—dozens upon dozens of them—turned toward him. Gadget gave his shoulder a tiny squeeze. He took a breath.

“I know this is scary. And I know some of you are angry, or tired, or just… confused. You’ve already been through so much, and this—this construction—this feels like the last straw.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. Some nodded. Others clutched family closer.

“But we’re not gonna let this be the end,” Max said, voice steady now. “We’ve got a plan.”

He paused, glancing at Gadget, who gave a small, brave smile.

“We’re going to move you. All of you. Somewhere safe.”

The silence was immediate—and then came the swell of noise, a mixture of surprised gasps, disbelief, and outright laughter.

Max held up his hands. “I know! I know it sounds nuts. But listen—we’re gonna take you to Ohio. It’s where we’re from. We have more room, safer spaces, less people snooping around with bulldozers and billboards. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.”

A mouse from the crowd shouted, “How are we supposed to do that?!”

Gadget scurried down Max's body and approached the villagers. “We’ll ride. In a car. A big car,” she said, smiling as if that made it more reasonable. “Max’s cousin has a trunk. It won't be cozy, but we’ll make it work. And we’ll do it together.”

A few yards off, Debbie stood with P.J. near a tree stump, the camping gear laid out around them as they quietly discussed the logistics of the wild idea now blooming into reality.

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” Debbie muttered, arms crossed. “Do you realize how many mice we’re talking about?”

“Seventy-something,” P.J. replied, counting off fingers. “Plus or minus a couple babies. Not to mention Chip, Gadget, and Max. You think we could tow a trailer?”

Debbie shot him a look. “With what, the power of hope?”

He held up his hands. “Just spitballing.”

She let out a long sigh, scrubbing her face. “My trunk is gonna be our only real option. And I swear, if any of them chew the upholstery…”

“We’ll tell them not to,” P.J. said, straight-faced. “Politely.”

Debbie rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Okay, say we do this. We need to get back to the car. Figure out ventilation, bedding, food. We’ll need soft padding, airflow. I am not baking a mouse city in the back of my Mustang like it’s a slow cooker.”

P.J. nodded. “And maybe you don’t pack your gym gear next to the new residents.”

“Are you volunteering to carry it?”

“Never mind.”

She shook her head, exasperated and weirdly touched all at once. “This is insane. We’re about to smuggle an entire civilization.”

“Yeah,” P.J. said with a proud grin. “We’re the Oregon Trail but with rodents.”

“God help us.”

Across the square, Max was still fielding questions from brave (and skeptical) villagers. But little by little, heads were nodding. Tentative belief was blooming into determination.

Debbie sighed and looked toward the trees. “We should head into town, get supplies before places close. Gonna be a hell of a trip.”

P.J. stretched his back and yawned. “Just hope we don't get pulled over by a cop in the middle of Pennsylvania with an entire trunkload of rodents.”

Debbie groaned.

**********************

Max, Gadget, and Debbie were already gone. They’d made their way back into Castle Rock proper to check out of the motel, retrieve their remaining bags, and pick up whatever supplies they could find for the long journey ahead—pet carriers, travel snacks, duct tape, water bottles. Max had tried to make a joke about turning her car into a mouse-powered clown car, but Debbie wasn’t in the mood. She was thinking about logistics. Hard. Especially about her upholstery.

They would return after sunset.

Back at the village, P.J. had volunteered to keep watch near the treeline, his hefty form hidden behind a pair of old stumps, keeping an eye out for any early hikers or construction workers wandering too far off trail. His presence was oddly calming—like an affable boulder watching over the chaos.

And in the heart of the village, Chip had taken on the role of organizer.

It was remarkable, really—how quickly the villagers moved once given direction. Though fear hung heavy in the air, the mice worked with quiet determination. Under Chip’s guidance, they formed groups to assess what could be salvaged and what would have to be left behind. He reminded them gently, over and over: “Only what’s precious. The rest, we rebuild.”

Children ran messages between homes. Adults carried little baskets down the narrow, winding paths that ran between mushroom stoops and matchbox porches. What had been a peaceful village for so long was now alive with desperate purpose.

And when Chip reached Mrs. Brisby’s home—he paused.

Inside, the candlelight flickered against the stone walls. Mrs. Brisby was hunched near a pile of folded cloth and wooden trinkets, trying to decide what to bring. Teresa was helping Timothy tie up a little satchel with yarn, while Martin tried to fit clothing into a walnut shell. Cynthia was brushing out her doll’s string hair with a scrap of pine needle.

Chip stepped quietly through the door. “Hey,” he said gently.

Mrs. Brisby looked up, surprised, her eyes tired but kind. “Oh… Chip. I didn’t hear you.”

He offered a small smile. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I came to help.”

She nodded, her shoulders sagging with the kind of weight that couldn’t be carried in a pouch. “I just keep thinking… this was supposed to be the last time. We moved from the farm… we hid here. I thought… maybe this was it. Maybe we were done running.”

Chip stepped further in, crouching beside her. “I know. I know you’re tired.”

She picked up a worn, hand-sewn shirt, gently folding it. “This belonged to Jonathan. I can’t leave it. I know it’s silly, but…”

“It’s not silly,” Chip said. “It’s memory. It’s love. That’s what we carry.”

Mrs. Brisby tried to smile, but it faltered. “I just want a normal life, Chip. No hiding. No more terrifying discoveries. No more wondering if my children will be safe when they go outside.”

Chip looked down at Timothy and Cynthia, now arguing gently over what toys they should bring.

It damn near broke his heart.

“I want that too,” he said. “For all of us. But the truth is, the world’s not ready for people like us. Me, Gadget… even the Rescue Rangers, we have to keep to the shadows. If people knew what we were capable of—what you are—they wouldn’t welcome us. They’d study us. Cage us.”

Brisby’s expression hardened. “I hate the Giants. I hate that they have all the power.”

“I know,” Chip said softly. “But not all of them are bad. Max, Debbie, P.J.—they’re trying. They don’t see us as things. They see us as people.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then gave a slow, reluctant nod. “I do like them. I’m glad they came.”

Chip reached out, gently taking her paw. “We’ll get you somewhere safe. I promise.”

And for the first time that day, Mrs. Brisby leaned her head against his shoulder and let herself rest, if only for a moment.

"Mrs. Brisby," Chip began softly, then paused, correcting himself, "Elizabeth… no matter what happens, I will be with you every step of the way… if you want me to be."

At that, she looked into his eyes, her expression softening into something vulnerable, something real. She reached up, brushing her paw gently along the fur of his cheek.

"I would like that," she whispered, "very much."

Their gazes lingered, the air between them charged with quiet meaning. Millimeters apart, their faces leaned closer without either realizing. Just a little closer. Just—

"Mommy and Chip are gonna kiss!" Cynthia’s sing-song voice rang out like a tiny bell of chaos.

Chip and Mrs. Brisby flinched, the moment breaking instantly as the kids erupted in a chorus of laughter and gleeful teasing. Timothy pointed and grinned while Martin rolled his eyes in mock agony.

Mrs. Brisby flushed and covered her face with a paw, chuckling despite herself. Chip gave a sheepish smile, ears tilted back in embarrassment.

"To be continued," she whispered, stealing a sideways glance at him with a hint of playfulness.

Chip chuckled as well, heart pounding in a warm, dizzy way, before nodding and rising to his feet. "Alright, alright—let’s focus, people. We’ve got a lot of packing to do and not much time."

He ducked near her bed to retrieve a small bundle of folded clothes when his foot bumped something solid. Something heavy. Chip paused, then knelt down, brushing aside a loose sheet. Half-buried beneath the bedframe, nestled among dust and forgotten trinkets, was an old book. Large for a mouse-sized tome, its cracked leather cover bore faded gold embossing, the kind of book that practically hummed with history.

“Hey,” he muttered, gently tugging it free. “What’s this?”

Mrs. Brisby turned, her eyes widening at the sight of it. She set down a hand-carved cup and slowly approached, her paw hovering over the cover without touching it.

“That… belonged to Nicodemus,” she said quietly. “One of the last great leaders of the rats of NIMH. It was given to me by Justin… before he disappeared. He said it held knowledge. Secrets about our origins, and… maybe about what comes next.”

Chip’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the book. “Why didn’t you ever open it?”

“I'm not that good of a reader,” she admitted, voice almost a whisper. “I was also scared of what I might find. Scared of what it might mean. For me. For the children.”

He looked at her, then at the ancient tome. “Maybe… maybe now is the time.”

Mrs. Brisby nodded slowly, almost reverently. “Maybe it is.”

They were staring at a piece of the past. And possibly, just possibly, a path toward the future.

**********************

The sliding doors of Walmart opened with a soft mechanical hiss, flooding Max and Debbie with a blast of icy, over-conditioned air. Debbie didn’t slow down. Her boots clacked with purpose across the tile floor as she grabbed a cart with one hand and shoved it forward like she was going into battle. Max followed a few paces behind, his hood pulled up over his head, hands stuffed into his jean pockets.

Nestled deep inside the folds of his hoodie, Gadget kept herself hidden. Her tiny hands gripped the fabric near the neckline, her eyes darting back and forth at the overwhelming spectacle of human commerce. The noise, the fluorescent lights, the beeping registers, and crying kids—it was all too much. She tucked herself further into Max’s shoulder, but not without muttering, “Golly, how do you people function in here?”

Max smirked. “We barely do.”

Debbie turned around, pushing the cart backwards for a moment as she walked. “Alright, we need to think like engineers. If we’re shoving a mouse village into the back of my Mustang, we need structure, padding, and zero chaos.”

“First aid, too,” Max added. “In case anyone gets jostled around.”

“And snacks. Human snacks. Because I’m going to lose my mind somewhere around Pennsylvania.”

They started in the STORAGE section. Debbie grabbed two massive plastic tubs with secure lids and slapped them into the cart with authority.

“These should fit in the trunk,” she muttered. “Blankets on the bottom, cushion everything.”

Max examined one of the bins. “We’ll need ventilation. I can drill holes in the sides. You still have your dad’s old tool kit in the back seat?”

“Obviously. I’m not an animal.” Debbie gave him a look. “Unlike, say, the girl in your hoodie.”

Gadget peeked her head up and stuck her tongue out at Debbie. Max chuckled.

In the next aisle, they grabbed a bundle of fleece blankets, a couple of packs of microfiber towels, and even some foam seat cushions from the automotive section. Debbie tossed each item in with the efficiency of someone playing real-life Tetris.

“This is adding up,” she muttered, glancing at her cart, now half full.

Max sighed. “I know. I’ll pay you back.”

“You’d better,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re gonna need, like, a full-time job. Maybe two. Start mowing lawns again.”

Max gave her a wry grin. “Hey, if it's P.J.'s mom I am mowing for, I have zero issue with that.”

That comment got a nip from Gadget on his ear, "The only woman you're paying attention to is me, buster."

They turned down the toiletries aisle. Debbie tossed in a bulk pack of baby wipes. “For sanitation,” she explained. “They’re not exactly getting hot showers in there.”

Next came bottled water, protein bars (for the adults), and a multipack of apple sauce cups (“Maybe the kids will like these,” Max said with a shrug).

Debbie paused at the candy aisle and grabbed a mixed bag of lollipops. “Might as well bribe some good behavior.”

“Add a box of earplugs,” Max muttered. “If twenty mice kids all get a sugar high at the same time, we’re gonna be hearing phantom squeaking until Christmas.”

They laughed—tired, warm laughter that made the stress of the situation feel a little less crushing.

As they neared the checkout, Debbie gave Max a sidelong glance. “You doing okay?”

Max shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, no. But yeah.”

Debbie didn’t press. She just bumped his arm with her own and said, “We’ll get them home. One way or another.”

Max glanced over his shoulder, where Gadget’s tiny hands were now resting on his shoulder, her eyes just above the neckline of his hoodie. She gave him a small smile, and he returned it.

They’d been through a lot. But they weren’t done yet.

The cart rattled as they rolled it up to the checkout, wheels squeaking under the weight of their makeshift evacuation supplies. Debbie grimaced slightly, running the mental math of the total cost, while Max pulled his hood lower over his head. Gadget remained tucked in the folds of his hoodie, peeking just far enough out to monitor the situation like a commander surveying enemy lines.

To their immense relief, the teenage cashier behind the register gave them barely a glance. Her name tag read KELSEY, and her eyes were half-lidded with the dull apathy that only came from working eight-hour shifts under fluorescent lights.

“Find everything okay?” she droned without emotion.

“Yep,” Debbie chirped.

Kelsey didn’t ask what two college-age kids were doing with oversized tubs, baby wipes, and enough granola bars to fuel a week-long hiking trip. She just beeped each item through the scanner with mechanical rhythm, occasionally chewing her gum loud enough to fill the silence.

Max subtly leaned toward Debbie and whispered, “We could have filled this cart with bricks of uranium and she wouldn’t have blinked.”

“No sudden movements,” Debbie whispered back. “She’s operating purely on muscle memory.”

A few minutes and one maxed-out credit card swipe later, they were out the doors, the automatic sensors hissing them into the humid afternoon sun.

Debbie popped the trunk of her Mustang with a ka-chunk, and the two of them began the process of packing their haul into the limited space available. Blankets were rolled tight and wedged into corners. Tubs stacked just so. Water bottles wrapped in towels to avoid shifting. Everything had to be secure—not just for safety, but for comfort. These weren't just passengers. These were evacuees, families, kids, and friends.

After a solid ten minutes of strategic packing, Debbie slammed the trunk closed with a grunt.

“That’s not coming open unless we use a crowbar,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

Max leaned against the side of the car, arms crossed. “We still have a few hours to kill before sunset. What’s the plan?”

Debbie pulled her sunglasses out of her shirt collar and slid them on. “Head back to the motel? Maybe catch a nap, if we’re lucky?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded. “We grab the last of our stuff, shower…”

“Please,” Gadget’s voice chirped from inside his hoodie, muffled but clearly amused. “You do kinda stink.”

Max rolled his eyes with a snort. “Yeah, thanks, I appreciate the support.”

Debbie laughed as she opened the driver’s side door. “Well, I did wonder if that was the smell of Walmart or just you.”

He gave her a half-hearted glare and slid into the passenger seat. Gadget crawled into his lap now that they were out of public view, stretching with a sigh of relief.

“Once we get cleaned up, we finish prepping the car,” Max continued. “Blankets down, tubs in place, some water bottles secured for drinking… and then, we head back.”

Debbie fired up the engine with a roar that only a Mustang could produce. “And load up an entire civilization of mice into my car,” she said, smirking. “No big deal.”

Max looked out the window, watching the fading afternoon light slant across the windshield. “We’re getting them out,” he murmured. “We’re actually doing it.”

As they merged onto the highway, the wind catching in their hair and the supplies rustling in the trunk behind them, they weren’t just a group of friends on a bizarre summer road trip anymore.

They were the lifeline to a forgotten village.

They were the promise of safety.

And the road ahead, long and uncertain, was finally beginning to feel like the right one.

**********************

Sunset.

The construction site, once a hive of hammering and shouting just hours ago, now stood empty and silent. Only the distant call of crickets and the whisper of wind through the leaves accompanied the sound of tires crunching slowly over dirt and gravel.

Debbie’s Mustang rolled up as close to the woods as it could manage, the trunk already cracked open and brimming with plastic containers and makeshift shelters crafted from foam and fleece. She turned the key, and the engine sputtered with a low cough.

She let out a sigh, resting her hands on the wheel for a moment longer before stepping out. Max followed, a large tote balanced in his arms, and Gadget clung to his shoulder, her tiny frame bundled against Max and her eyes narrowed in quiet concern.

The three of them made their way into the trees. They didn’t have to go far — the moment the forest gave way to the soft glow of the village, they saw them.

Dozens and dozens of mice, all gathered together in the town square for the last time. Some clutched bundles of cloth tied with twine, others huddled around piles of tiny labeled trinkets: family heirlooms, children’s toys, scraps of storybooks, buttons worn smooth from generations of use. The heart of a community in miniature.

At the center of it all stood Chip, posture straight, voice calm but firm. “Alright, make sure you’ve labeled all your possessions. Pile them neatly by family, single file when we begin boarding. If you’ve got something fragile, speak up now.”

His commanding presence had clearly earned the village’s respect. Even the more skittish mice looked to him with trust.

Debbie arched a brow and leaned over to P.J., who stood nearby with his hands shoved in his hoodie pocket and a backpack slung over his shoulder. “It sure looks like Chip’s taken control of the situation.”

P.J. gave a lopsided grin. “And that’s not all. Rumor has it, him and Mrs. Brisby are… ya know…” He waggled his eyebrows.

Max slapped a palm to his face. “Dude, you’re literally the only one who didn’t notice.”

P.J. blinked. “What? Come on!”

But their quiet teasing didn’t last long. The mood of the village was too heavy, too raw.

Some of the mice stood quietly, stoic, trying to be strong for their families. Others sobbed openly, clinging to one another, whispering words of comfort. Mothers held their children close. Elders stared at their homes — their whole lives — knowing they would never return.

It wasn’t just fear of the unknown. It was grief. For the gardens left behind, the nests built stick by stick, the soft glow of lanterns, and the smell of evening stew, the sound of water trickling through the little stream, they got water from. This had been a home. Real. Lived-in. Loved.

And now they had to leave it behind.

Gadget slid down from Max’s shoulder and joined a small group of mice, helping them load a tiny handcart with bundles of clothes. She offered kind smiles, reassuring touches. Max set the tote down beside Chip and knelt to help sort items by name tags made of thread and bark.

“You’re doing good, Chip,” Max said, voice low. “They’re listening to you.”

Chip didn’t take his eyes off the crowd. “I hope they keep listening. Once we’re on the road… that’s the hard part.”

“You won’t be alone,” Max said. “None of us are.”

Meanwhile, Debbie moved among the crowd, helping where she could — lifting larger pieces of “furniture” that no mouse could manage, offering a steadying hand to those shaking with anxiety. At one point, a young mouse named Marigold burst into tears when her toy doll wouldn’t fit in her travel pouch, and Debbie offered a hand to take the doll, slipping it into her own jacket

“There,” she said gently. “I'll keep it safe for you.”

“Thank you,” Marigold sniffled.

“You’re braver than I was at your age,” Debbie smiled.

Nearby, Mrs. Brisby stood with her children huddled close, watching as their belongings were packed away. Chip joined her, placing a paw gently on her arm. “They’ll rebuild,” he said quietly. “We all will.”

She nodded, eyes shimmering. “I know. It just feels like… like the world keeps asking us to start over.”

“I know,” Chip said. “But maybe this time, it’s not starting over. Maybe it’s just turning a page.”

Mrs. Brisby glanced down at her children, then back at Chip. Her hand found his and squeezed it, a small gesture amid so much change. “Thank you. For being here.”

“Always,” Chip said, meaning every syllable.

The chill of evening crept in under the trees. Chip turned back toward the crowd. “Okay!” he called. “Sun’s nearly down! Let’s get everyone moving! One family at a time — carefully now!”

Debbie met Max and Gadget at the front of the line as the first group approached.

“Ready?” she asked, already pulling open the back seat and folding it down to expose the carefully constructed mouse housing in the trunk.

Max looked over the scene — mice filing into line, the village behind them already starting to darken without its lanterns, Chip helping an elder steady his walking stick, Gadget nodding to another family in reassurance.

“Ready,” he said. “Let’s take them home.”

The loading process had begun in earnest. Families moved in small groups, guided by Chip and Gadget, each climbing carefully up the ramp Debbie had fashioned from an old cereal box and into the deep, wide interior of her Mustang’s trunk. Inside, the plastic totes were arranged with care — fleece-lined, padded with foam, labeled and sectioned like a miniature subdivision. There was even a little battery-operated fan humming quietly in the corner to keep airflow moving.

Max and P.J. stood near the line, assisting anyone who needed a lift, gently ferrying bundles and knotted sacks the size of peanuts into the Mustang from the rear.

It was going smoothly — or so they thought.

Gadget was inspecting one of the totes when she paused, her ears twitching. Something had clearly just struck her.

“Wait a second,” she said, blinking, “what about carbon monoxide?”

Max, halfway through helping an elder mouse secure her belongings, turned to her. “What about it?”

Gadget stood upright, eyes wide now. “From the exhaust. I mean… it’s not a lot for you, but for mice? Sealed in a trunk for fifteen hours?” Her whiskers twitched nervously. “Even a small leak could be dangerous.”

Max froze, the realization crashing into him like cold water. He looked toward the car. The trunk was padded and secure, yes — but it would be sealed. Tight. Right over the rear axle. Right near the muffler.

“She’s right,” he muttered.

Several mice were already settling into the totes, folding blankets, organizing their things, whispering reassurances to frightened children. They had no idea. Max felt a pit in his stomach begin to form.

“Fifteen hours in a plastic box next to the tailpipe,” he murmured.

Debbie, who had just helped Chip’s group with their final bags, let out a sigh. “Well, it’s a bit late now. It’s not like I can drive with the trunk open — that’s a surefire way to get pulled over.”

“Even cracking it would raise suspicion,” Max agreed. “And what if it rains? Or worse, some bored hillbilly decides to poke around.”

P.J. stepped up, glancing from the car to the line of mice, a faint frown creasing his brow. “We can’t let them ride like that. We have to do something.”

Max bit his lip, scanning the area. And then… his eyes landed on their own luggage, piled off to the side, and the toolkit from Debbie's trunk. His face lit up.

“Wait,” he muttered, already striding over. “The drill.”

He knelt down, unzipping the side pocket of the duffel bag and yanking out the battered yellow cordless drill. The same one he’d used to bore air holes into each of the plastic totes after they left Walmart. He gave the trigger a few test squeezes — whirr whirr whirr — and looked up with a grin.

Debbie’s eyes widened. “Max. Don’t you dare.”

But he was already walking toward the car, the drill balanced in one hand like a six-shooter.

“You got any better ideas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Debbie stared at him for a moment — exasperated, tired, already seeing her beloved trunk riddled with mismatched holes and scuff marks. She closed her eyes and lowered her head with a long, slow breath.

“No,” she muttered. “Fuck sakes.”

Max gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before heading to the rear of the car. He opened the trunk wider, checking the inner wall of the lid. A few well-placed holes wouldn’t be visible from the outside. A few more near the sides, carefully spaced, might allow enough cross-ventilation to ensure the mice didn’t slowly drift into unconsciousness halfway through Pennsylvania.

P.J. stood by with a flashlight, illuminating the curve of the trunk from the side. “Hey, go slow. You hit a wire, and Debbie’s gonna hang you from a tree.”

Max grinned. “Thanks for the support.”

One by one, the holes were drilled — discreet, small, but numerous. As Max worked, some of the mice nearby watched, their expressions ranging from puzzled to alarmed.

Gadget stepped in, offering calm reassurance. “Don’t worry, everyone. We’re just making sure you get enough fresh air in transit. Nothing dangerous. This is all for your safety.”

That seemed to settle them.

Chip, watching from a few paces away, offered a solemn nod. “Smart thinking.”

When Max finally stood back, brushing drill dust from his shirt, Debbie looked at her now-ventilated trunk with a combination of pain and resignation. “Well,” she muttered, “there goes the resale value.”

“Hey,” Max replied, offering a grin. “It’s not a road trip unless the car ends up with battle scars.”

Debbie rolled her eyes but smirked. “You are so mowing my lawn for the rest of the summer.”

“Deal,” Max said, and then glanced over to the assembled mice. “Alright. Let’s get everyone settled in for real.”

As the last families were guided into their compartments and the totes secured in place, a sense of finality fell over the forest clearing. The last beams of sun disappeared beyond the trees. Soon they would be on the road, headed for Ohio — a long journey, a frightening one, but perhaps, at last, one toward peace.

Max stood beside the open trunk, his hands braced on the edge as the mice settled in. Inside, the mood was quiet, reverent — belongings clutched tight, small faces turned up to him with a mix of fear and trust. It was all happening so fast.

He hesitated, then held out his hand.

“Mrs. Brisby,” he said softly, “we need to borrow you for a moment.”

She blinked, confused, but climbed delicately up onto his outstretched fingers. He lifted her with care, bringing her up to his shoulder where Gadget was already waiting, nestled quietly in the fabric of his hoodie.

“What is it?” Mrs. Brisby asked, brow furrowed.

Max didn’t answer right away. He turned and walked a few paces away from the car, into the dark woods. The sky was painted in dark purple now — the last signs of the day fading behind the tree line. He came to a stop near the edge of the abandoned village, where the darkened huts and woven bridges still stood.

Debbie and Chip stepped up from behind. P.J. came next, dragging a red jerry can with a quiet gravity.

Mrs. Brisby saw it — and she understood.

Her voice caught in her throat. “No…”

Max turned his head, looking down at her gently.

“I wanted you to see it,” he said. “Not because I wanted to hurt you… but because this place mattered. It was your home. And you deserve to say goodbye to it. The right way. On your own terms.”

Mrs. Brisby looked back toward the village. Her village. The one they’d built with their own paws. The place where she raised her children. Where she quietly mourned the loss of her husband. Where every corner held a memory. Her lips trembled.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered.

“I know,” Max said.

“I’m tired of saying goodbye.”

He nodded slowly. “This will be the last time, I promise.”

She turned her face into the side of his neck, pressing her forehead against the soft fabric of his hoodie, and for a moment, she just breathed — breathing in the last of the only life she’d ever known. When she finally looked up again, her eyes shimmered, but she gave a small, resigned nod.

Chip bounded off Debbie's shoulder and onto Max's, his voice soft. “We can’t leave it behind like this. We can’t let anyone find it.”

Mrs. Brisby’s ears drooped. “It’s just so… final.”

“It is,” Chip said. “But it’s also the beginning of something else. Something safer. Something better.”

P.J. moved silently now, pouring a careful line of gasoline around the edge of the village. It wasn’t haphazard — it was respectful. Deliberate. Like drawing a circle of protection. Not an act of violence, but of love.

Mrs. Brisby stayed quiet, tears staining her furry cheeks. Gadget touched her shoulder lightly, voice barely audible. “You’re not losing everything. You’re bringing it with you.”

A match struck. The flame bloomed to life in P.J.’s hand — and a moment later, the line caught.

Fire crawled in a glowing ring, wrapping the village in a wreath of amber light. It reached the base of the huts, crackling as the dry straw and wood caught. A gentle roar began to rise — not loud, but steady. Final.

Mrs. Brisby watched it all, her paw curled tightly around Max’s hoodie string.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry out. She just watched, holding the moment in her chest like a fragile ember. Chip rested his paws on her shoulder, just letting her know he was there, that he would always be there.

Behind them, Debbie stood silently, arms crossed tight, her eyes rimmed red with tears. Gadget leaned against Max, her small hand resting against his neck. P.J. crouched by the burning village, fire reflecting off the tears that streamed down his own cheeks.

When the fire had done its work — when nothing remained but glowing ash and smoke curling toward the stars — Max turned to the group.

“It’s done,” he said quietly.

He crouched down and lowered his hand, letting Mrs. Brisby step off gently. She glanced once more at the glowing remains… then turned and walked toward the car with everyone.

Max lingered for a second longer, looking out into the trees.

“Goodbye,” he whispered. “We’ll take care of them. I promise.”

Then he turned and followed.

They got to the car, the trunk loaded with sleeping lives, the front seats quiet and thoughtful. Chip joined Mrs. Brisby in the trunk, unwilling to leave her during this dark time, and as Max got ready to seal them away, Chip looked up at him.

"You're a good guy, Max." The chipmunk smiled. "And I am so glad Gadget met you."

Max smiled in return, "Thanks, man."

And with one more look at the community stuffed into Debbie's trunk, Max closed it up.

The engine started with a low rumble.

And they pulled away — from the smoldering embers, from the forest, from everything that had come before.

A new chapter was waiting on the horizon.

Chapter 17: Transatlanticism

SEVENTEEN: Transatlanticism

The Mustang hummed along the dark Maine backroads, headlights carving tunnels through the trees. Debbie had the radio turned low for once, something mellow drifting through the speakers only. Max was slouched in the passenger seat, hoodie zipped up halfway with Gadget bundled against his chest, her head poking out just enough to peek at the road. P.J. dozed in the back, chin on his chest, until the sound of hushed laughter tugged him awake.

He cracked one eye, groaned, and mumbled at Max and Gadget, who were whispering among themselves, “Will you two quit being all weird? Some of us are trying to sleep back here.”

Max smirked. “What’s the matter, Peej? Jealous you don’t got anybody to cuddle with?”

That earned a snort. P.J. sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Jealous? No, dude. Confused? Absolutely. Like, how does that even work between you two anyhow? Max, you’re—normal-sized. And Gadget’s—” he waved his hands, searching for the right word, “—pocket-sized. I don’t think there’s enough lube on the planet to figure that one out.”

Max’s face went red instantly. “Dude! Not cool!”

From the driver’s seat, Debbie barked out a laugh. “Oh no, no, no—don’t stop him. I’ve been wondering the same thing. Seriously, Max, what’s the logistics here? Do you need tweezers? A magnifying glass? Do they have mouse lingerie?”

“Debbie!” Max groaned, dragging his hoodie up to shield Gadget from the spotlight. Gadget, meanwhile, was practically scarlet, burying her whole face into the fabric with both hands over her ears.

P.J. wasn’t about to stop. “Nah, nah, I think I got it. They probably need, like, industrial equipment. You know, cranes and scaffolding. Or maybe Max just—” He broke off into wheezy laughter before finishing, “—sticks her in his pocket and calls it foreplay.”

Debbie was nearly crying with laughter now, pounding the steering wheel. “Oh my god, stop! You’re gonna kill me!”

Max looked torn between laughing and dying of shame. “You guys are sick. You realize that, right? Sick. Gadget and I—we’ve got it figured out. None of your business.”

“Oh, I bet you’ve got it figured out,” Debbie teased, arching her brow. “Just don’t tell me she uses your pinky finger like a—”

“Debbie!” Max shouted, nearly choking on his own embarrassment.

That did it. Debbie and P.J. both collapsed into laughter, trading one-liners back and forth, each joke worse than the last. Every time Max tried to argue, they’d just double down. Gadget, hidden inside the hoodie, peeked out only once, cheeks glowing hot pink, her whiskers trembling with mortification. Max gently stroked her back, muttering into the fabric, “Don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous.”

Her muffled little voice squeaked up to him, “You’d… better not actually tell them anything.”

He grinned down at her. “Never. That’s our secret.”

And still the car carried on, laughter and protests echoing over the quiet road as Maine slipped behind them, New Hampshire ahead, the horizon still hours from sunrise.

**********************

The laughter in the front seats doesn’t carry back to the trunk of the Mustang.

It was cramped, warm, and smelled faintly of oil and rubber, but the mice had done their best to make it livable. Families clustered together in pockets: parents cradling little ones, older siblings huddling close, and a few sitting apart in silence, still stunned by the loss of their home. Some dozed in uneasy sleep, their whiskers twitching as the car swayed. Others whispered quietly, voices thick with worry. A few openly cried, their tiny hands covering their eyes.

Chip moved steadily among them, his hat tipped back slightly, his expression firm but gentle. He carried a small pouch slung over his shoulder, filled with odds and ends—scraps of dried fruit they had bought, a few nuts, and a handful of hard candy pieces wrapped in cellophane. Every so often, he stopped to kneel beside a child, offering one of the treats with a quiet word.

“Here you go, kiddo,” he said softly to a wide-eyed young mouse clutching his mother’s tail. “This’ll keep your strength up. You’re braver than you think.” The child sniffled, took the candy with both paws, and managed a small smile.

Chip ruffled his head fur and stood, moving on. To an older couple sitting apart, their whiskers drooping in exhaustion, he crouched down and said, “We’re going to be alright. Max and the others are doing everything they can to get us to safety. You’re not alone in this.”

The pair nodded, grateful for the reassurance, even if their eyes betrayed lingering fear.

Each stop of the car brought a ripple of unease through the trunk, the sudden silence of the engine always a reminder of the unknown. Chip was quick to step up then, clapping his paws together lightly. “Everything’s fine, folks. Just a short break, nothing more. Stretch your legs if you can. Drink some water.” His voice carried just enough authority to settle nerves, but always with warmth, never sharpness.

It was a delicate balance—keeping spirits up without making false promises. As he moved among the refugees, Chip’s smile never faltered, even when his own stomach twisted with doubt. He knew if he let the cracks show, the whole fragile calm in the trunk might collapse.

After finishing his rounds, Chip finally allowed himself a moment of stillness. He returned to the small corner where Mrs. Brisby and her children lay bundled together beneath one of the cloths that were packed in the trunk. The children were huddled in a little knot of warmth, their breathing slow and even, the rise and fall of tiny chests speaking of the deep, untroubled sleep of exhaustion. Mrs. Brisby, curled protectively around them, looked almost at peace in the dim light filtering through from the cracks around the trunk lid.

Chip eased himself down near them, stretching his legs with a quiet groan. He removed his hat and set it on his lap, rubbing at his temples before letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His body sagged under the weight of everything he’d tried to shoulder these past hours—the families, their grief, their fear.

“How are you doing?”

The soft voice startled him. He lifted his gaze to find Mrs. Brisby watching him, her eyes glimmering in the gloom.

Chip blinked, then shrugged, forcing a half-smile. “Fine, I guess. I’ve been so caught up with your people… I haven’t really thought about myself.”

Careful not to disturb her sleeping children, Mrs. Brisby untangled herself from their small arms and padded quietly to his side. She sat close, her presence calm and steady, and placed her paws gently in her lap.

“You’re a good man, Chip. A really good man,” she said softly. “As much as it pained me to leave my home, to watch it burn just so no trace of us could remain… I’m glad you were there. You saved us. You saved me.”

Chip felt heat rise to his ears. He gave her a wry grin, slipping his hat back on and tipping the brim with a little flourish to disguise his unease. “That’s what a Rescue Ranger does, ma’am.”

The sound of her laughter, quiet and unguarded, filled the cramped air of the trunk like a lantern being lit. It was small, but it warmed something deep inside him.

Mrs. Brisby rose, brushing her paws on her fur, and extended one toward him. “Come. Let’s go somewhere else, before we wake the children.”

Chip blinked, caught off guard. Somewhere else? In the confined world of a car trunk, “somewhere else” hardly existed. Still, the look in her eyes held something he couldn’t quite read—an invitation, a quiet insistence that pulled at him in ways he didn’t expect.

Chip followed silently as Mrs. Brisby led him past clusters of families huddled together. When they reached the far side, well, as far as one would consider a trunk, slipping behind a pair of large plastic totes, the noise dulled to a muffled background. For the first time since he had set foot in the trunk, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Chip tilted his head, confused, raising a brow. “Elizabeth, what are we doi—”

Before he could finish, she closed the gap between them, pressing her mouth firmly against his. The kiss was sudden, fierce, almost desperate. Chip froze, caught off guard, but instinct took over. His arms wrapped around her small frame, pulling her against him, and he kissed her back with equal force. Their mouths moved together with a heat that surprised them both, buried longing and heartache spilling into that moment.

When at last they parted, both of them were left panting, breathless. Chip’s chest rose and fell quickly beneath his bomber jacket, his eyes wide as he searched hers. “What was that for?” he asked, his voice ragged, almost hoarse.

Mrs. Brisby’s blush was visible even beneath her soft brown fur, and her tail flicked restlessly behind her, betraying her nerves. She lifted her gaze to meet his, vulnerability shimmering there like a naked flame. “It’s been… so long since I’ve been with anyone,” she admitted softly. “Not since my husband. And tonight… everything we left behind, everything I lost… it hurts so much I can barely breathe.” Her voice cracked, but she steadied it, her paw reaching up to brush against Chip’s cheek.

Her touch was tender, trembling, but deliberate. “I don’t want to feel empty anymore. Not just tonight. I want to feel… something else. Something good. Something real. I want to feel like a woman again, not just a widow. Not just a mother trying to hold it all together.” Her fingertips lingered against the curve of his face, stroking lightly as her eyes glistened. “Will you… will you do that for me, Chip?”

The chipmunk swallowed hard, his throat tight. Her words carved into him with an intimacy no rescue mission ever had. He had spent his life saving people, protecting them, giving them hope. But this was different—this wasn’t just about survival. This was about her heart, her grief, and her desire to be seen not as a symbol of loss, but as a woman still capable of love.

Chip reached up and gently placed his paw over hers, pressing it closer against his cheek. “Elizabeth…” he breathed, his voice softer now, almost reverent. His hat slipped a little as he bowed his head to her touch, his eyes never leaving hers. “If that’s what you need… then I’ll be here. For you. Tonight, tomorrow—however long you’ll have me.”

Her lips parted slightly, trembling as tears pooled in her eyes—not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming relief of being understood. And slowly, she leaned in again, her forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling in the confined, shadowed corner of the trunk.

Their two worlds couldn’t have been more different—his one of daring adventure and hers one of quiet resilience—but in that moment, neither of them cared. Bound by fate, by loss, and now by an undeniable pull toward one another, they let themselves surrender to what their hearts had been quietly yearning for.

Kiss me," she demanded of the chipmunk, "Kiss me and make love to me."

Chip stared at her, the weight of her words settling into him like a warm blanket. The urgency in her voice was palpable, a raw need that resonated within him. He had seen the strength it took her to keep her family together, the way she had held them all together through the chaos of their displacement. He took a deep breath, his heart thudding in his chest, and leaned in to kiss her again. It was a gentle, exploratory kiss this time, one that sought to understand the contours of her mouth, the softness of her fur as he cupped her cheeks. Mrs. Brisby responded with an eagerness that was both surprising and all-consuming. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, her body pressing into his.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and Chip felt himself losing himself in the warmth of her embrace. The world outside the trunk, the fears and uncertainties, all melted away as his paws traced the lines of her body, feeling every curve, every tremble. His thumbs brushed over the fur at the base of her ears, eliciting a soft moan from her that sent a jolt of desire through his own body.

"Please," She murmured, "Don't tease me... take me."

The urgency in her voice sent a ripple of need through Chip. He knew this wasn't just a fleeting desire—it was a desperate plea for connection, a declaration that she was still alive, still feeling, still a woman capable of passion. He didn't know what tomorrow held, but in that moment, he knew he wanted to be the one to give her this small piece of solace.

His paws drifted down to her thighs, and he lifted her off her feet, pressing her back against the plastic tote, his cock already poking out through his fur and brushing against her, eager to claim her. Mrs. Brisby’s eyes grew wide with a mix of surprise and desire as she realized the full extent of his arousal. She didn’t protest, though, her own body responding instinctively to the press of his against hers. Her tail swished rapidly, a silent signal of her consent.

The tip of his length pressed through her fur and found her wetness, teasing the opening to her pussy, and Mrs. Brisby gasped, her body arching into him.

"Please," She urged him again, "I want you. I need you."

Chip pushed his hips forward and started to enter her, her heat enveloping his cock in a way that made him bite his lip to keep from moaning too loudly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping families nearby. Her pussy was tight around him, her muscles clenching as she took him in.

"Gods," She moaned against his neck, her body quivering as she adjusted to his size. "It's been so long."

The chipmunk’s eyes closed for a brief second as he savored the sensation of her tightness around him, her warmth surrounding him like a glove. His fur stood on end, his cock pulsing with the need to be deeper, to claim her completely. But he held back, giving her time to adjust to his size, his paws holding her weight.

Slowly, with the grace of a man who had done this before but knew the preciousness of this moment, Chip began to move his hips, sliding in and out of Mrs. Brisby with a rhythm that was almost tender. She gripped his shoulders tightly, her legs wrapped around his waist, her breath coming in quick gasps as she met his every thrust.

"You feel," Chip tried to find the words, words that held some sort of meaning, but all he could find were, "You feel so good."

Her response was to bite down on her lower lip, her eyes squeezing shut as she took him in deeper. Her paws dug into his back, her claws raking through his fur, urging him on.

With each thrust, Chip felt himself growing more lost in the sensation of her, her body moving in perfect harmony with his, each stroke bringing them closer to something they both desperately needed. The tightness of the space, the muffled sounds of the car outside, the knowledge of the people sleeping just beyond their private bubble—it all only served to heighten the intensity of the moment.

"Chip, oh Gods, Chip," Mrs. Brisby buried her face into his neck, muffling her cries, "In me, please, fill me, I want to feel it, I am so close."

Her words were like a spark to dry kindling. Chip's hips quickened, his paws tightening around her, his thrusts growing stronger, more deliberate. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body coiling like a spring, ready to snap. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed into her, grunting as he came deep inside her.

Mrs. Brisby threw her head back as she felt his cum flood her insides, and her own orgasm slammed into her, a wave of pleasure so intense it seemed to fill the very air around them. She tightened her legs around him, her body shuddering with the force of it, her pussy clenching down on his cock as she rode the crest of her climax. Chip’s own eyes rolled back, his mouth open in a silent roar, lost in the feeling of her tightness around him, her heat pulsing against his length.

As they both came down from the peak, panting and gasping for air, Chip slowly pulled out of her, his cock still twitching. He set her gently on the floor of the trunk, his paws trembling slightly. The silence was deafening, the only sounds their harsh breaths and the rumble of the car’s exhaust.

Mrs. Brisby straightened her fur, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looked up at Chip, her eyes shimmering with something that went beyond mere gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered.

The chipmunk swallowed thickly, his heart still racing. He didn't know how to respond, so he simply nodded, his hat tilting slightly as he did so. The space between them felt charged with something new, something profound that had been born from the chaos of their circumstances.

Mrs. Brisby slipped away from him, peeked around the corner, and said, "Well, good news, I don't think anyone heard us."

"That is good news," Chip chuckled, swiping his hands down his fur, adjusting himself, trying to make himself presentable again. "We should probably get back."

Mrs. Brisby nodded, a soft smile on her lips, "Yes, before the children wake up."

They made their way back to the others, her children stirring slightly in their sleep as they felt their mother’s presence. The other families had settled into a quiet rhythm, their breathing the only sound in the confined space. With her paw in Chip's, she pulled him down into the cuddle pile, and despite the cramped conditions, they found a way to fit together, the intensity of their first encounter forgotten in the afterglow of their shared intimacy.

**********************

The early morning light was soft, still golden, the kind of glow that made the Mustang’s paint look muted and tired, like the car itself had been dragged across three states overnight. Which... it kind of had. Dew was just lifting from the grass in the gas station’s weedy lot, curling up in wisps as the sun inched higher. Debbie leaned against the pump, one hand on the nozzle, the other shielding her eyes as she watched the numbers climb. Her shoulders sagged, her hair was a little frizzed from the long hours, and the caffeine she’d been leaning on wasn’t keeping the dark smudges from her eyes.

P.J. stood beside her, rubbing his own stiff neck. He blinked against the sunlight, still half-groggy, as Max and Gadget slept in the back seat. “You look beat,” he said softly, a note of concern threading through his voice.

Debbie smirked, though it didn’t reach her tired eyes. “Sexy, right?” She stretched her arms above her head, cracking her back, before nodding toward the pump. “Don’t worry, I’ve stayed up longer than this before. Finals week in college? I once crammed thirty-six hours straight with nothing but bad coffee and a Snickers bar. This is nothing.”

P.J. raised a brow. “Yeah, but you weren’t hauling half a mouse village in your trunk during finals.”

That earned a real laugh out of her—short, sharp, but genuine. “Fair point. Still, I’ll be fine. When we get back to Ohio, though? I’m hibernating. Two days, minimum. Don’t even call me.”

“Two days?” P.J. said, shaking his head with a grin. “I am going for three.”

“Over-achiever, huh?” Debbie shot back, cocky but playful.

There was a pause, a moment where the sound of the pump clicking and the faint chirping of morning birds filled the silence. Then P.J. shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, “So… are we stopping again? Y’know, for them?” He nodded toward the Mustang’s rear. His tone softened. “Might be good to let ‘em get some sun. Breathe a little.”

Debbie followed his gaze. She didn’t say anything for a beat, her lips pressed tight, but then she sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. Behind the next billboard we find, I’ll pull over. We’ll let ‘em stretch, have some breakfast. Won’t do anyone any good if they’re cooped up all the way to Ohio.”

“Breakfast sounds good to me too,” P.J. muttered, patting his stomach.

The pump clicked off, and Debbie slid the nozzle back into its cradle. “Perfect. Let’s pay up, grab some gas-station muffins, maybe some real coffee, and hit the road before Sleeping Beauty back there decides to wake up.”

Together, they headed inside the store, its flickering fluorescent lights buzzing faintly. The door jingled open, greeting them with the smell of burnt coffee and racks of processed pastries. Debbie made a beeline for the coolers, pulling open the rattling glass door and squinting at the garish lineup of energy drinks. She finally grabbed one with a neon green label that screamed “Atomic Kickstart: 600mg of Pure Caffeine!” across the front, its cartoon lightning bolts practically daring her to regret it later.

“Good lord,” P.J. muttered as he hovered nearby, arms already full of cellophane-wrapped pastries and a mountain of gas station burritos. “You’re gonna die drinking that.”

"I have drunk worse," Debbie muttered, looking at a spinning rack of sunglasses.

P.J. nodded a little too quickly, adjusting the pile of junk food he was carrying. He hesitated, biting his lip, before blurting, “So, uhh… about that night in the hotel.”

Debbie immediately groaned and tipped her head back toward the ceiling tiles. “Oh, God. Really?” She grabbed a bag of beef jerky without even looking at it. “Nothing happened, P.J. We just got a little wasted. End of story.”

“Yeah… wasted,” he echoed, face flushing red as he grabbed a bag of Funyuns from a rack like it was a lifeline. He turned it over in his hands, fumbling with the crinkly plastic. “But, um, I’ve actually had a lot of fun with you out here, Debbie. I was hoping—well, wondering, really—if maybe when we get back, maybe we could… hang out some time?”

Debbie froze in front of the counter, their haul now stacked up between them. The cashier, a scraggly guy with a faded baseball cap, started ringing things up with the dead-eyed stare of someone who’d seen this exact awkward dance a hundred times before.

Debbie leaned back against the counter, sighing. “P.J., you’re an alright guy. Fun, smart, not nearly as much of a dork as I remember you being as a kid.” She gave him a sideways look, her mouth quirking up at the corner. “But I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

P.J. straightened up as if he’d been called to attention. “No, no, I get it, that’s cool. Totally cool. Cool-cool-cool. No commitment, you know, just… hanging out. Maybe catch a movie, grab a bite to eat, you know…”

Debbie raised her hand like a traffic cop, cutting him off mid-stumble. “Stop right there. Meals and movies? That doesn’t sound like ‘just hanging out.’ That sounds like… dating.”

P.J. swallowed hard, cheeks burning as he fumbled with the Funyuns. “Well, I mean, we don’t have to put any labels on it. But we could, you know, just call it… a friend date. Yeah. Friend date.”

The cashier winced and muttered under his breath, “Oof.”

P.J. shot him a sharp glare that only made the guy chuckle under his breath.

“Just ring up our stuff, register biscuit,” Debbie said flatly, dropping her credit card on the counter before turning back to P.J., one eyebrow raised, her smirk equal parts amused and exasperated.

Debbie puffed out her cheeks, blew an errant strand of red hair from her face, then sighed in surrender. “You know what? Screw it. You, me, next weekend. We’ll hang out. There’s a summer folk concert series at the park if you wanna go?”

P.J. looked like a shaken soda can—ready to burst from excitement. His face turned red, his hands fluttered at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Debbie, sensing the incoming explosion, jabbed her finger hard into his chest.

“As friends,” she clarified, eyes narrowing. “After that, we’ll… discuss things.”

“Discussion is better than silence,” P.J. replied with all the solemnity of a man quoting philosophy.

That’s when the cashier, bored, unimpressed, and chewing gum, cleared his throat. He slid Debbie’s credit card back across the counter. “Uh, yeah. Declined.”

Debbie blinked, then snatched the card like it had personally insulted her. “What?! That’s impossible! I literally just—ugh, whatever—hold on.” She dropped her bag on the counter and started rifling through it, the sound of clattering makeup compacts, loose change, and crumpled receipts filling the store. “I have another card. It’s in here somewhere…”

She leaned sideways, muttering through clenched teeth from the corner of her mouth so only P.J. could hear. “Grab the stuff… run.”

P.J. tilted his head. “Huh?”

"Nope, that's a Costco card, sorry, just hold on," Debbie said to the cashier before muttering to P.J. again, “Grab. The. Stuff. Run.”

He blinked at her like a confused puppy. “Can you, like, talk to me like a normal person?”

Debbie stopped, eyes blazing. “RUN!” she shrieked.

It finally clicked. “Oh crap—RUN!” P.J. scrambled, scooping up his armful of snacks like a linebacker grabbing a fumble. Debbie snatched hers, bolted for the door, and together they barreled out of the store like two teenagers possessed by the spirit of Bonnie and Clyde.

“GET THE LEAD OUT, CHUBBINS!” Debbie screamed over her shoulder as they sprinted across the parking lot.

“IT’S GLANDULAR!” P.J. bellowed back, huffing. His cheeks wobbled as he struggled to keep up, clutching his stolen snacks.

They dove into Debbie’s Mustang. P.J. practically belly-flopped into the passenger seat, sending a bag of chips bursting open across the dash. Debbie jammed the key into the ignition, fired it up, and slammed the gas. The Mustang roared, gravel spraying like shrapnel as she peeled out of the lot, fishtailing dramatically before straightening out onto the road.

Inside the gas station, the cashier just stared at the door swinging shut behind them. He popped his gum, sighed, and muttered, “Whatever. I am not paid enough for this bullshit.”

The Mustang thundered down the highway, Debbie gripping the wheel with a reckless grin plastered across her face. P.J. was pale as a ghost, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oh, man, oh man, we’re going to be arrested,” he babbled, his voice rising higher with every word. “I’m too pretty for jail!”

Debbie threw her head back and laughed, swerving past a semi like she was in a high-speed chase movie. “Will you relax? I didn’t see any cameras outside that dump, and the dude didn’t even look at the plate. We’re golden, Pony Boy!”

From the back seat came a groggy stir. Max pushed himself upright, Gadget clinging to his shoulder like she’d been jolted awake mid-dream. His eyes took a second to focus, then widened as he noticed the speedometer needle straining past 100 mph.

“What the hell is going on?!” Max barked, his voice cracking between sleep and shock.

Debbie just chuckled, one hand steady on the wheel, the other tapping to some imaginary beat. “Sorry, cuz, we had to make a break for it. Little misunderstanding at the gas station.”

Max blinked at her, then leaned across the seat with wild eyes. “Debbie! Did you forget we have an entire civilization in your trunk?!”

Her smile faltered. “Oh… shit.” She eased off the gas, the Mustang’s growl softening as the speedometer dipped back toward sanity.

Max slumped back into his seat with a groan, rubbing his face. “Find somewhere to pull over. We need to check on them.”

Debbie’s eyes darted across the dark stretch of highway, spotting weeds and crumbling roadside billboards. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, scanning for an opening. Then she spotted it—a break in the trees, a crooked old sign covered in graffiti, its faded lettering just barely readable:

Starlite Drive-In.

The path off the road was cracked asphalt choked with weeds, the marquee long dead, letters dangling half-fallen. The field where cars once parked was nothing but waist-high grass and broken glass glittering in the moonlight. The screen itself leaned at an angle, warped and torn, with ivy crawling up its base like nature was trying to take back the whole place.

Debbie pointed, eyes gleaming. “There. We’ll stop there.”

Notes:

Sorry about the delay, everyone. It's been a busy summer, and it took me a bit to find my muse for this fic again, but we're back. The journey continues.

And yes, I wrote rodent smut.

Chapter 18: Peppyrock

EIGHTEEN: Peppyrock

The Mustang sat crooked on the cracked lot of the abandoned drive-in, the morning sun pouring down bright and clear. The screen towered above them like a weathered skeleton, streaked with rust and graffiti, the paint flaking in great white sheets. Tall weeds burst through the broken asphalt, and the old speaker poles stood like leaning gravestones across the field. A warm breeze carried the smell of cut grass and dust, mingling with the faint aroma of reheated burritos.

The group had settled in behind the Mustang, sitting cross-legged on the ground with gas station food balanced in their hands. Max leaned back against the bumper, sipping burnt coffee while Gadget perched comfortably on his shoulder, daintily nibbling at a corner of tortilla. Debbie sat sprawled out with her long legs stretched forward, red hair shining in the sun, while P.J. sat stiff as a board, carefully unwrapping a microwaved burrito like it was an unexploded bomb.

The Mustang’s trunk hung open, letting the mouse families inside breathe in the fresh morning air. Some peered out over the netting, blinking against the sunlight, grateful for the pause in travel. Chip stood near the edge, paws on his hips, his fur bristling as his sharp little voice carried out across the lot.

“You scared everyone back here half to death,” he scolded, glaring up at Debbie. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to be tossed around at a hundred miles an hour?”

Debbie took a bite of burrito, chewing lazily. She swallowed and waved him off with one hand. “Yeah, yeah. My bad. No more stunt driving with the mouse village on board, okay? Consider me officially grounded.”

But as her eyes lingered on him, something seemed… off. Chip looked different. His fur was ruffled in a way that wasn’t just stress; his eyes had a bright, almost glowing sheen to them, and there was a strange lightness in the way he carried himself. Beside him, Mrs. Brisby lingered close, brushing her paw across his arm as they whispered to each other. Their eyes kept meeting, soft and private.

Debbie blinked. Looked at Chip. Looked at Mrs. Brisby. Back at Chip. Back at Mrs. Brisby. Her brow furrowed, lips pursing as the thought clicked into place, louder and louder in her head until—

DING!

Her eyes went wide. “Wait. Wait-wait-wait. Did you two have sex?!”

P.J. instantly choked on his burrito, sputtering and coughing so hard he nearly dropped it. Max groaned, dragging his hand down his face. Gadget’s mouth fell open in disbelief, her half-eaten tortilla dangling forgotten in her paw.

Chip went scarlet under his fur, his whiskers twitching furiously. “Debbie!! You know the entire village can hear you, right?!”

As if on cue, Timothy scrambled up the netting inside the trunk, his small face peeking out between the ropes. He tilted his head curiously toward his mother. “Mommy, what’s a sex?”

Silence.

Mrs. Brisby froze, color flooding her cheeks, then turned her head—slowly, dangerously—toward Debbie. The glare she leveled at her was hot enough to strip paint. Debbie, mid-bite, swallowed hard and gave the world’s most awkward grin, suddenly wishing the weeds would swallow her whole.

Mrs. Brisby tightened her arms around Timothy as if shielding him from Debbie’s words. Her voice was calm but brisk, the tone of a mother drawing a line. “It’s something special between adults, Timothy. Nothing you need to worry about. Now—go on, check on your sisters.” She nudged him gently, and the boy reluctantly slid down the netting, casting one last curious glance at his mother before vanishing into the crowd of mice inside the trunk.

Even after he was gone, Mrs. Brisby’s eyes stayed locked on Debbie, sharp as daggers.

Debbie leaned back on her hands, unbothered, and gave a crooked smile. “What? I just asked a question. Curiosity’s healthy.”

Chip groaned into his paws. “Healthy for you, maybe.”

P.J., meanwhile, had gone wide-eyed, staring openly at Chip like the world’s biggest kid catching his buddy in a secret. Chip didn’t need words—he could read it plain as day on P.J.’s big, goofy face. He let out a defeated sigh. “…Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

That was all it took. P.J. lit up like a Christmas tree and extended his massive fist, grinning like an idiot. Chip stared at it, then chuckled despite himself, giving in. His tiny paw met the giant hamhock of flesh in a lopsided fist bump.

Mrs. Brisby gasped softly, scandal written all over her furry features. “Chip!”

He winced at her tone. “Aw, come on—it’s not like—” He cut himself off, tugging his hat down over his eyes.

Max burst out laughing, practically doubling over. Gadget squeaked beside him, both paws pressed to her reddened cheeks. “Oh my gosh—that’s actually adorable!” Her tail lashed behind her as she fought to stop giggling.

Chip's fur bristled as he cleared his throat. “Alright, alright, enough. We don’t need to make a big—look, how much longer do we have, huh? The mice are getting restless back here.”

Debbie had been half-listening, her legs stretched out across the patchy grass, ankles crossed in her beat-up sneakers. She scrubbed a hand down her face, smearing whatever mascara had survived the all-nighter. “Eight, maybe ten more hours. If I drive hard. We’ve got one more gas stop for sure, maybe two. Depends on if this pig keeps guzzling premium like it owns stock in Exxon.” She flicked her thumb toward the Mustang.

Then she sat up suddenly, pointing at the boys like a prosecutor. “And speaking of—money. Hand it over. All of it. I’ve been footing this circus the whole way.”

Max and P.J. exchanged wary looks, then started patting their pockets. Max came up with a folded twenty and a crumpled ten, P.J. with two fives and some singles that looked like they’d been through the wash. Debbie swiped the pile from them and counted it—fifty bucks total. She groaned and slapped it against her thigh. “Fantastic. Barely enough to get us into Ohio. Maybe. We’ll be coasting on fumes, but maybe we’ll make it.”

She slumped back, tossing the bills on the Mustang’s bumper. “Don’t know if I’ll make it, though. I’m running on energy drinks, candy bars, and pure rage at this point.”

Max straightened from where he’d been leaning, his face serious now. “Then let me drive.”

Debbie barked a laugh. “Yeah, no. Not happening. You’re not putting your clumsy hands on my car.”

Max folded his arms. “Deb, come on. I’ve got my learner's permit. I’ve driven plenty. You’re wiped—you can’t keep going like this.” He pointed toward the open trunk. “What happens if you fall asleep at the wheel with them back there? Huh?”

That landed heavier than she wanted to admit.

P.J. backed him up, his voice quiet but steady. “He’s right. You’re good, Deb, but you’re not a machine. Just let him take a shift. You can still sit shotgun and bark orders. You’ll still be in charge.”

Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. She hated when they double-teamed her. “You scratch my baby, Maxie, and I swear to God—”

Max cracked a grin. “You’ll never let me live it down. I know.”

She narrowed her eyes, then finally pulled the keys from her pocket. For a second, she dangled them like bait, just to watch him sweat. Then she tossed them underhand. “Fine. But just for a bit. I’m still captain.”

Max caught them midair, grinning wide. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

P.J. smirked. “Captain Crabby-Pants.”

Debbie jabbed a finger into his chest but didn't say anything.

She didn't need to.

The group’s laughter broke through the heavy air, but as Debbie leaned back against the car, her eyes were heavier than her smile.

Gadget tilted her head, watching the families in the trunk with a soft look in her eyes before turning back to Max. “Do you think it’d be okay if I… took a shift back there? I’d like to visit the mice for a while.”

Max hesitated for a moment, glancing at the crowded trunk, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll check on you when we stop for gas next.”

Gadget’s little nose twitched as she smiled, then leaned in close and brushed her cheek against his. Her whiskers tickled as she whispered, “Love you. Drive safe.”

Max grinned, warmth settling into his chest. “Love you too. Don’t worry, I’m an excellent driver. I’ve only almost crashed once.”

Gadget rolled her eyes and gave him a playful swat on the jaw. “Once?” she teased, before hopping off his shoulder and onto the lip of the trunk, nimble as always.

Debbie stretched her arms high over her head until her shoulders popped, then dropped them with a sigh. “Guess we should get moving if we want to make it before dark.”

She started toward the driver’s side door, but Max stepped in her path, casually twirling the car keys around his finger. “Your ass, backseat.”

Debbie arched a brow, then gave an exaggerated groan. “Fine. But if you put so much as a hairline scratch on my baby, cuz, it’s your ass.”

"You mean other than the holes I drilled,” Max said with a cocky grin, sliding into the driver’s seat. Debbie muttered under her breath and climbed in behind him, arms crossed tight like she was already regretting this decision.

P.J. scooped up the empty burrito wrappers and coffee cups, tossing them into a nearby trash barrel before circling back. With one last look into the trunk—now alive with the soft sounds of Gadget greeting the mice—he pulled the lid shut with care. “Alright,” he said, clambering into the passenger side and tugging the seatbelt across his chest, “Ohio, here we come!”

Max turned the key. The Mustang roared awake, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulled them out of the cracked asphalt lot of the abandoned drive-in and back onto the highway. The wide road stretched ahead, endless and sunlit, leading them south toward Pennsylvania.

**********************

Inside the trunk, the world was dim and cramped, but Gadget had already learned to make the most of it. She padded across the uneven surface, pausing to kneel down beside a pair of mice who looked utterly worn by the long night’s ride. She offered gentle words, her voice calm and lilting, assuring them they were safe, that the bumpy ride would be worth it once they reached their new home. One frightened child clung to his mother’s legs until Gadget distracted him with a tale of one of the Rangers’ more ridiculous adventures—something about a cheese counterfeiting ring and Dale getting himself stuck in a tub of fondue. Soon, the little one was giggling instead of sniffling, his tiny nose twitching in delight.

She drifted from group to group, a soft presence, checking on scared children and anxious adults, lending encouragement. Wherever she went, she left behind calmer faces, a few smiles, and whispers of hope. Finally, when she had made her rounds, Gadget settled near the back corner where Chip, Mrs. Brisby, and her children had gathered.

Mrs. Brisby’s face lit with relief when she saw her. Without hesitation, the mouse mother reached forward and drew Gadget into a warm hug. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for everything you and your… well, your giant friends are doing for us. You’re giving my children a chance to grow up in safety. That’s more than I could ever ask.”

Gadget’s ears flicked, and her heart swelled. She returned the hug tightly. “It’s what I do,” she said softly. Then her blue eyes slid toward Chip, and she corrected herself with a grin. “What we do.”

Chip smirked faintly, though his arms were crossed like he was playing it cool. The Brisby children, meanwhile, didn’t need prompting. They had already scattered a bit, Timothy leading his sisters in some playful game that involved dodging between piles of cloth bundles and poking at each other with straws like they were swords. Their laughter filled the dim space, giving it a warmth that no sunlight could.

The adults were left to their own quiet corner of conversation. Mrs. Brisby glanced from the children back to Gadget, her expression softening. “I’m curious,” she began cautiously. “You and Max… I hope you won’t be offended, but… how do the two of you get along physically?”

Chip’s eyebrow shot up so high it nearly vanished under his fedora. He leaned forward with a smirk that practically dripped with mischief. “Yeah, Gadget… physically.” His tone made it clear he was enjoying himself far too much.

Gadget rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stick that way. “Oh, very mature, Chip,” she said dryly. But when she turned back to Mrs. Brisby, her expression softened into something gentler. She lowered her voice slightly, though it wasn’t exactly a secret in the small space. “We… well, we haven’t done much. But Max—he’s a gentleman. Patient, kind… and an extraordinary lover in every sense of the word.”

Chip instantly slapped his palms over his ears and started muttering loudly, “Nope, nope, absolutely not listening to this. Lalala!” His tail even twitched in agitation as he scooted an inch farther away.

Mrs. Brisby chuckled, amused at both their antics, but she kept her focus on Gadget. Her tone grew tender, almost motherly. “I can tell he’s a true and kind man. And I believe, despite the challenges of… well, size and species and everything else, the two of you are going to make a wonderful couple for a long, long time.”

Heat rushed into Gadget’s cheeks, turning her pale fur a rosy tint under the dim light. Her smile was shy but radiant. “I hope so,” she admitted. Her tail curled slightly as she hugged her knees, letting the thought sink in. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply bask in the glow of it—the belief that maybe, just maybe, she and Max had something lasting.

Mrs. Brisby’s gaze lingered on Gadget for a moment, thoughtful and almost searching, before she seemed to come to a decision. With a soft breath, she stood and moved toward a bundle of her family’s belongings tied together with twine and scraps of cloth. Her small paws tugged at the knots until the fabric loosened, and from within she carefully drew out a large, worn object.

It was a leather-bound tome, its edges frayed and its surface scarred with age. Even in the dim light of the trunk, it carried an undeniable weight—like the air itself grew heavier around it. She dragged it across the rough carpet with both hands, her children briefly looking up from their game to watch before returning to their play. At last, Mrs. Brisby set it before Gadget.

“This,” she said softly, brushing the cover with reverence, “once belonged to Nicodemus, our leader. He wrote his thoughts, his discoveries, his fears… all in these pages. When Chip found it in my old home, I wasn’t sure what to do. But now… I think it belongs with you.” Her eyes glimmered as she looked at the mouse across from her. “Maybe you’ll find the answers you were searching for.”

Gadget’s eyes widened at the sight of the tome. She reached out slowly, her delicate fingers hovering above its cover, but she hesitated before touching it. Her breath hitched, and a frown creased her usually bright face.

“I… I’m not sure if I want to know any more,” she whispered.

Chip’s head snapped up, ears perking. He leaned forward, brow arched in disbelief. “What do you mean? Gadget, this is why we came out here. You’ve been chasing this mystery since Ohio—you wanted to know where we came from.”

For a moment, Gadget didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed fixed on the tome, her reflection dimly visible in its worn surface. Then her eyes grew misty, shimmering with unshed tears as she turned back toward Chip and Mrs. Brisby.

“The past month…” Her voice trembled, but she steadied it. “The past couple of weeks have been more special than anything in my life. I met Max. I overcame a sickness that almost killed me. I fell in love. I made new friends. We went on an adventure I’ll never forget.” She placed a hand gently over her chest. “That’s what really matters to me.”

She touched the tome again, her fingertips brushing the leather, though she didn’t open it. “Yes, maybe our forefathers were created in that lab. Maybe the truth is in here. But… does it really matter? The future is what you make of it. And I think… maybe the past should just remain where it is—back in the past.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, silencing even the children’s laughter for a brief moment. Chip’s mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came. Instead, he leaned back, exhaling slowly, his expression tempered into something softer.

Gadget gave a little, almost shy smile through her tears. “We found ourselves out here. We found friendship, love, hope… That’s what this trip was truly about. Not the lab. Not secrets in a book. But us.”

Mrs. Brisby’s heart swelled at the younger mouse’s words. Without hesitation, she reached forward and gathered Gadget into a tight embrace, holding her as if she were one of her own children. “Fate brought us together,” she whispered against her ear. “And I’m so very glad it did. Whether you read the book tomorrow, a year from now, or never at all… it will be here, waiting. You don’t owe the past anything. You owe only yourself and the ones you love.”

Gadget’s arms curled around her in return, her tears dampening Mrs. Brisby’s fur, though her smile never wavered.

The tome sat between them, heavy with history, but for now—just for now—it remained closed.

**********************

The Mustang hummed steadily along the interstate, its hood catching the early-afternoon sun as the miles peeled away beneath them. Max kept a loose grip on the wheel, the faint crackle of the radio playing some half-faded rock song. Beside him, P.J. slouched in the passenger seat, unwrapping the last third of a candy bar, while in the back, Debbie was out cold, mouth slightly open, her head lolling against the seat as she snored softly.

For a while, the only sounds were the tires against the pavement, the music, and the faint rustle of the candy wrapper. Then P.J. broke the silence between mouthfuls.

“So,” he mumbled, chewing loudly, “you figured out exactly what you’re gonna tell your dad?”

Max glanced over, one brow raised. “About what?”

P.J. gave him a flat look, chocolate smudged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how you’re planning on moving an entire civilization into your basement?”

Max chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the road. “Yeah… about that.” He sighed, long and heavy. “I don’t know yet, man. I haven’t even figured out what I’m gonna tell myself.”

P.J. swallowed his bite and stared. “Wait, what? You mean to tell me you’re dragging, like, fifty mice into your house and you don’t even have a plan?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Max said, but his tone wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence. After a pause, he added, “Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m gonna start college after the summer.”

P.J. sat bolt upright, half-choking on the last bit of the candy bar. “What?! Dude, are you outta your mind?”

Max kept his eyes on the road, jaw tightening. “No, just… I dunno. Look, college is always gonna be there. But this—” he tapped a finger against the steering wheel for emphasis, “—this whole adventure? Meeting Gadget? Discovering this whole new world right under our noses? I can’t just ignore it, P.J. These mice are counting on us. They’re gonna need a place to live, to rebuild, to feel safe. And if I just take off to campus, what happens then? I can’t do that to them. Not after everything.”

P.J. stared at him, baffled, but Max wasn’t done.

“And Gadget.” His voice softened, almost tender. “What’s gonna happen with her? Is she supposed to just… follow me to college? Or stay behind in Spoonerville? I don’t know, man. The future feels so uncertain right now. But at least if I dedicate a year—just one year—to helping them, I’ll feel like I’m doing something real. Something with purpose.”

For a long beat, P.J. just blinked at him. Then he huffed. “Man… if I told my dad I wasn’t going to college? He’d kill me on the spot.”

Max smirked sideways at him, a mischievous glint in his tired eyes. “Well, your mom could spank me anytime.”

P.J. froze, face screwing up in absolute horror. “Shut up, dude.”

They locked eyes, the tension in the air holding for a moment, before both of them burst into laughter, the sound filling the Mustang’s cabin and momentarily drowning out the music. Debbie snorted mid-snore and shifted in the back, but didn’t wake.

Max flicked his eyes to P.J., who was fiddling nervously with the candy wrapper in his lap.

“So,” Max said casually, keeping his voice low. “How’s it going with my cousin?”

P.J. stiffened instantly, his posture snapping straight. “Why, whatever do you mean, good sir?” he replied in a ridiculous British accent, chin tilted up like some snooty noble.

Max barked a laugh, the wheel wobbling slightly as he shook his head. “Oh, come on, man. I know you. You only go full Shakespeare when you’re nervous.” He grinned, leaning into it. “Dude, I know you’re into her. Did you ask her out, or what?”

P.J. groaned, slumping into his seat, cheeks reddening under his fur. “Ugh, fine. Yes, I asked her out.” He gestured weakly with his massive hands. “But it’s just a friend date. She made that super clear. Nothing more.”

Max smirked. “A friend date, huh? That’s something. At least you’re making moves.”

“Yeah, moves straight into the friend zone,” P.J. muttered, tearing at the wrapper with his teeth.

Max glanced at him, serious for a moment. “Nah, man. Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got a lot going for you. You’re funny—”

“Fat.” P.J. raised a finger.

“—loyal—”

“Clumsy.” A second finger was raised.

“—reliable—”

“Chronically awkward.”

Max laughed, shaking his head as P.J. kept throwing the negatives at him. “Look, bro, you’re one of the best guys I know. If Debbie can’t see that, that’s her problem. But trust me—any girl would be lucky to have you.”

P.J. squinted at him, then smirked crookedly. “You realize you’re coming off kinda gay with all these compliments, right?”

Max didn’t miss a beat. He shot P.J. a sideways glance and deadpanned, “Hey, I’m not the one who had a drunken threesome with my cousin and a chipmunk, bro.”

P.J. froze. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but no sound came out. His ears burned crimson, and he slowly turned his gaze to the window, pretending the trees outside were suddenly fascinating.

Max grinned, victorious, and muttered under his breath, “That’s what I thought.”

Debbie stirred in the backseat with a groan, grumbling as she sat upright. Her red hair looked like a haystack someone had dropped in a wind tunnel, stray strands sticking up at wild angles. She blinked blearily, rubbing her eyes before leaning forward between the front seats.

“Well,” she rasped, voice rough with sleep, “good to see I haven’t woken up dead.”

Max snorted, not taking his eyes off the road. “Told you I’m a good driver.”

“Good driver,” Debbie repeated with a tired smirk. “I’ll believe it when we’re back in Ohio in one piece.” She yawned, “So… where are we?”

Max adjusted his grip on the wheel, eyes flicking to the green highway sign they’d just passed. “About a third of the way through Amish country, Pennsylvania. So… pretty much barns, buggies, and pies for the next hundred miles.”

Debbie wrinkled her nose. “Perfect. Just what I need while running on three hours of sleep. Also—” she gave a dramatic little wiggle in her seat, crossing her legs, “—it’s time to pull over. I gotta race like a piss horse.”

Max grimaced, leaning away from her exaggerated squirming. “Ew, Debbie. Too much information.”

“I’m serious!” she said, smacking the back of his seat. “This is not a drill.”

Rolling his eyes, Max muttered, “I saw a sign for a gas station a couple of miles back. We’ll pull in there.”

P.J., who had been watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow. “Race like a piss horse?” he echoed, his voice thick with incredulity. “That’s… not a thing.”

“It is now,” Debbie shot back, flopping against her seat again.

Max shook his head, but a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. Truthfully, he was glad they’d be stopping soon. His hands were steady on the wheel, but his mind was restless.

Even though Gadget was only a few feet away, nestled in the trunk with the mice, he missed her. The separation gnawed at him. He wanted her next to him, perched on his shoulder with that quick smile of hers and her endless little comments that always made the world feel lighter. Without her there, the car felt… incomplete.

And then, of course, came the weight of everything else. His conversation with P.J. replayed in his head—about taking a year off, staying behind to help the mice rebuild, protect them, give them a future. It felt right to him, like a calling almost. But the thought that he hadn’t told Gadget yet gnawed at him.

Would she stay with him? Would she want that kind of life?

He gripped the wheel a little tighter, chewing the inside of his cheek. The future loomed ahead like the endless stretch of asphalt beneath the Mustang’s tires—unpredictable, uncertain.

So many questions. So many choices.

And the road kept going, carrying them deeper into Pennsylvania as the morning sun glinted off the hood, the rumble of the Mustang’s engine the only answer Max had for now.

**********************

The parking lot of the Celina 52 Truck Stop bustled with life, trucks idling, families herding kids toward the restrooms, the heat shimmering off the asphalt. Max had parked Debbie’s car in the far corner, away from the chaos, under the thin shadow of a lone tree. As soon as the engine cut off, Debbie shot upright in the backseat, eyes wide and wild.

“Move, bitch!” she barked as she nearly toppled P.J. while clutching her stomach and making a beeline for the gas station. She shuffled in that desperate little jig, her voice carrying across the parking lot as she added, “I WILL MAKE IT!”

P.J. stood frozen, arms half raised from where she’d shoved him, his mouth hanging open. “Uh… good talk?” he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear into the crowd of travelers.

Max, meanwhile, had already slipped to the trunk, his hands careful as he lifted Gadget out. She perched naturally on his shoulder, like she belonged there, her whiskers twitching as she took in the noisy, bustling scene. Max wandered to the shade of the tree, leaning back against its trunk with her settled comfortably against his neck.

For a moment, they just watched the passing chaos together. Then Gadget pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You’re thinking again,” she teased, her little voice warm against his ear.

Max blinked, caught off guard. “What, am I not allowed to think?”

She giggled, that soft, airy laugh that always managed to make his chest feel lighter. “Thinking is encouraged. But I know when you’re thinking too much.”

Max rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Too much, not enough… where’s the line?”

Gadget smirked, tugging gently on one of his floppy ears, pulling his face a little closer. “Spill it, Max. What’s on your mind?”

He let out a heavy sigh, dragging in a deep breath before finally letting it spill out. “I’ve been thinking about… college. Or not college, actually.” His voice wavered as he stared at the asphalt. “I’m gonna take a year off. Spend time helping the mice get settled, and help their community grow. I can’t just run off to school in a month and leave Dad with all that on his shoulders.” He shuddered, imagining Goofy trying to manage on his own. “He can’t do it alone. And honestly… I don’t want him to.”

Gadget stayed quiet, listening in that way she always did — fully, deeply, no judgment in her eyes.

“I mean…” Max ran a hand through his hair, his heart hammering. “I know it’s not the path people expect, but it feels like the right thing. And I keep wondering if I’m ready for any of it. If I’m just… messing this up.”

Gadget’s tiny hand rested on his jaw, steadying him. “You’re not messing anything up, Max. You’re stepping up. That matters.”

She hesitated, then her gaze softened. “I’ve been thinking too. About infrastructure, designs, and ways to give the mice a foundation. When we get home, I want to draw up some plans. They’ll need proper housing, clean water, food storage… and I can help make that happen.”

Max turned his head toward her, searching her eyes, his own uncertain. Then, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, he asked, “So… are you going to stay?”

The question lingered in the air between them, heavy and fragile, like a secret just finding its way out.

Gadget steadied herself on Max’s shoulder, her soft paw resting against the curve of his jaw. She gazed into his eyes, her own shimmering with certainty, and her voice carried the kind of warmth that made his chest ache. “Yes, Max,” she whispered with conviction. “I’m staying with you. At your house, at college, wherever life takes you. Wherever you are, I’ll be there. Because I love you, more than anything in this world.”

Max’s heart gave a hard, almost painful thump. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and smiled, a little crooked and a little teary. “I love you too, Gadget. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.” He tilted his head so that his cheek brushed her tiny paw, like he couldn’t bear to lose the touch. “And this whole… thing we’re doing—helping Mrs. Brisby and her people, building a whole new world for them—it’s kind of huge, huh? Feels like I’m not just Max Goof anymore, but…” His grin tugged wider, sheepish yet playful. “I dunno, God or something.”

Gadget gave him an exasperated little smirk and promptly kissed his nose. “Don’t let it go to your head, big guy. Next thing you know, you’ll be founding your own religion or building nuclear weapons.”

Max tapped his chin as if seriously considering it, his smirk turning sly. “Hmm. Well, you’re the genius engineer. Which country should we strike first? Is there a cat nation on the map somewhere?”

Gadget broke into laughter, shaking her head. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously handsome?” Max offered, raising his brows.

“Ridiculously something,” Gadget teased, leaning back into his chest with a grin that betrayed her happiness.

The easy warmth between them carried until movement caught Max’s attention. Debbie came striding across the lot with renewed vigor, but her hair was still sticking up in wild, sleep-tangled tufts. Even better, a long strip of toilet paper was fluttering from her sneaker like some pitiful parade streamer.

She didn’t notice as she swung open the driver’s side door and plopped down behind the wheel. “Alright, kids, let’s load up!” she announced, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Turning to the passenger seat, she arched a brow at P.J. “How we lookin’, big guy?”

P.J. had clearly been waiting for this moment. He reached into his backpack, pulled out a pair of sunglasses, and slipped them on with the slow gravitas of a man about to deliver the line of his life. “It’s five hours to Ohio. Half a tank of gas. A bag of beef jerky. And a six pack of cola.”

Debbie stared at him, blank for a beat, then smirked in admiration. “Fuck yeah.” She popped the glovebox, fished out a pair of her own shades, and slid them onto her freckled face. Gripping the wheel with exaggerated determination, she declared, “Then let’s drive.”

Checking to make sure the trunk was secure before climbing into the backseat, Max shook his head as Gadget nestled happily on his lap. “You’re both so… weird,” he muttered, though his voice cracked into a laugh halfway through.

Debbie flicked on the blinker with mock drama. “Weird? Max, you’re riding cross-country with a mouse girlfriend and a trunk full of refugees. You’ve officially lost the right to call anyone weird.”

Even Gadget had to giggle at that, covering her mouth. Max groaned and sank deeper into his seat, ears turning red.

The Mustang roared back onto the highway, the sun casting long, golden beams over the fields of Pennsylvania. Five hours to Ohio. Five hours until they would return home, but to a world that would never be the same. Ahead lay not an ending, but the beginning of something larger than any of them—friendship, love, community, and the daunting, thrilling work of shaping the future.

Notes:

The road trip is almost over. I really just wanted to hang out with Max, Gadget, Chip, P.J., Debbie, and Mrs. Brisby for a while longer. Just a slice of life.

So what awaits our lovey-dovey characters? How are they going to go about setting up a new community for the mice? And what secrets does the tome hold? Well, we'll find out more soon.

Chapter 19: Strobe

NINETEEN: Strobe

The Mustang rolled down the quiet streets of Spoonerville, its headlights cutting through the warm summer dusk. The last streaks of orange and purple clung to the horizon before giving way to deep indigo, and the familiar rows of small houses and leafy trees slid past the windows like a dream. The car rattled faintly, its tank well past “E,” every sputter a reminder that their adventure had drained not only them but Debbie’s Mustang too.

Still, they were home.

Max leaned back against the backseat, Gadget perched comfortably on his shoulder, one tiny paw resting on his collar. His tired eyes drifted across his friends in the car, and a smile tugged at his face despite his exhaustion. “Well,” he said, his voice cracking with both weariness and sincerity, “we actually made it. Maine to Ohio, and we didn’t die. That’s gotta count as a win.”

P.J., slouched in the passenger seat with his seatbelt digging into his broad chest, gave a weak grin. “Speak for yourself, man. I'm fucking just done. I need a hot shower and a week of sleep in my own bed.”

"You mean your rocketship?" Max smirked.

"Shut up," P.J. frowned, "I like my rocketship."

Debbie, her hair a frizzy halo under the glow of the dashboard lights, snorted as she looked at P.J., “Oh, please. You were practically catatonic half the trip. If anything, I did the heavy lifting here. My car, my gas, my credit card, and look at her now—” She patted the dashboard with exaggerated affection. The Mustang gave a wheeze in return, as if echoing her sentiment. “She’s trashed. Totally trashed. But...” She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Max and Gadget. A small, tired smile softened her face. “I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. It was worth it.”

Gadget’s ears perked up, her whiskers twitching as she hugged Max’s neck. “That’s really sweet of you, Debbie. You’ve done so much for us. For all of us.”

Max nodded, shifting forward a little so his cousin could see his face in the rearview. “She’s right. Deb, P.J.—seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you guys. I mean it. You dropped everything for me, for Gadget, and even for an entire community of mice we didn’t even know existed. That’s... that’s friendship. Real friendship.”

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the Mustang’s low growl as it coasted down their familiar street. Then P.J. cleared his throat, looking embarrassed but touched. “C’mon, bro. You know that’s what best friends do. You need me? I’m there. No questions asked.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Terrified heartbeat, but still.”

Debbie smirked. “Yeah, yeah, same here. Even if my bank account is screaming, and my Mustang’s gonna need therapy after this trip, I’d do it again. You guys are idiots, but you’re my idiots.”

Max laughed, a genuine, tired laugh that filled the car with warmth. Gadget beamed, resting her cheek against his. “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a real team here,” she said softly.

The Mustang rolled to a stop at a familiar curb, the house they all knew standing quiet under the lamplight. Max’s house, home base. The engine sputtered one last time before falling silent, and for a moment, none of them moved. They just sat there, together, letting it sink in.

Finally, Max broke the silence. “So... what do we call this? A road trip? An adventure? A disaster?”

Debbie stretched, “All of the above.”

P.J. grinned, exhausted but proud. “Nah. I’d call it the best summer of our lives.”

Max looked around at all of them: his best friend, his cousin, the tiny mouse leaning against him, and the colony of intelligent mice in the trunk who had changed his life forever. He couldn’t help but agree.

“Yeah,” he said softly, eyes glinting with tired joy. “The best summer of our lives.”

The front porch light of Max's house flicked on, golden against the deepening blue of the night. A moment later, the door creaked open and out stepped Goofy, wearing his old green vest over a wrinkled undershirt, slippers flopping as he hurried down the porch steps.

“Debbie? Gawrsh, what are you doin’ here? And Maxie—where’ve you been all weekend? You had me worried sick!” He shuffled down the porch steps, long arms swinging awkwardly at his sides. “Yer note just said somethin’ about a road trip, but that was it!”

Max winced, guilt pricking him. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that...”

Before he could answer, P.J. cleared his throat and adjusted his backpack. “Yeah, uh… I think this is my cue to head home and face my dad. He’s probably already got an axe with my name on it sharpened.”

Debbie stopped him with a hand on his arm. P.J. turned, eyes wide, and froze as Debbie leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. His face went redder than the Mustang’s paint.

“Don’t forget,” Debbie said, smirking as she adjusted her jacket. “Next weekend. We’ve got a date.”

P.J. stammered, clutching the strap of his backpack like it was a lifeline. “Uh—don’t you mean… friend-date?”

Instead of answering, Debbie smirked, gave him a playful slap on the ass, and turned away like it was nothing. P.J. nearly tripped over his own feet as he shuffled off, muttering something incoherent, walking into a stop sign before making it over to his place next door.

Max, still trying not to laugh, shook his head and faced his dad again. “Anyway… Dad, I know I should’ve called, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But I had something important to do.” He touched Gadget’s paw lightly, the little mouse standing tall on his shoulder. “For her.”

Goofy’s frown melted into something softer, his big eyes blinking as he looked between Max and Gadget. “Well, Maxie… I ain’t mad. Just worried. Y’know me—I start pacin’ holes in the carpet when I don’t know where you are.” He pulled Max into a big, lopsided hug that nearly smothered Gadget.

Debbie stepped in, raising her hands. “Hey, for the record, I made sure everyone got through this in one piece. No one got hurt, we ate… sort of… and the car only barely caught fire.”

“Barely?” Goofy repeated, eyes going wide.

Max quickly cut in before things could spiral. “Dad, there’s something we’ve gotta show you.”

Debbie, already walking toward the trunk, tossed Max the keys overhand like a quarterback. “Now, don’t freak out, Uncle Goofy. Seriously. Take a deep breath first.”

Max gave Gadget a quick nod, then slid the key into the lock. The trunk creaked open, the tiny bulb inside flickering weakly—just enough to illuminate the contents.

Inside, nestled among bags and makeshift bedding, were dozens of small, blinking eyes. Mice shifted and stirred, clutching their little belongings, peeking up nervously at the towering human figure. Mrs. Brisby held her youngest close, Timothy tucked into her side, while the older children peeked out from behind her, Chip standing proudly with them.

Goofy froze. He blinked once. Then again. His jaw dropped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to find words. Finally, all that came out was a low, bewildered:

“…Gawrsh.”

Max cleared his throat. “They’re like Gadget. They’re… intelligent. They lost their home, and they’ve got nowhere to go.” He took a breath, hoping he wasn’t asking too much. “I was thinking… maybe… they could stay in our basement? At least until we figure something out.”

Goofy stared into the trunk for another long, silent beat, then back at Max, then at Gadget. His ears twitched. His lips moved, like he was trying out responses in his head and discarding them one by one. Finally, he scratched his head and muttered, “Well, I guess it’d be neighborly. But I'd better clear out the laundry piles first.”

Max blinked at his father, half-expecting Goofy to be panicking, or at least stumbling around in confusion. But instead, his dad just kept nodding, as though a car trunk full of intelligent mice was no stranger than a spare tire.

“…Wait,” Max said slowly, brow furrowed. “That’s it? You’re just… okay with this? No questions? No freaking out? Dad, this is—this is a whole community of mice we’re talking about.”

Goofy looked down at his son, his big hands resting on his hips, and gave him a gentle, lopsided smile. “Maxie, I been raisin’ you to be selfless ever since you could walk. You always had a big heart—sometimes too big for yer britches. So if you went and rescued these little fellas, I know you didn’t do it for nothin’. You did it ‘cause it was the right thing. And if that’s the case…” He gestured toward the house with a sweeping arm. “…then our home’s their home too.”

Max swallowed hard, caught off guard by the simple certainty in his dad’s words. For once, Goofy wasn’t bumbling or joking—he was just… earnest. Max felt a warmth spread in his chest, pride and relief mingling in equal measure.

Debbie, leaning against the Mustang, broke the moment with a practical cough. “Okay, but like—how exactly are we going to do this? It’s not like we can just funnel them through the front door. I don’t think the neighbors are ready for a mouse parade.”

Max rubbed his chin, then snapped his fingers. “We’ll back the Mustang into the driveway. Pop the trunk, keep it open. Then we form a line—carry the mice inside in groups with their stuff. Quiet, quick, no fuss.”

Goofy nodded like Max had just come up with the cure for the common cold. “Hyuck, that’s a fine plan, Maxie! I’ll go clear out a spot in the basement right away. Might take me a bit to wrangle the Christmas decorations and that ol’ exercise bike I keep promisin’ myself I’ll use.”

Debbie let out a long groan and ran a hand down her face. “Great. While you’re at it, Uncle Goofy, clear off the couch too. Because if I get behind the wheel again tonight, I’m gonna cause a twenty-car pileup on Main Street.”

Goofy clapped his hands together, delighted. “Well, that settles it then! You can stay right here, Debbie. I’d be tickled to have ya. And don’t you worry ‘bout snacks—there’s plenty of potato salad with raisins in the fridge if ya get the munchies.”

Debbie’s face went pale, her smirk vanishing as if someone had flipped a switch. Her eyes went glassy, like she was staring down a nightmare. “…Potato salad. With raisins.”

Goofy bobbed his head cheerfully. “Mmm-hmm! Been sittin’ in there for a couple days—really lets the flavors marry.”

Debbie visibly gagged, one hand over her mouth. “Thanks… Uncle Goofy,” she managed to croak, forcing a weak thumbs-up.

Gadget gave Max’s ear a playful tug before she scurried down his arm, her tiny feet clicking softly against the metal of the Mustang as she disappeared into the open trunk. Inside, the glow of the little bulb cast the cramped space in a dim yellow light. Dozens of mice were huddled together—some curled up against their luggage, others murmuring quietly as children clutched at their mothers’ skirts or tails.

Chip was sitting near the corner, back straight despite the exhaustion that lined his features, ever the scout and soldier, even when bone-weary. Mrs. Brisby sat with her children tucked against her, Cynthia asleep in her lap, Martin and Teresa keeping Timothy close.

“How’s everyone holding up?” Gadget asked gently, brushing a strand of hair back with her paw.

Chip exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tired. Restless. But… hopeful. It's been a long trip.” His gaze slid toward Mrs. Brisby, and his tone softened. “They’ve been through worse. This time at least, there’s a future to look forward to.”

Mrs. Brisby looked up at Gadget with eyes shimmering in the dim light, her whiskers twitching with gratitude. “Thank you. For all of this. For believing in us.”

Gadget smiled, that warm, earnest smile that always lit up her whole face. “We’re going to start unloading soon. It won’t be much at first, just a basement space, but it’ll be safe. And once we’re settled, I already have ideas—frameworks, supports, lighting. We’ll make it a home.”

Chip’s sharp eyes studied her, catching something in her voice. “So… I guess you’re staying, huh?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavier than the cramped trunk. Gadget didn’t flinch. She gave him a firm nod, her paw resting over her heart. “I’ve made my choice. I’m staying—with Max, and with all of you.”

Chip let out a small, tired chuckle and reached sideways, his paw finding Mrs. Brisby’s hand. She blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away, squeezing his hand gently in return. “Good,” he said. “Because I was thinking the same thing. Tomorrow, I’ll head out. Collect the others—Monty, Dale. The Rescue Rangers together again, in one place. Where we belong.”

Gadget’s eyes widened, her heart leaping. She threw her arms around him in a quick, heartfelt hug. “Chip, that’s—oh, that’s wonderful!"

Max’s voice boomed from above, cutting into the hushed chatter. He leaned down into the trunk, his face serious but his eyes soft. “Okay, everyone. Time to move out. Gather your belongings, stay with your families, and we’ll get you inside as quick as we can. Single file, no stragglers.”

Little Cynthia stirred at the sound of his voice, blinking groggily. She rubbed her eyes with tiny fists, then peered up at Max with a sleepy grin. “Mister Max… is there gonna be pizza?”

A ripple of laughter moved through the trunk, easing some of the tension.

Max grinned down at her, winking. “All the pizza you can eat, kiddo.”

That sealed it—the Brisby children cheered, Martin pumping a fist, Teresa bouncing in excitement, Timothy hugging his mom tighter. Even the older mice cracked smiles, their fear tempered by the strange but comforting promise of cheese, sauce, and dough waiting for them in this new life.

Gadget looked up at Max, heart swelling. They weren’t just unloading mice into a basement tonight—they were starting something bigger. A community.

**********************

An hour had passed since the Mustang first rolled into the driveway. The line of unloading had taken on a strange rhythm, almost like a little parade in the night. Debbie stationed herself at the trunk, passing down laundry baskets stuffed with tiny belongings or families of mice. Max ferried them across the yard, careful with every step, his arms tense, his eyes flicking down constantly to make sure the baskets didn’t tilt. Goofy stood at the porch, humming low and steady, crouching down with surprising grace to collect each basket and carry it inside.

Inside, the unfinished basement was coming alive. Piles of fabric turned into bedding. Small pots and trinkets were placed carefully in corners as if to claim space. Mice children laughed while climbing an old futon, others looked up at the basement’s little window to watch the fireflies blinking in the yard. Chip and Gadget moved among them, offering structure, encouragement, and gentle words. It wasn’t perfect—it was barren, temporary—but it was safe. Hope flickered like a candle against the exhaustion.

By now, sweat clung to Debbie’s back, her shirt sticking to her skin as she grabbed the final plastic tub from the trunk. “Last one,” she muttered, puffing out a breath, “and then I am demanding a bed, a shower, and an extra-large pizza.” She lugged it to the ground with a grunt, popped the lid, and froze.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Curled among a pile of folded cloth and scraps was a brown-furred mouse. At first glance, he looked asleep. But then her eyes trailed lower. His paws were folded awkwardly against his chest, the fur matted dark at the wrists, two precise lines drawn there like ugly punctuation.

Debbie’s stomach flipped so hard she thought she might throw up. The night sounds seemed to fall away—the crickets, the faint voices inside, the hum of traffic far down the road. All that remained was the ringing in her ears and the cold, sudden weight in her chest.

“Oh… oh, shit,” she whispered. Her hands trembled as she reached in, scooping him up gingerly, as though he might break even further in her palms. He was limp. Cold. The truth pressed down on her: this wasn’t an accident.

“Max,” her voice cracked, sharper this time, “Max—over here!”

Max came jogging across the grass, his face tired but still carrying that steady focus he’d been holding all night. He opened his mouth to ask something lighthearted, but the words died the instant he saw Debbie crouched there, cradling a tiny, still form.

His breath caught. His floppy ears drooped, shoulders sagging as his eyes locked on the streaks across the mouse’s wrists. “Aw, damn…” His voice was quiet, but heavy, like the air itself had thickened around him. He knelt down beside her, staring at the little body. “He… he couldn’t make it.”

Debbie swallowed hard, the sting behind her eyes threatening to spill. Her voice trembled as she spoke, “Guess he just… couldn’t take it. Leaving his home, the forest, everything he ever knew. Maybe it was too much.”

Max’s chest rose and fell with a long, slow breath. He nodded faintly, eyes locked on the small figure in Debbie’s hands. His own heart felt heavy in his ribs, a sorrow deeper than words. This was supposed to be the beginning of hope for these mice, a chance at safety, but for one of them… it had been too late.

He laid a hand gently over hers, shielding the body as though to protect it from the night air. “We should tell Mrs. Brisby,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly on her name. “She deserves to know. And… she’ll know what to say. To the others.”

Debbie nodded quickly, though her eyes were wet, and she blinked them furiously. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Together they stood, Debbie clutching the tiny body close to her chest like it was the most fragile thing in the world. Max stayed by her side, his hand hovering at her back, as though he could shield her from the weight she carried.

The basement still buzzed with chatter when they reached the bottom of the stairs—children laughing faintly, the shuffle of belongings being unpacked. But for Max and Debbie, that sound felt distant, muffled beneath the gravity of what they now bore between them.

Max’s throat felt tight as he called out, his voice softer than usual but carrying through the basement. “Gadget. Chip. Mrs. Brisby… could you come here a sec?”

The three of them turned from where they had been guiding families into the corner space. Concern flickered across their faces immediately—something in Max’s tone told them this wasn’t casual. Gadget hopped down from a stack of boxes and hurried toward him, Chip close behind, while Mrs. Brisby trailed, her children still playing nearby.

Max reached down, his large fingers careful as he lifted each one up and set them gently on the washer and dryer. He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. Debbie stepped forward, her arms cradling the tiny, lifeless mouse as though he were made of glass.

The moment Mrs. Brisby saw, her breath hitched. Her ears lowered, whiskers trembling, and her eyes filled with that deep, knowing sorrow only someone who had endured much loss could hold. She stepped closer, paws reaching out but not touching, as though the finality of the mouse’s stillness were sacred.

“That’s Simon,” she whispered, her voice steady but weighted with grief. Her gaze softened, sadness swimming in her expression. “He’s… he’s had a hard life. First, his wife—” her voice caught, and she forced herself to continue—“to sickness, one brutal winter. And then, only a year ago, his only son was taken by a snake.” She folded her paws together, bowing her head. “He carried that pain with him every day. Perhaps too heavy a burden. Maybe now… he’s at peace. Reunited with them, in the afterplace.”

Chip lowered his eyes, murmuring a quiet prayer under his breath. Gadget pressed a paw to her mouth, her own eyes misting as she listened. Max shifted uneasily, torn between wanting to comfort and not knowing how.

“The afterplace?” Max asked gently.

Mrs. Brisby nodded faintly. “It’s what we call it. Where the soul goes when the body no longer carries it. We believe the afterplace welcomes us to those we’ve loved and lost.” Her voice trembled, but there was a strange warmth beneath it. Hope, perhaps, that Simon was no longer alone.

Max rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the little body in Debbie’s arms. “Do you… do you have traditions? For, you know, when someone passes?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Brisby said softly, her eyes still fixed on Simon. “Normally, we would place the body on a raft of twigs and flowers and float it down the stream where we lived. Let the water carry them away, back to nature.” She sighed, shoulders curling. “But that stream is gone to us now.”

Max nodded slowly, a resolution forming in his chest. “Then we’ll do something here in my backyard. We’ll bury him. A special spot, just for your people. A place you can always come back to.”

Mrs. Brisby blinked up at him, her whiskers twitching as emotion filled her eyes again—not grief this time, but gratitude. She gave a small, solemn nod. “That would be kind. I’ll… I’ll tell those who knew him, so they may say their goodbyes. And thank you, Max. And you, Debbie. For treating him with such respect.”

Debbie swallowed, her arms tightening around the small body. “It’s the least we can do,” she said softly. “Nobody should go without dignity.”

There was a quiet shuffle behind them. Goofy had been standing nearby the whole time, hat in hand, his usually cheerful face somber. He stepped forward slowly, his long fingers curling nervously before he offered in that soft, warm drawl of his, “Hyuck… I could, uh… I could take him. Find a nice little box. Somethin’ proper to rest him in. If y’all think that’s okay.”

Mrs. Brisby looked up at the towering man, tears glinting in her eyes, and gave a tiny nod. “That would mean a great deal.”

Goofy carefully reached out, and Debbie—hesitant, as though reluctant to let go—finally transferred the tiny body into his huge, gentle hands. The contrast was stark: a fragile, lost life held in the palms of someone so big, so clumsy, yet so unfailingly kind.

Goofy cradled Simon against his chest like he was carrying something infinitely precious. “I’ll find a good box,” he promised quietly. “And we’ll give him a place. A good place.”

The group stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the basement filling the gap where words couldn’t. Loss had joined them tonight, but so had compassion.

Goofy disappeared upstairs, his heavy footsteps creaking softly on the old floorboards, leaving Max still standing near the washer and dryer. He took a deep breath, then carefully lifted Gadget, Chip, and Mrs. Brisby into his palms and set them gently on his shoulders. The three of them clung to his shirt for balance as he walked back across the basement toward the corner where the mice had gathered.

Families were still unpacking—mothers smoothing out scraps of fabric into makeshift bedding, children exploring the carpeted corner with weary curiosity, fathers shifting boxes and belongings into something resembling order. The air was tired, heavy, but tinged with relief at having finally reached safety.

Max stopped in the center of the room, cleared his throat, and slowly lowered himself down to one knee so he could meet more of their eyes. The chatter quieted. Dozens of little faces—some hopeful, some hollow with exhaustion—turned toward him. He rested one hand on his knee and tried to keep his voice steady.

“I know,” he began, pausing as the words formed, “that this isn’t what you imagined. It probably feels strange, maybe even disappointing—just an open basement, no homes, nothing like what you had before.” He let that hang for a moment, acknowledging their truth. Then his voice strengthened, carrying conviction. “But this is not the end. Tonight, you have a roof over your heads. Tomorrow, we start again. We’ll build you homes—real homes. And I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re safe here. Always.”

The mice leaned in, listening closely. Mrs. Brisby and Chip exchanged small, approving glances. Gadget pressed tighter against his neck, her heart swelling.

“You don’t have to live in fear anymore,” Max continued, his eyes sweeping over them. “Not of hunters, or traps, or being driven out of your home. You don’t have to wonder if tomorrow is going to take something else from you. Not here. Not while I’m around. You’ve been through hell, but I swear to you—this is a place where you can start over. Where your kids can laugh again, and where you don’t just survive… you live.”

There was a stillness, and then—like a spark catching fire—smiles began to spread across the group. A father pulled his wife close. A mother kissed the top of her child’s head. Someone clapped softly, and then another joined, until a small cheer rose from the huddled crowd. Mice embraced, hugging each other, their relief finally allowed to show after days of fear and uncertainty.

On Max’s shoulder, Gadget nuzzled against his ear, her tiny cheek brushing against his skin in wordless affection. Chip and Mrs. Brisby climbed down, joining the others, both smiling faintly at the renewed morale he’d sparked.

As the cheering calmed, Max leaned forward again, speaking more gently now. “Mrs. Brisby… is there anything you or your people need tonight? Anything at all? I could grab some blankets, or even a sleeping bag and crash down here with you, just in case.”

Mrs. Brisby’s whiskers twitched as she looked up at him, the corners of her mouth lifting in the faintest smile. “No, Max. You’ve already done more than we could ever ask. We’ll be fine tonight. Truly. You should take Gadget and spend time with her. You’ve both earned it.”

Max opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Debbie stretched with an exaggerated groan from where she was leaning on the futon. “I’ll crash down here,” she announced, pointing at the old couch. “Keep an eye on them all. But after I get a shower. I smell like bitter, sour ass.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the mice, lightening the heavy mood. Even Mrs. Brisby chuckled, her children giggling at the idea.

Max glanced at his cousin, a grateful smile tugging at his lips, then turned to Gadget. “Well… you ready to go to bed?”

Gadget tilted her head up at him, her fur brushing against his jawline, and grinned, exhaustion and warmth mingling in her eyes. “Damn right I am.”

**********************

Max’s room was exactly as they’d left it before the long, winding road trip—familiar, safe, home. The walls were plastered with photos of the two of them, moments frozen in time: goofy smiles, Gadget perched on Max’s shoulder, Max mid-laugh while she tinkered with something tiny in the corner of the frame. On the desk sat the Barbie RV; it looked small and almost fragile compared to the larger world around it, yet it radiated the same warmth as ever. For Gadget, it was home—her first home with Max—and seeing it again filled her chest with something soft and steady.

Max yanked off his jeans and shirt, leaving himself in nothing but his plaid boxers. He collapsed onto the bed with all the grace of a felled tree, arms spread, legs splayed. The mattress let out a familiar groan beneath him. His own groan was louder, almost theatrical, but weighted with genuine relief.

“I am not going anywhere again for a very long time,” he muttered to the ceiling, sounding like a man who had just fought a war.

Over at the desk, Gadget chuckled, the sound airy and sweet. She had already tugged off the patched-up travel clothes she’d worn for days, slipping instead into something Max had not seen before—a delicate pink nightie, cut from the fabric of a Barbie doll’s old wardrobe. The cloth was soft, sheer enough to hint at the curve of her silhouette beneath, and it shimmered faintly in the low glow of Max’s bedside lamp. She smoothed it down, glanced at herself, then gave a satisfied little nod.

“Better,” she murmured, brushing her bangs back into place.

She scurried down from the desk, across the carpeted floor, and then up the bedspread. When she finally climbed onto Max’s chest, she plopped her tiny backside right in the center, facing him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey there, sexy,” she purred in a playful, sing-song tone. Her tail flicked lazily from side to side, brushing against his bare skin. “So how tired are you, hmm?”

Max cracked an eye open, smirking at her antics. He reached up with one big hand and gave her head a gentle pat, fingers running affectionately along her ears. “Why, Miss Gadget,” he teased, his voice deliberately formal, “is someone feeling… amorous?”

The question made her ears warm under his touch, her cheeks glowing pink beneath her fur. Gadget squirmed, but her smile didn’t falter. She gave the smallest nod, barely more than a dip of her head. “Just a bit,” she admitted. “I’m teasing… mostly. But—” She stifled a yawn behind her paw, then giggled sheepishly. “I kinda do want you to jump my bones. I’m just so, so tired.”

Her ears drooped with the weight of her exhaustion, though the gleam in her eyes betrayed her sincerity. She pressed her tiny paws down on his chest for emphasis. “But make no mistake, buster—tomorrow? You’re going to do things to me that should be illegal.”

Max’s laugh exploded from deep in his chest, startling her so much she hopped half an inch in surprise before catching herself. “Illegal, huh?” He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Gadget, you're a mouse; I am a guy. I am pretty sure it's just straight up illegal."

Max and Gadget’s laughter faded into something softer, the kind that left warmth lingering in the chest even after the sound itself had gone. Gadget crawled further up his body, her tiny paws careful as she moved across the solid plane of his torso. She finally settled into the crook of his neck, pressing herself against the steady thrum of his pulse. Her whiskers brushed against his skin as she kissed his neck, gentle and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke more than words ever could.

“I love you, Max,” she whispered, her voice quiet but certain, a promise and a comfort all at once.

Max’s lips curved into a sleepy smile. He turned his head just enough to press a kiss into her soft fur, pulling the blanket up around them both as if to cocoon her there with him. “I love you too, Gadget,” he murmured back, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing.

With one long arm, he reached over and flicked the switch on the bedside lamp. The room sank into darkness, only the faint glow of the streetlamp outside painting a soft orange line across his wall. The familiar hum of the house at night filled the silence—the creak of pipes, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the faint croak of summer crickets beyond the window.

It had been a strange, dizzying few days. They had set out chasing after Gadget’s origins, driven by questions and half-truths. But what they found along the way had been more than answers. They had found a hidden village, a community desperate for help. They had built new friendships, seen old ones tested, and even sparked something unexpected between Debbie and P.J. The road trip had been filled with laughter, adrenaline, danger, and even tragedy. It had been too much at times—an overflow of emotions that Max wasn’t sure he had completely processed yet.

But now, in the stillness of his room, with Gadget breathing softly against his neck, all those swirling thoughts began to settle. He could feel her chest rise and fall with each tiny breath, could hear the faintest murmur of her dreams as she drifted off faster than she probably realized.

For the first time in days, Max felt completely at peace. Everything he had done—the risks, the choices, the responsibility—he knew he had done because it was right. And if there was still uncertainty ahead, it didn’t matter. Not tonight.

Tonight, he would sleep.

For tomorrow would bring about new challenges and discoveries.